...Some of the Dream dust was carefully placed inside a container, two vials carefully hidden within the hull of a ship...
     Another portion was slipped even more carefully, and more deliberately, into a silver moon amulet around his neck, one of several trinkets, a hunk of basalt included, that he wears nightly.
     ...He first took the vessel, the glorious box -- gift enough in itself! -- to Iceland. He thought of leaving it there, the safest place on earth. But Iceland is a tether and a haven. A haven that, if ever spoiled, would be much missed by Brilliance and himself. No, Iceland is not where it should be. And then it occurred to him, there would only be one place suitable.
     But how... how would he ever get it there...
     First, he must secure permission...
     The Sentinel of Aspirations wrapped the vessel within the folds of his constellation clothing. In Soldekai's private tether he drew his new sigil and he stepped into the gleaming light.
     Hello!
     Hello!
     A chorus of angels greeted him. A friendly bunch of cherubim -- no wonder they think we're all jolly fat babies with such faces and such smiles! But Galadriel did not stop there, did not stop to do tarot readings on floating carpets or for chitchat (or gossip!), but straightway flew up the stairs to Blandine's Tower and the Chamber of Dreamscapes.
     It has now been several earth years since the Sentinel has been to the Celestial Realm. He has not even opened his mouth to ask permission, not even to go skinnydipping with Soldekai in Oannes' Grotto -- though he was several times tempted! And now... he is going to ask...
     It is a very presumptuous question for such an outcast to ask...

     There was much rejoicing at your arrival. Such is the way for any who come home to the Tower. And for those whose Homecoming is a last hope - for them, there is a celestial chorus that should make any envious.
     "Greets Sentinel!"
     "The Sentinel is here!"
     "Yes, I see the Sentinel all the time at night, but here, it doesn't have to be night..."

     The chamber always feels unattached from the Universe and the center of it at the same time. It exists somewhere, a place that even Hawking could not define. But he would not want to, either. Some point before Calculus proves useful. Some point after the Divine.
     Here Blandine often exists -- for transitive verbs do not work so well -- sometimes eschewing any form. Such is Now.
     "Popular you are, Sentinel of Dreams of Aspirations. A Word and a Rank. You have come Far, Galadriel."
     And language? There is none. A series of tones and chimes, passed through a part of the Symphony.

     His cheeks are dusted with cosmic glitter, his eyes are full of stars. His wings are nothing now but the interchanging spectra of living Brilliance. He Gleams. He Sparkles. He Shines. He Loves.
     And is that not, Of All Things, the point?
     He stands in the center of Everything, feet resting upon nebulae, ribbon-lighted pinions, for lack of a better term, stretching out far, the multihued nature of dreams. The Sentinel beams, smiles, radiates, and he cradles the gift in swaddled cloths, cloths that are, rather, the fabric of space itself.
     "I have heard Your Voice, and I have followed it as best I can," come the chimes back, tonal beauty, harmonic glory.
     "Though I may see Your Face when I look to the sky from the bow of my ship upon the waters of the small planet, there is no substitute, My Lord, for being in Your Presence." He addresses you like God, for are you not He in part, He in aspect, It in Wonder? "And," the tones chime with a little humor, "I've come to give gratitude for the wonders You continue to bestow upon me. I knew that if I waited, if I were patient and listened for You, that You would present the way for me."
     He did take your advice to heart, did he not? His Word is leading him now, not the other way around. And just... look at the results...
     "It is so good to hear You, Beloved Dreamer. I am tempted to sing Your praises -- if You wish to get a word in edgewise You might have to stop me now."
     Galadriel does not speak the Gift's name. It is too precious to utter, not unlike the name of God. Its power is in preserving its name, not in giving it away.

