Triangular, the room occupies the corner of what was once a grand palazzo. This, perhaps, a corner of a private bedroom. Now it comprises both living room and kitchen. Modest in size, modest in appliances but rich in color and character. Stucco walls have been painted a honey-gold, with white trim at the easings and sideboards. The floor, once tiled perhaps in marble, is paneled in a hardy ash.
The furnishings are pillows, cushions and collectibles, and softening the floor are several rugs, all from parts further east. There is a small oval table, wrought-iron with a covering of bevelled glass. Simple. The wonder and beauty of this room is its many windows.
The smell of espresso permeates the little sliver of Kit's Venetian apartment. The windows are closed, the warmth from the radiator starting to fog it up. The drapes, however, are pulled back so that the outside lights of the city may be seen. And used to provide a little light to this little apartment.
There's no glare against the window because he has turned off the electric lighting and has lit some fifty candles, scattering them haphazardly around the triangle-shaped lower floor. And there's the smell, also, of leftover dinner. Hummus. Olives. Cinnamon. Figs. Fresh bread.
Kit is sprawled out on the rugs and pillows, feet propped up on a pile of other cushions, his curly dark hair untamed and pleasantly unruly, shorn shorter recently, just above his ears, but left long in the front so ringlets remain. Very Italianate. It is hard to believe that the vessel's actually Irish.
He's dressed in layers -- it's cold come December in Venice, one of the problems with being a floating city -- the colors of his vestments ranging from royal blue to white to sea-foam green. Two shirts, one pair of pants, two pairs of socks. And he is looking over some of the drawings the children gave him.
There is the usual noise from the Symphony. Chimes here, roars there. All being taken care of, depending on how you view things. But in the midst of the din is another sound. The quiet swirl of a voice in a chant. A chant that never breaks harmonious undercurrent. A chant that speaks of spinning fire...
It manifests not so far from you, Kit. Though you rest comfortably in your room, the chant is for thee. The sound vanishes from the Symphony in the same moment, now that it exists on this plane, and from the thin glowing ring -- not a blazing circle of fire nowdays -- steps a familiar-looking man of goodly build. He smiles as the ring vanishes, and he is left alone, with you, in the quiet Venetian apartment.
Oh, I forgot to mention...
The two great cats are sacked out like cats usually are, piled around the source of heat. In this case, the radiators in the living room. But as the Symphony rings, all eyes open, a multitude of awareness, on all heads. But as soon as It is Heard, It is Recognized.
There is no alarm...
Kit, on the other hand, is not as blaise about the whole affair. As the earth rang with it, as Venice no doubt gleamed in it, and as he reveled in it, the drawings were set gently aside upon the small table and he began to rise, such that, when you materialize, he is standing to greet you, hands in his pocket and eagerness in his eyes.
It has been a while. And in the few days (or has it been weeks now?) since his visit to the Marches, he has remained on earth. Reading the story of Job. Watching the children crayon and glitter with the supplies he purchased with his own money. Paying his rent. Sorting it out.
Reading more Job.
He was content when the lions did not roar and fiery damnation did not spill from the skies. Not that he doesn't still expect it in a way. But he's not thinking of that now.
"Bless my soul," Kit grins, and Galadriel smiles through him, "...it is the Captain of My Heart. Mr. My Future's So Bright I Have To Wear Shades." The smile softens then and hands come out. "It's good to see you, Sol..."
Lions. Soldekai looks at each of them in turn, as if acknowledging their presence and their Master's authority. But still, his suggestion is 'they can go now, for a while.'
"It's good to see you?" he repeats, eyes upon you now. They're green these days. And his hair, brown. "It's good to see you," face contorting in dismay. "Is that it?"
Soldekai grins and walks forth, hands immediately coming out to grab you and pull you towards him. Hands draw you forth, immediately grasping at your waist. "And here, I thought you'd be jumping up and down for joy..."
Not with the spies... guards... guardians...pets...
(There's a rumble from the cats...)
Alright, not pets. I just don't want it broadcast all over Heaven. Not that I think Michael's all that interested, but what if someone beneath him is and they invite Dominic over for a Sneak Peak, World Premier?
I never used to think this way...
"I'm sorry," Kit smiles grandly, "stage fright," he whispers. And perhaps your look was enough. Perhaps Kit's own discomfort. But regardless they rise and head upstairs. It's warmer up there anyway.
