Floating carpets drift like clouds across this spectral sky. Gone are the angels who normally crowd the hall in their moment of Quiet Rest and Reflection. Idle, the magical rugs meander, caught by a current of Possibility. The possibility that Someone may come in and need a place to rest.
     All but one wait upon their destined purpose, for one such carpet has had its woven dream fulfilled. It bobs with the Mass of the entity that rests upon it, its purple and blue and red tassels dangling down, unsinged by the purple fire that flicks at it from the edges of the Sentinel's wings.
     And from the starry loft of this high dome droplets of sweetness plummet -- the juice of ... grapes? -- and the seeds fall to the rugs and pillows below, dissolving like magic (for they are not real grapes they are only the dreams of grapes and the Idea and Poetry of grapes). And from that height, tinkling bells chime, and the upward tending arch of a dusky well-shaped foot appears and disappears at odd intervals as the Sentinel reads.
     Yes, reads...
     A book of he dreams of those he has answered and those that others have answered and those still Yet To Be who may Become Realized when he goes back on duty. Dusky fingers flip the fiery pages, the angelic script flickering, reflecting the glory of Dreams upon his heart-shaped face. But for the bells, he wears nothing, nothing but his wings, nothing but his dusky Being, nothing but the chimes that remind him of Some One He'd Really Like To See Some Time...

     Come now, Galadriel.
     Have you not heard the murmurings on the shifting halls? A voice from one corridor morphed through the non-existent walls to another path, then disseminated through the murky channels of ethereal air. Are you so into reading, that you cannot hear the archangel's name whispered over and over?
     Brilliance is here. Here! Speaking with the Dream Lord. Maybe, he is here for Aspirations...
     Ah, at least someone's opened a book of dreams. Or wishes, perhaps.
     He has, indeed, been giving greetings and salutations to the Dream Lord. An Archangel can never enter another's abode without making the request and appearing to the Archangel first. When he has his own place, such will be the respect accorded to him.
     There isn't really a door, per se. A vision of a door sometimes reveals itself when requested. His voice carries near where you float, a smile and salute given to an angel recognized. Bows and accolades given by those who have never seen Brilliance before. It walks among them now...
     And then suddenly, he floats beside you, keeping a still position in the air. Wings are outspread, and what was once dark and impenetrable, is now darkness made visible. He cannot do anything to stop it. Soldekai can be blinding.
     "You think, and there you are," he murmurs, arms folding across his chest. His wingspan is magnificent, extending beyond the visible boundaries of your designated space. "I like the tower. It has a magical quality. Not celestial, but magical," Soldekai beams, rather happy today. Should one see him in the fullness of his Word's Glory, they would not be able to see him for long.
     "Sweet Galadriel, keeper of my dreams. Student," he quirks, looking down at the book and tilting his head. Ugh. Work.

     By the plucking of the grapes and by the popping of the cool and sweet spheres into his mouth. By the quirk of the smile, ribald once more -- and how this hall has missed it -- by the curling of his toes -- oh yes, especially at that -- by the flutter of his wings so may you know that he heard You. You in the capital! You underscored!
     And as he thinks, and as you do appear, Galadriel dogears a page, an angelic dogear being a sigil to remind him to turn back to this later and so you see his face, beaming -- for how could he do else around you? And Your light moves along the line of bells that run from a torque at his neck, down his spine, between rounds of a humanoid rear and, though unseen as he is reclining on his belly, wind around orbs and shaft. He leaves androgyny to those less decisive of his fellowship. He is quite decided, thankyouverymuch. And quite enjoys it.
     Galadriel plucks a grape and pops it between his midnight blue lips. "You are looking splendid today," so the joke now goes and the Sentinel grins. He doesn't even bother with the punchline -- the setup was too good! "Splendid and rejoyous, if I might make up a word -- and why not, words have dreams too they tell me. And you fill my dome with light, my heart with..." and the laughter purrs, "...well... you know my mind."
     He is great himself but no match for you! Your wingspan so much the greater. Your presence so magnificent. Galadriel puts his chin upon the heel of his palms and stares at you, like a rebellious child staring into the face of the sun, even after his teacher has told him not to on twelve other occasions. "I am so glad you are here," legs bend at the knees and uplifted feet show their lotus-colored soles. His toes curl, one by one and two by two. "You make it beautiful, glorious by your presence," comes the soft exhultation. Galadriel sighs. "I do not go to earth much now... so I have brought the best of Venice, Turkey and India to me," he whispers. "It reminds me of You and of our adventures...."