     "You may stop now," comes the voice, slightly humored.
     Across from you a form coalesces. Stars and dust are drawn to a random singularity in space, sucked to formation by forces still in debate in many a mathematical circle.
     Blandine stands there, everpresent. His 'body' is formed by bits of the Universe itself, as if there was something to cover. It is a shape the essences create, something usable in the presence of another. A politness, even.
     "Everyone is so busy now," Blandine says, across the space and in the middle of vision. "One would think something was transpiring."
     "How are you, Galadriel?"
     The Truth may be evident, but still, the question is asked.

     There was even a bit of roseate indigo blushing for that, but he beams all the while. "Thank You." And then there is laughter. Ringing, chiming, deep tonal, laughter. You make jokes, how can the universe not laugh with you. "My Lord of the Greatest Dream of All," Creation, Existence, Peace, "...I am very well. A bit sparkly, it appears, and a little dusty, but it is stardust and so I do not mind it."
     It is dusted upon the features of his face like clouds and glitter. Galaxies are there, and comets too. His wings of Brilliance flow outward, red turning to blue turning to indigo turning to green -- the gradations of dreams, Aspirations.
     "I hope someone has not been too busy that he or she has not been able to sing for You. Or...shall I get You a music box in thanks for ...this..." The box in his hands, the splendor of dreams and the fabric and dust of dreams. "I am finding there is much to do in the city where my earthly body now makes its home. Dreams were lost in murky waters and in the soot of a modern age. But a young girl who once thought she wasn't worthy for anything other than a stripper's pole is poised to become a star on a bonafide stage, not a cage. She aspires to sing, and so... she does. And there are... so many stories. Things that happen every night and every day. And this... this... answers something that has puzzled me...and so I thank You for hearing my prayers."
     Lord, he whispered, let me find a way to Them. A way to those who do not want to be found. Let me find a way to do it, O Lord, without having to go through Nightmares to do it. For, I want to serve. I also want to live!
     Galadriel bows his head in formal and in affectionate Grace. So different, this angel, from the quivering, kneeling, prostrate angel that was here not so long ago...

     "They sing for me and keep my company. The Indestructibles guard me and insure my Presence. All of us who Serve do so in troubled times but in the dreams and hearts of those not here. I could ask for nothing more, Galadriel. And so, we continue, buoyed by His Love, which has never failed, spreading Hope in the hazy moments of quasi-existence."
     Has Blandine ever spoken so much?
     "I am committed to you all, Galadriel," no thanks is needed, "...as I have always been."
     "It is good to hear your tale," the Archangel of Dreams responds directly, "...it is one of many of late, Galadriel. I hope there will be so many more..."

     He marvels at the amount of Your words -- as much that as to what You say. For a time, Galadriel says nothing but stands and looks up at You and marvels -- with a capital 'M'. Slowly, a smile crests his expression, eases over his cherubic mouth and tugs it like a meandering comet.
     "It is... also for that reason that I have come. Mindful of My Task, ever-mindful, I have spent many hours in Contemplation and Seclusion over the past earth year. I have waited. When this," the artifact, "...manifested, I knew its purpose -- and mine -- immediately. I have come to ask Your permission to secure this in good keeping, in the only place it truly belongs, My Master. Not upon my tiny little ship, not tucked into the relative safety of volcanic niches, though I have taken what I believe I need for now to perform my work."
     Pausing, Galadriel looks to the box in his hands a moment. At length, he tips his head back, showing his glittery, Brilliance-touched face to you. "I have come to seek permission to enter the Celestial Realm, despite my banishment, that I might secure this in the Citadel of Broken Hearts," the euphemism for Love's empty citadel. "I would also like permission to enter the Citadel of Broken Dreams," the Traitor's citadel.
     He's asking to visit the Citadel of the Lightbringer. And Andrealphus.
     It is purely a symbolic gesture, but it is at the heart of his task. To reach out to those who have lost their way, who have been forgotten, who have warred, who have struggled and who have Fallen. Even as he nearly did. The artifact will remain there, the dust taken from it when needed. When what he has on earth and in his pocket runs out. That should be a while.
     Galadriel bows his head. "I can think of no better, no safer place for this Gift than in the hands of Love. I know it is much, my request." Starlight eyes look to you and Galadriel smiles, though he is very solemn. "I have been... saving up..."