"I would like to jump up and down. Ah, or maybe it is... bouncing I am thinking of," Kit murmurs, innocently cocking up an eyebrow, as if he were seriously wondering. As if. "No matter," he grins, and the grin is heated. He doesn't say he has missed you, not in so many words. But who needs a lot of words with such a kiss as the one that follows?
You are so much taller than he... he at his 5'9" and you over six feet in height. He has to nearly stand on his toes, but still your mouth is captured, suckled, rended like sweet fruit until the kiss itself is like sweet pulp. And then it parts. "A welcome more fitting, I think." And he takes your hand. "Such a sweet surprise. I... had no idea when I would see you next..."
"When you least expect it," Soldekai grins, biting his own bottom lip. You take his hand, but his arm goes around your waist to lift you. Instead, he guides you both. "The best thing about your room," he smiles, "...is that we never have to go so far." Here. Like these pillows.
"How are you?" he asks, chin lifting, country-boyish, to find the scents in the room. "I missed you," he says comfortably, as if he has all the time in the world. And who cares if anyone is watching? Lions report to Michael. Michael? Well, this is a story he needs not tell. The Archangel can tell the difference.
Hand in yours is strong and slightly rough, unable to still. His fingers caress and cover yours, then loosen, wend around, then tie once more. "Tell me," he murmurs, trying to get comfortable on the pillows. Well, tell me, if you feel like talking.
The scents are heady Venetian. Fig. Olive. Hummus. Cinnamon. The smell of orange and ginger -- he is wearing that against his skin. With him moving against you, as you head to the pillows, you can smell it, that light hint of citrus. "And I, you," Kit says softly, "...and si... it is a very ... economical space, geometrically speaking," he settles on his back, on the cushions, watching as you settle with him. The intwining that began with fingers ends with the intwining of thighs, arms wrapping around you, yours around him. "I have been... hmmm... well, it has been a strange few weeks. I have been in a quandry, in truth. Every time the Symphony shifts, I look around to make sure I brought my packed suitcase." There's a wry twist to his smile, self-effacing humor. Not that the subject itself is funny. Or pleasant. "But, I've been spending time with the children, reading the Good Book, and ... trying to re-energize." That's a word for it.
Galadriel-cum-Kit closes his eyes, mouth parting at your chin, skin tasted, suckled, and then he moves to your neck. "And how have you been, Brilliance?" is whispered at your throat. "Other than greatly missed by me..."
Arms do not slacken as he looks down to where you kiss. "I am well," smile forming as Soldekai lets his head fall back comfortably. The kisses are well-appreciated, as evidenced in his melting. But this visit is as much about you as it is about him. So, he holds you tightly against himself.
"And no need for you to pack anyplace, hmm? We aren't going anywhere that I know of..." Grin grows as he lets himself fall into your kissing.
"And how could you not be. You Are You," Kit says brightly, eyes grinning, dark brows lifting in a sweeping arch. He laughs, then sighs. "I suppose not... sometimes I thought I was heading for the southbound bus," if you catch my meaning, "... but I don't know. I guess not. I'm having trouble with it all... still. I have been talking to Fra Spero about Job. That has helped. It has helped," he says, reassuring. Both himself and you.
Kit settles in your arms, half rolling back, to bring you over him, even if just a little. "And I am still trying to... sort out my last conversation with Blandine. I think I'm becoming obtuse, Soldekai," Kit wryly states, "I've no head for riddles and my Master's the Sphinx Himself. All Allegory and Metaphor, as I once was." Was. Always in the past tense with Kit of late.
He's gained some really bad habits. Referring to himself in the past tense. Feeling sorry for himself. Playing hookey. Packing for hell. Reading The Bible. Inspired text though it is, it's hardly cheery reading material...
A confused look flushes across Soldekai's face as you articulate your distress. "Hey..." he says, indeed, taking the high road. The Archangel rolls, perching himself on an elbow above you. "What is that about? Why would you think you were in trouble?" That idea hadn't come to him really. "My Galadriel..." he whispers, hand at your cheek. Normally, he is not so sweet. But even Malakim learn. His smile is soft, as if to say what's going on with you? But there's no reason to ask. Your demeanor and commentary tells all.
"Let's start at the beginning, huh?" He can't take on Blandine and metaphor, but he can ask about the rest. "Why do you think you...are in trouble?" Say it, Soldekai. "Why," his brow furrows in earnest, "...would you think you were to be outcast?" I couldn't abide it. "Where did that come from..."
