Sometimes it is a blessing that Time has no meaning in the Infinite.
     There is no Age, no Epoch, no Date, no expressions of the notion of motion along the Space-Time Continuum.
     That is for the benefit of Mortal Tracking.
     How long did this all take then? Investigation, Inquiry. Recess. Murmurs and whispers in the halls of the Celestial that spoke of flights of fancy into the sublime. Actually engaging in open hostilities. Changing what Blandine could not. Had not. Or perhaps it was would not.
     All the while, your archangelic lover paced. Stormed. Raged. And was sent to diffuse the Ofanite and Malakite parts of himself when your support feared he would Blaze like his former Superior. But when he returned, always when he returned, he had nothing but smiles for you. Arms to embrace you, even though you were well-watched by the Eyes of Heaven's Armies. In this, he learned to revel. Your shared story was no longer a secret.
     But for some, it never was. And through closed Council and open discussions with you, something was clarified. Yves moved between beings. Little was heard from Blandine -- ah...until the rare moment when she appeared in Council. The Dreamer Herself, radiant recollection of all things Ethereal. Celestial in the sense mortals know. Stars exploded in her eyes, and nebulae formed.
     That instant, the Symphony chimed in Awe. Remembering or first-knowing the Hope of all things.
     They also knew then...that you were even more special than most had realized.
     And when she was done, the Council dissolved. All was complete. Soldekai stood with you and waited in the interverning moments, but you both heard when it was time for him to wait for you elseplace. Your presence was required.

     No sunrise...
     No sunset...
     No ticking hours. No unravelling millennia...
     There have been only two stages of Being since This began. Life In Council and interrogation, or in quietude in one of the Citadels of Heaven. And so, by this could he mark his 'Time'. In measures of Embattlement and Peace. Like Music...Existence in upbeat and downbeat rhythm...
     And soon, it began to take a life of its own, this song.
     And in the quietude, he has needed you, Archangelic lover. Your Brilliance. Your Strength. Your smiles. There, the suns of a thousand systems, about which ten-thousand planets turned, could be seen and felt. In his eyes, the molten silver essence of stars. He remembered himself best when you were around him. And he was made more resilient by it. For every star that the Archangel Inquisitor chipped from his shoulders, the Archangel of Brilliance restored it.
     But His Master, His Mistress... when She Herself came to Council, he fell quiet. The Symphony thrilled with Awe. But for Galadriel, there began a kind of Regret. And Dominic's questions slowly began to become his own...
     How great is my love for the Word I serve...
     How great is my love for the Archangel of Dreams...
     Master...Mistress...
     And I have honored Him... I have honored Her...thus....
     And then Time turned from Peace to Embattlement again. And he began to brace even as he was sought. His armor of mirrors reflecting nothing. His clothing of Constellations and nebulae gathered around him. And midnight blue wings folded tightly to his back. Straightening soldier of God. All his power drawn up, just to move outside his imprisoned sanctuary. And he moved with his newfound bodyguard -- Michael's own lieutenants -- with his eyes forward and his soul prepared. For whatever His Destiny was to hold with him. You had seen him walk directly into the fire, unwavering, time after time through this all.
     But this time, there was a glance back. Brief, before the marching of his attendants required that he look forward.
     And then he was gone...

     The Tower is as it has always been. The greatest monument to the Marches themselves. Ethereal incarnate. It shifts and swirls of the same matter that covers - shadows - the Middle Plane.
     And in a familar room, a familar Essence smiles at you. Ptolemy's own drawings have come to life here, overlain by the shapes of Eratoshenes, Copernicus, da Vinci, Galileo, and Mercator. Ortelius' dragons flutter in a corner of Space, indicating that indeed, there they be. Cartographic circumscription of the Universe, all in one place, at one time.
     And spheres turn, holding rivers of water.
     "I am glad...that We are Unchanging," Blandine looks at you, awash in indigo and circled in the dust of a galaxy. "It means when I see you, I am always pleased." He grins and takes a seat upon his favorite chair, somehow held aloft in the midst of all things. "Never anything else." Blandine seems in good spirits, truly happy in his realm.
     "And you, One They Now Called Favored? How do you feel?"

     Midnight wings unfurl where they had been folded. Garments nearly bound to him began to flow once more. And the mirrors of his Herald's armor begin to sparkle. You see the images there now. Not of the dreams of the thousands and thousands of beings, millions of beings, all beings. But sparkles, starting reflections of his own to you.
     Of regret. Of Knowing. Of Understanding. Of Love. Of sorrow. Of concord. Of dissonance...
     Of gratitude that his attending guards are out of sight for the moment. Seraphim of Michael exchanged for Seraphim of Blandine at the borders of The Marches.
     And here. Home. In Your Presence he cannot help but be Found...
     Galadriel settles on his knees with a chiming of armor, a chiming of the spheres he carries, the chiming of dark and dusky pinions against the ethereal matter of your tower. "I ... feel... grateful, My Master of Dreams...I think that is the word. Grateful..." His voice is smooth and deep. But with every sound, there are notes that drop out of sequence. Out of tune. "Grateful," silver eyes lift, "... that My Master still smiles, for all the ... favors that His servant has brought of late."
     There is the smile. O, the old smile. Tempered. But ribald humor finding itself, even in this. When this has been... not even remotely amusing. "I should think you would have preferred I practiced my juggling... "