     It is much like staring at the corona of divinity. Soldekai grins, unable to contain himself. Even the marvelous sight of you, and he does stare wolfishly for an instant, cannot detract him from his purpose today. He is brilliant with it, and despite the fact that you might have felt it in the Symphony, Soldekai has to utter it himself.
     "I got an angel today!"
     Someone to join his ranks. If he were mortal, he'd pump his fists and dance, yelping Yes! to the achievement. But archangels don't pump their fists.
     "Yes!" Soldekai screams, arms thrust into the ether. "Yes, yes, yes!" Ha! And he laughs, mouth open as he bounces in the air in front of you.

     "I thought I saw a shooting star," Galadriel smiles and he sits up upon his knees with the chiming of bells, the tinkling of the Symphony heard it in -- and especially with your resonance. The bells are wrapped in such an intricate design around him, it must have taken hours of painstaking attention. If there were such a thing as 'hours' here.
     Wings of the Sentinel open wide, purple flames flicker against the air, trailing brightness as he reaches to hug you. "I am ...overjoyed," he says softly. "For You and for Us All." Galadriel raises his hands, steepling fingers together, he genuflects, bells chiming sweetly all the way.
     "We should celebrate!" Galadriel suggests and he plants himself on his bobbing carpet, legs extending in front of him, his hands extending behind him.

     "Celebrate?" Soldekai stops, brows up. "Hm. How?" he asks, eyes naturally wandering to things visible. "A swim in the grotto? No. A swim near Thule? Ah. A cold, freezing swim. That'd get things going..." he murmurs, head tilting askance. How are those bells wrapped anyway?
     "What do you think? Or...a visit to Mt. Pinatubo?"

      "I do not know that I can go to the Grotto," Galadriel mentions, but there is no tinkling dissonance at that. There is Acceptance. He has come far, has he not? With Your Light to guide his way and with his Word beneath his wings, yes. "Oooh, Mount Pinatubo," Galadriel croons, and he lowers back to a recline on the carpet. Such wonderful memories! "What are the chances... I wonder, that Pinatubo might erupt," eyes of molten silver look to you full on, he will learn not to eventually, but now he cannot help it. And he stares. Openly. It's as if you were naked with bells on instead of the other way around...
     Galadriel's wings flutter at such a thought. Mount Pinatubo. "Ah," Galadriel exhales in song, "... for some reason, the motion of earth's plates upon its core and tectonics .... sets such a roil in me. I wonder if stars feel this way when comets pass by..."
     Did he just say that volcanoes turn him on? Well, there are stranger things in heaven and earth...
     "You pick, Glory," Glory of Glories, Glory of the Light of God, "... and I will serve wishes and dreams for you like grapes from my fingertips to your mouth..."

     "Mt. Pinatubo it is," Soldekai agrees, smiling. Well. He didn't know you liked volcanos so much. "A small cavern I know, inside one the west rim? Sometimes, it's filled with lava. Right now, it makes the saunas of Thule seem cool..
     "You haven't asked me about who joined...and, when do you want to go?" Soldekai asks, calmer now, but still excited. His wings have relaxed slightly, and hands press onto the carpet as he leans forward and over your lap. "Urfiel," he smiles, great isn't it, "...is off to his first assignment. He's looking at London. And I, well, I have a few earthly days before I need to speak with Salem..." who's also back in London.

     "Urfiel?" A pause. Wait for it. "Urfiel!" And he laughs. "Such an angel -- and he shall be the first of many. He holds a standard for the unaffiliated, or those who have been unchampioned." Urfiel's trials and tribulations are well known. "Have you been swarmed yet? You shall be." Silver eyes widen. "You shall be, Soldekai," Galadriel murmurs. "You are a beacon. The Beacon to call us Home. And I am... so proud of you..."
     The carpet bobs with the added Mass, Yours so massive, it is amazing it does not plummet! And You reflect off of the dome, light scattering all around you. His lap is covered, and the bells tinkle and sound again before your presence mutes them. A flame-tipped wing curls around you, but the flames do not burn. In fact, the flames have no sensation at all, apart from Serenity perhaps. Morpheus he should be called.
     "The Creator has blessed you with a stunning addition to Your Word. His Faith in You has been confirmed by it. All of Heaven must be taking notice...."