     All around, the Universe flows and ebbs, burns and cools. The elements that human observers call 'black holes' and 'dark matter' gobble and destroy. Gases swirl with all Light and all Darkness. In the midst of it all, Blandine remains manifest, occasionally blending Perfect in the Space surrounding him.
     "It needs no security where you seek."

     You are telling me 'No'...
     Galadriel looks to you, his eyes ascant slightly -- as deference is due to the Lord, and are you not a manifestation of God? And God is telling me No. "Though I fear my little ship is too small for so great a thing, I will keep it with me by your grace." He nods simply.
     For the briefest moments, there is Thought. But a question goes unasked, truly unformulated. It only gathers a hint of cosmic dust before it is scattered...
     The gift is tucked securely within the folds of himself, as if inseparable. But this is not so. He knows he is not infallible. This cherub understands that he can fail, and in his failing, Fall. But... perhaps... how better to reach them, than when he himself is on the edge peering over at them.
     Galadriel smiles, the beam no less than before. "O Lord of Lords, it is good to see you. I was sitting in my little ship upon one of the rivers of the world. I thought, in a human way, of being homesick. I forgot that all I had to do was close my eyes," he teases.
     And he changes the subject...

     "Galadriel, honored Sentinel of the Dreams of Aspirations, Singer of Transition, Cherub of Dreams, Master of Dreams, favored of the Archangel of Brilliance..."
     Suddenly, before you, Blandine stands, in a form far more traditional. His dark hair flows over a robe of black, blue, and violet that swirls with all waves of a prism. If he has wings, it is hard to tell. But his features remain dusky, almost a mirror of your own angelic form on the corporeal plane.
      "...why do you continue to misunderstand me?"
     Must I be so...Apparent...even with you?
     "Why do you diminish yourself? Ask what it is you want, Galadriel, without deprecation and unnecessary convolution."
     "I do not bite."
     With that, the Archangel of Dreams smiles.

     "It is not your teeth I fear, Archangel..." He smiles a little. A look to you, an honest look of course, for how could it be otherwise, a glance to the tucked away treasure. You know of his fondness for treasure. You know him better than he knows himself.
     But then, God would... wouldn't He...
     "I did not realize, My Lord, that I was diminishing my voice. I asked the question I came to ask. By your words, I have my answer. The gift needs no such security where I was seeking to go. It doesn't need to go there," he speaks of the box. "But I do..."
     That is it, really. I do.
     "But I understand that, for one who is banished from Heaven, no matter how favored by such Faces of the Lord as Dreams and Brilliance, visiting the citadels of fallen angels may be in ... poor taste. I am what I am. I understand it. I cannot -- and will not -- speak for the rest of Heaven."
     Galaxy eyes turn to you, a direct look as you face him so directly. "I ... want to go to Heaven. Under guard if I must. Under watch if I must."

     "Ishrael will go with you," Blandine says, remaining a nose away. "When you Wish it." One of the Indestructibles as travelling companions, a Malakim rumored, as all rumors go, to be Blandine's Personal. Yet, Blandine continues to pine for Beleth and has no Other, as that rumor goes as well...
     The throne appears, and instantly, the Lord of Dreams sits upon it.
     "I understand Maresh," seraphim of knowledge of dreams, in service to Yves, "...is looking for you. Several are, here, in fact. Perhaps you will find time to spend with your Fellows in our Tower home."