     "You do as you dream. As you think and are so inspired, Herald of Dreams...and Aspirations," Blandine grins, reassuring in his less than obtuse commentary. Rarely is he so...obvious. "I ask no less from My Own, than I want them to do for others." If you had not noticed.
     Blandine sits back, the dust shifting around his form. "You will not feel so grateful," he says softly, the flickers of brows rising and falling, as if some great joke is soon to be revealed, "...when you Understand."
     The chime that comes rings within your ears, some great key turned. Information. Knowledge of what has happened. Images and sounds, agreements. Perhaps you always had it. If so, it is now forefront. There.
     Blandine simply watches you, waiting for your response.

     And so I did...
     I dreamed of a great light. I dreamed of empty citadels being filled again. I dreamed of Peace. I dreamed for restoration. I dreamed for wounds to be healed. I dreamed for my Master. I dreamed for my Word. I aspired to achieve it.
     When Aspiration was granted to me...
     I aspired to serve it. To give myself to it. To bring others to it. To dream and then To Do...
     And it has brought me here. And I must follow it. Even though I know not where it leads.
     Only, I know it does not lead me from God, from His Voice by way of My Master Dream.
     But as the images come, Galadriel bows his head. The mirrors go quiet again. Shimmering until they darken. Like scrying mirrors of divination... the reflections of his surrounding midnight wings. "I love God and His Creation. The stars that were born when you first opened your eyes, Dream. I am grateful for the Mercy I have been shown. I accept God's Mercy as His Council has delivered it..."
     Soft and dark. Deep and even. Smooth and balanced. His voice. But the musical quality of it... notes fall harsh and out of place. Dissonance.

     "We know you do, my Herald." The word...name...comes no less firm than the term 'aspiration.' Said with conviction. But your demeanor. This he likes not. Blandine sits forth, and the dust of the universe scatters around you. "Only in such reverberation do we know what it means...when such notes come," Blandine cheers. "You remind us all, of what we should strive to be, Galadriel. Just...in the sound of your approach."
     He has nothing but love for you, Herald. It shines all about your Master. "I look forward to seeing you more often, yes? We shall speak of His Mercy, your Word, and the chime upon which you walk. But," Blandine sits back, "...how is it any different? You...have always sounded unique within the Symphony..." he giving compliment. "Now...I can point to the Deaf and let them know...that is My Herald. Listen for him."
     And now he smiles. It, too, has more than one quality of its usual darkness. Unique sound in the Symphony...

     Particularly now...
     Deepening that smile, as the dust of the universe covers him. And against the fabric of the universe, he seems to blend. His armor, his mottled garments of constellations. Silver eyes swirl molten as he looks to you. And he rises. Your love of him makes him strong. No matter how the rest weighs on him. "How often may I come home," the decorum and the formality have fallen away. Behind it is just quiet wondering. "How... often will it be allowed... My Grace?"

     "Here," Blandine smiles, "...as often as you like, as often as you have. Or more." He would prefer more, certainly. "But, I think," he sits back again, leaving tendrils of dust to float around you, "...you will soon be too busy."

     Heavily...
     It does weigh heavily...
     As the depth of the punishment is felt. Understood. From the question of his attunement and its future... to his term on earth... the loss of his raven essence... to the dissonance that he feels. He hears. With every motion.
     The most damaging thought that can enter angelic space is not anger or hate... but uncertainty. When conviction falls away, Doubt has a crack through which to enter...
     And that will be the challenge of this time. To work away the heaviness. To work away the doubt. To understand what has befallen him. And to ascend despite it. To realize his conviction was not mistaken.
     Galadriel closes his eyes. He feels the dust cover him. Sparkling against dusky, midnight form. Glittering. Making him resplendent. Adding shine and glistening against feathered Night. "When must I go to earth..." Must go. "May I stay here with You until Mercy demands I go. I want to sing, Master... like I used to here..."
     Dissonance or no... what music he will make sound. Visible to the universe.
     And so penance will begin. With a song of faith and longing for restoration. I never meant to do wrong...
     Wrong...
     I did not mean to do wrong...

     "You are always welcome with me," Blandine smiles, the Universe turning with him. He closes his orbs and relaxes in his seat, leaving the connection of space dust between you.
     You may sing to your Heart's Content. I am the last to send you away. If you go, it is because you choose. Because you wish a change...

     It was written after the birth of Islam, sister to Christianity. Gift of Jibril...Gabriel...
     She whose former Chamberlain is now Archangel of Brilliance by his involvement, whether one sees it positively or negatively. She whose fire is Inspiration. Inspiration, which is such a valuable partner to Dreaming. Dream and Inspiration can become Aspiration. And Action.
     But the song is one of devotion to God. Devotion to the soul. Devotion to love.
     Like the bird on the wing...
     So I to God...
     For His Breath and His Love lifts me like Air
     And I flutter with my tiny wings to sustain myself there...
     When I sing, it is for Him...
     My plummage stretches. My body lifts...
     And I fly into the sun...

Posted by rowan at May 14, 2003 08:46 PM