     Now you flatter him. Soldekai blushes and shakes his head, averting your gaze a moment. "Maybe," he says with returned humility. "I do not know. I am glad...Urfiel...found me worthy of his service. He is a great servant, Galadriel. I was so honored he would even bother with me. I am no one." Not like the others. The latest and last, he is. "I thought I would cry," he admits with a smile. "It was like...getting a friend. Not being alone. Someone...to be with me..." in whatever comes to this new word and role.
     He looks down. The young man who walked into the Mucky Duck was not simply a vessel. The officer remains within the Archangel. "I don't know, Kit," a shift. "Two of us. What will we do." Statement more than a question.

     Arms and wings enfold You. To hear the secrets of an Archangel -- there are not many who are privy to such matters. Master, do You feel thus for each of us? Was it the same for You? "You are not alone, for I Am With You, He Said. And now, you have this answered for you. You should rejoice. And You are worthy, for He would not have called You closer to Him if you were not." Galadriel's fingers dance upon your face, shadowy and resplendent both, gently brushing, and a gentle kiss follows it.
     "I will sing a song for every tear, if You wish. Each roll for joy will be sung for joy and praised." Galadriel beams down at you. "You are so Resplendent, You lift the hearts of all who look upon You. I wish to cry, for You are beautiful, and the Creator shines so brightly from Your face. You give God a face," he whispers. Such heresy. But well... he isn't an outcast for nothing...

     "And you.." Soldekai whispers, mouth at yours, forehead your duskier one, "...remind me that dreams are real. And happening now." He closes his eyes, reciting all that he's learned. "I am a soldier, but that is more...than I could have imagined. And He has given me a chance to dream and to love. That...is also...part of being a soldier."
     When his eyes open, they are golden orbs, darkly lined. "You give love and hope a face," Soldekai murmurs, his brow furrowing from the truth of it. "A face for me." To understand it. Soldekai's countenance tilts enough so that you know what he wants. A kiss of your lips.

     Right here, in front of God and Everyone, you receive the kiss you sought, and receive again the kiss you did not seek but that he gives you anyway, and the kiss that should have come as soon as he saw you, and the kiss to remind you that God created This too. This kiss, this love and all. And so, by extension, the kiss is divine. There is rapture at the edges of it, and something smoldering and bright. You kiss Possibility. And the Probability of the kiss extending becomes Actualized. You get a hint of the cataclysm of Transitions...
     It is easy for Galadriel to melt into it, though you are no longer of Fire's rank but beyond that ranking, turned to molten angelic energy around you, to meld around you and release his energy. He nearly does, right here in the middle of the Chamber of Aspirations. Right here in front of God and Everyone. The breaking of the kiss pulls him back into Himself, and he touches your face with his fingers, and with a tremble.
     "Valiant Brilliance. I am glad to be your face. Honored," Galadriel finishes. "Now," his voice smolders, "...take me to Your mountain. Let me turn my face to You, let me sing out Your praises."

     "I will," Soldekai whispers, certain that he will do the same. His arms and hands encircle you, curling around the easiest part of you to move. So easily he moves you forward, to the edge of the carpet, your legs on either side of his own.
     "Tell your Mistress," he seems to say to no one in particular, "...that I am taking my leave," eyes upon you, "...of his Tower. Right now."
     Someone will certainly deliver the message.
     Dark-light wings encircle you, gleaming edges skimming your carpet. "Are you ready?" Soldekai asks, pressed tightly against you. No chiming of bells now; they are caught in the join you make together.

     Legs twine and arms twine and fingers twine around you. Wings enfold and thighs enfold and his mouth enfolds. "Yes," is murmured there, a ringing chime of angelic. For the other bells are silent now. Toes curl and brace. Fingers press and anchor.

     ... The Chamber resounds it. He Hath Departed. And He's taking the grape eating glutton with him. The carpet that held the Sentinel bobs and floats skyward to the height of the dome as you take him, and take him away. Rest assured, Blandine will get the message.
     And an earful of gossip as well...

Posted by rowan at September 14, 2003 01:50 AM