Has he ever spoken of it frankly? Openly? Without brushing it off? Without changing the subject? "Start at the beginning. For starters, I am under house arrest. Albeit, it's a nice house. I like my little loft above and this room below, and in the spring the courtyard is completely in bloom. But... I am still under guard, Sol. And under scrutiny. And I don't like it. But..." there's a soft chuckle, "... God did not ask me to like it. So, I am down here... with this and wrestling with pride and vanity, dancing on the head of a pin..." So precarious it seems. Like I'm on the edge of it, peering over. Trying not to look down, but compelled to all the same. And it frightens me.
"I know I was a sacrifice," Galadriel murmurs, "and I know it was for the good of you, for the good of the War, for the good of all Heaven. And I am worried about my own discomfort? And because of that, I am on the edge of Falling. That is how I have been. That is ... why I think I am in trouble. I wish... I want to be able to reconcile the punishment with... the good They say I have done. If I did not do Wrong, then why the continued Punishment? This... question... I am hoping Job can help me answer it. Maybe if I read it... again... I will understand and take comfort in it."
He takes a breath after that then wryly smiles, hand going to his eyes and rubbing at the corners, squeezing the bridge of his nose, as if to clear... all of that. "Listen to me," he whispers, "...listen to me complaining? I need to pull myself together... before Someone does come and tell me to pack my bags..."
If he were the sort, he'd say Oh, God. But Soldekai normally eschews such lamentation. Instead, when he falls into wailing, he simply goes and fulfills a mission. How quickly that restores equilibrium.
But this time, he cannot do such. Soldekai's head drops and he closes his eyes. How have you tangled this one, shining Galadriel?
"Where did you get all of that?" Soldekai says softly. "You...rattle that off as if...it made sense? And..it's got..." he shakes his head now, "...all sorts of...made-up things in it..."
"I know, Galdariel, you are frustrated." Maybe I have not said that before. "I know. I know the lions are upsetting and...yes...the...whole thing...was unfair. It was. But what is all this about pride," hand waves, "...and vanity? Who is vain? And pins?" Soldekai is confused. He's not heard any of this from you or from anyone else. "And who said anything about sacrifices?"
"And I knew Job. You're nothing like him..." as a matter of fact.
It is a tangle, isn't it. As hard to hear as it is to explain. Kit exhales and frowns. "The pin? The pin is the precipice I feel I am standing on," he explains. "The pride and vanity are found even in this lamentation. Even in the midst of a promotion," did you know about that? "...all I can think to do is to wail, to count my misfortune. To feel... beset upon, to feel as though this is 'being done to me', rather than seeing it for what it truly was: a sacrifice that yielded a great victory to Heaven. Why am I not content in this? Why? When you have willingly sacrificed yourself time and time again, and you ask for nothing. I get two guards, have a vessel taken away, I am barred from Heaven, and I complain. How can Falling be far behind? Isn't this how it begins? With the feeling that one has been wronged? When it is God that I am to be serving, not my own interest..."
Grey eyes -- you know somewhere that they are molten silver, like liquid mercury -- settle on you and he rolls over on his side. "The attunement, Sol, this was ... destined," emphasis there, "... and you and I part of a victory that Blandine called the Beginning of The End. My love did not need, and does not need, an attunement. That is done, as it should have been earlier, I see that now. But this... Sol... You, Brilliance. We did this, you and I, when Aspiration was Inspired and Inspiration... learned to dream."
"Stop!" Soldekai demands, sitting straight up. "You are not hearing me, Galadriel. I do not understand...what happened?" Now he's agitated and confused. You talk of how you see your present state, but Soldekai doesn't know what's happened. His anger's rising and your words...his face is tight and furrowed.
"What was destined?" he asks, hand on his forehead.
No one has told you. In your exclamation, he realizes it was not his emotionally faulty rant but a lack of information. You sit up and it allows Kit to move, he goes to his knees, he reaches out for your hands. He looks to you with his dove-grey eyes, his lovely face framed by dark curls.
"Listen to the words of my Master to me, spoken when he made me... Sentinel of Aspirations. He said: "He who taught a Malakim that it can dream with the rest of Creation. Who became a friend to a Malakim. Who understood his Dreams and Wishes. His Aspirations. And helped him become what he was to Be.'" He looks to you directly. "Your destiny was to become Brilliance, to be the guiding beacon of Victory. I... I was destined to ...Herald your way."