     He remembers with Malakim were not just Indestructible but, to him, unfathomable as well. He remembers staring at them once, wondering. Wondering. What must it be like to be the embodiment of God's Law. And then he fell in love with one.
     Indestructible...
     Unfathomable...
      Impossible...
     Inseparable...
     "I will stay here for a Time before returning to earth," Galadriel quietly confirms. "I will see them all and ... You... as much as can before I have to return." There is something he must do there. That he can only do there.
     Spectral wings in the gradient and interchanging colors of light through a prism move and waver in the air behind him as you take a seat. He is getting ready for his dismissal. A little of Galadriel -- as he very well knows -- goes a long way.
     "Master..."
     A question is paused upon the air. Weightless, hovering suspended for a moment, it nearly takes its own form, a quasar of a question, blipping on and off. "I apologize for being ... dense and obtuse..."
     Maybe its all that clay of earth...
     Maybe that is just what happens when one smacks against the hard surface of Law and bounces back up. Most, as you know, stayed down for the count.

     "You are neither, Galadriel..."
     "...you have Changed. And now you know that One thing can mean Many. And that We...are not always correct."
     Blandine stares from his Seat, seemingly immutable. "You Know. Once, you did not. And my Words were pinpricks of Light, Perfect."
     "Things Now Change."
     And it is no small part due to you and your Brilliance.

     "Then why do I continue to misunderstand you...?"
     Once, when you spoke, I understood it all -- and all its variants. It was tetrahexagonal. It was, sometimes, one-hundred-sided and oblique, but I would smile and have no trouble turning the essence of what you said into a recognizable form for action. It was a game we played, you and I...
     Only...
     Now I seem to be without my catcher's mit. And you are still throwing the fastball curving sliders better than Old Christie.
     Or maybe it's just that once you get beaned in the noggin by a pitch from the Almighty, you are too cautious to be a good catcher.
     Something has Changed. Me. You. Everything. "I do not like not understanding," Galadriel says, mouth upturning a little, but his eyes sparkle with the comets that on earth would be tears, "Brilliance seems to understand more," lips curl ribald as once they used to, "...and I seem to understand less. It makes being a Beacon rather challenging." And then he laughs.
     Sweet laughter. As laughter is always sweetest when backed by tears.
     You are right," he whispers. "Nothing is as it was... anymore..."

     "And you have Brilliance..."
     "Is it not a change for the better?"

     "Yes, it is..." There is the twitch of his mouth, the sweeping of nebula-colored wings. "It is for the better. I feel it is so. But my mind... sometimes... I feel, O Lord, that I grasp to understand, even by these wingtips and finger tips, and sometimes I miss. When I miss, I am disappointed."
     Galadriel stops suddenly and grins, waggling his brows.
     "Are all your servants this way, O Lord? And to think I once envied you because you had the best robe and throne in all of Heaven." He straightens, he smiles. He wishes his had his standard here to lean his nonsubstantial weight upon.
     "I have given you enough headaches for the Day That Is Not Day and the Night That Does Not End."

     "Do not be disappointed, Sentinel," Blandine says, the air laden with the prescience of his intent. Your dismissal is imminent.
     "And no, Galadriel, your ubiquity is one of the charms of the Marches. I do not tire of it." There is almost the cosmic breeze of a smile again.

     Galadriel bends his head. And for a moment and a moment and Moment Itself, he is silent. He feels you. He hears the stars that salute him.
     "I love you, O Lord," he whispers in the sing-song, chiming way of haphazardly struck but sweet bells. Isn't that his nature? "There is no love higher than that of my devotion to you, O Lord."
     Galadriel raises his head, he smiles. "I will see you again many times before I return to earth. Next time, less moaning, My Lord, and more singing. Let me... sing for you. It has been too long."
     He waits for his dismissal. Usually, it's a matter of your dissolving into the universe. He will miss you, even though he knows you have not gone. Where are you to go? Are you not Everywhere?
      And you call him ubiquitous...

     "I wait then," Blandine says, all-too-real as he sits upon his throne, arms extended along each of the streams of light that form the seat's edges.
     His head tilts back, star-eyes closing. Soon Blandine, Archangel of Dreams, goes still, one with, and barely visible, in the Throne of the Universe.

Posted by rowan at October 06, 2003 11:44 PM