"For my Master said that 'Anyone can change. If they can Dream it, they can Wish it, they can Aspire to it. Even Malakim.' " Kit grasps your hands. "Teach the Malakim to dream, he explained, then it reveals that angels can dream. Angels can aspire. Angels can be inspired. And we, all of us, can change. Even Lucifer." I now understand the magnitude of it... or part of it. It wasn't until I had to explain it that I began to comprehend it. "And if Lucifer can dream," he carries that logic forward, "...then there is the possibility of restoration. And if we dream of that, and if by dreaming we make it happen, we were the pieces that ended the War, Soldekai..."
Do you see now? Do you see how important you are?
"This...for a promotion?" Soldekai asks of the makeshift bedding you share. "This..." whatever it is between you, "...to make the Light Bringer dream?" He looks faintly appalled, hands retracting to his lap. Soldekai looks left, then right, as if trying to make sense of it. "How..." he half-laughs, a sickening sort, "...dare...they." His jaw sets, and Soldekai's head tilts to rest on his shoulder. His eyes remain closed, and he half-laughs at the predicament. He begins to speak, and instead, forces his mouth closed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"How dare they..." he whispers to himself again, eyes taut.
"No, not for the promotion," Kit says quickly. "That, Blandine did on his own. And I can't imagine the rest of the Heavenly powers-that-be would be too keen on it. But... I did not know myself until then... I don't know when that was... one week? Two weeks?" He shakes his head. Something like that.
"I do not think you are following me, Sol. I do not think I am leading you well in my thoughts. Perhaps I am so confused that we are now both wandering. I am not speaking of our love, my love for you, this relationship. That was not manufactured. That... I made a choice, you made a choice. The attunement, however... well, that seems to be a different story...that was, as it was explained to me, the key to ...bringing you to your destiny as Archangel of Brilliance. It was explained to me that 'The Chamberlain of Gabriel was one they had all come to depend upon. That Heaven had stood by and watched the sacrifice of his choir," Malakim, "... had used their suffering. But Malakim are more than Heaven's obligatedly willing soldiers. Your ascension proves it. You restored a piece of God that had been missing, that had had no voice. That is my understanding."
Kit lets your hands go and he plops back, "And the sacrifice, well..." that's me. "I suppose I have nothing to be upset about. Not until I feel a sudden rise in temperature. I'm sorry. I couldn't... not tell you. Though, I have been asked not to utter it. And I do not know if I shall get in any more trouble by having told you the Truth so far as I know it. The greatest truth being that I love you."
He blinks and then smirks a little. "And I've already gone to trial for that."
The trial. Soldekai shakes his head, laughing now. "It was a farce, Galadriel, think about it..." he sighs, eyes opening to see his hand. Ah, but it all makes so much sense now. What he did not see. What he was not allowed to see, sent to his room like a child.
"I have to go," he says, standing suddenly. The confusion drops from him, like a quick skin. The recovery of Malakim. Injured, they regroup and move on. "Some things...to do..." angels to see, archangels to blaze in fired anger. Ah, but the child now knows. "If they wish an Archangel," he breathes, coming to his feet, "...that is what they will see..."
But then, there is you. In his flurry, Soldekai pauses to see you and give a smile. "My love is true, Galadriel," no matter of yours or how this began. "I believe yours is as well," the soldier talking. And whatever he had planned between you two this day is left in tatters. He has to go to Heaven. Soon, they will all know that he knows, that you know, and that all is clear. They, on the other hand, should know - the Archangel of Brilliance is his own being.
His smile grow further. How has this day changed instantly. Is that not how aspiration and brilliance go, a flintrock waiting for the right strike? "When I return, we shall talk, yes? About...how you are nothing like Job. And how...you have done nothing wrong. Neither of us. And how...important we both are." Both of us, you and I.
"You're not going anywhere, Galadriel. Do not let them shake your spirit. You...are in control of your destiny," he adds conspiratorily and with a wink. "And...so am I."
What have I done. Why do I keep doing it?
Grey eyes go to the rug as you stand as you blaze, as he knows you shall be setting your place among the stars. Boy, will the stars be talking later. And well may his own ears ring with it.
"Do not doubt my love, Brilliance," Galadriel whispers upon Kit's tongue, his eyes plead that. "For It, as I must be, is 'true'." And by true, meaning the deeper sort, that which comes with Loyalty. A cherub's love is nothing to shake a stick at. And it seldom wavers.
But he has been shaken. Since he was collected an earth-year ago -- or has it been longer? He hasn't been able to right himself in all that time. Howevermuch time has passed. Kit nods and turns, heading for his kitchen. He is frightened. It makes the little vessel twitch and move strangely, seeming like the marionette it is, suddenly, with the little jitter of a cup in his hand. He pours coffee.
And he wonders if he should start packing that suitcase...
The pot is set down and aside -- he needed something to touch, just like you needed to stand, to shed your skin -- and Kit looks to you, too much knowing for a mortal's eyes, a mortal's face. There is a softening to the expression as he hears you say the words: When I return. "I will be here, I will be waiting. I will be with you. Even if unofficially," he almost smiles. It reaches his eyes, at least. "I ...look forward to the discussion on Job," Kit notes in an aside, "... the children think I need to get a fish." Ah, a child's view of a Biblical lesson -- perhaps that's how we should read it.
"Brilliance," Kit speaks suddenly, as if knowing he shall have to stop you, "...dazzle 'em..."
"I shall. And they shall know of you too, Galadriel." You with me. Soldekai watches you for a moment, before stepping across pillows to stand in your aura. "Do not worry," he whispers, "...this...is politic. Nothing more, Galadriel." Nothing. Nothing of falling. "And yes, angels politic." And I must as well.
"I will not be so long," he whispers, voice much like it was earlier. He wants to be with you. "Tell your Master," he twists, tossing comment over his shoulder to any lions available, "...that I wish to see him, on his campus."
"So, will you..." Soldekai returns to you, grinning again, "...be fine for a few...hours?" Mortal time calculations and all.
Oh, thank God you were talking to the lions. I almost dropped my cup...
Kit's eyes look quickly to you once his cup is steadied and he nods once. "I think so. I will be worried. But..." a roll of his shoulders, "I was already worried, so take it with a grain of salt I guess." Kit smiles a little. But yes, he is nervous. He lifts his coffee for a sip, looking up at you all the while.
I think they already know of me. They questioned me for two celestial days. What else is there to know?
He nods and sets the cup aside again. "Come as soon as you can," don't tarry. I need you here. He reaches out, fingers squeeze your hand and then he pushes off the counter. "If I am not here when you get here, you might want to check the Marches..." just in case.
The lions heard the call. The lions heard the questions and all eight mouths open. From them, Angelic pouring. "He has heard you, he will hear you. His fire burns in the citadel. His basilica stands ready and all doors are open for you."
Their voices come not in growls but in the sound of bronze shifting, notes of the Symphony. The two great beasts focus their attention on their ward. "Will the Sentinel be accompanying the Archangel as far as the Marches," for the rest of the way will be barred.
Kit shakes his head. And the lions sit upon their haunches.
"No," Soldekai says, "..the...Sentinel...will not accompany me." As if further explanation is needed. "Maybe, you should go to Thurso," he murmurs. To Iceland. "Wait there."
And soon enough, his sigil glows on the floor. Changed, now in his rise. "I'll see you there in a while?" If you choose. It's what he'd prefer.
Soldekai squeezes your fingers and steps back. The lions have not, and will not go to Thurso. Soldekai will need a lead to the campus, instead.
You ask, and he can't help it.... he wants to give it. You the Commander, you know what is best. And thoughts of Iceland do comfort him. But he should leave the vessel behind. There is no time to think more on it. He will send a message for Fra Spero. It would not do to have the children wondering...
Kit nods and steps to the sigil. A last look, and he mouths: I love you. And then he steps through. He will be wrapped up in furs, waiting for you. He will have warm drinks. He will have bits of glass. He will have lit a fire in the cave...
The lions look to you -- one face of four per cat -- and they rise in concert. Their leonine mouths drop open and Michael's sigil lives in fire upon their tongues. Come with us, Archangel. Our master is expecting you.
Michael. Already waiting. Maybe he's been waiting for this for a while...
Soldekai remains a long moment, looking around the apartment. When the lions speak again, he lets his own sigil fade into the dimness of the wood floor. After an exhale, he walks across the quiet room, locking the door. Immediately afterwards, he moves to close the windows that lead to the breezy courtyard, drawing the curtains closed.
Only then does he turn to the pair and nod, "I am ready..."
Posted by rowan at May 18, 2003 07:56 PM
