It has been years...
     In mortal reckoning, nearly four...
     Such Time as Heaven keeps, worlds have come and gone, comets have streaked the heavens of several earths, and the great gears of the Symphony have played on. The divine Music Box, forever turning, God's fingers on the turning crank...
     He lingered for a while in his own chamber here, the Chamber of Aspirations, with its floating carpets and hovering tapestries lifting to the rounded summit of a basilica. He thought about the symbol and the request. And, more than this, what it meant for him to return to Heaven.
     What does it mean for one whose home is on The Marches to go to the Celestial Realm? Before he was forbidden to enter it, it meant little. It was just another Place Where God's Face and Love Were Evident. But it competed with The Marches, even competed with Earth.
     But for an Outcast, however tolerated, what does it mean. What does it mean to be able to enter Heaven again? Maybe it's as meaningless. Heaven is a place, but it is less place than State. Still... for symbolism's sake...
     Galadriel of the multi-hued wings steps softly within the corridors of Dreams. But how could he ever enter quietly. For is he not Heralded even as he once Heralded others? "Ishrael," his orisons to the malakim begin upon the heels of stars bidding him greeting and comets chiming ice in his ears. "I am ready..."
     I am ready...
     What does it mean...

     Some find it startling, the first time they see the Malakim. Their dusky-outlined forms, filled in with the greyness of ash. The shapes of men, but nothing like them. Minutely of the same essence as they, given from the Divine. Upon their translucent forms, already of shadow, are words angelic etched, a brilliant darkness that may be read.

     I Am Indestructible.
     I Am The Keeper of Dreams. The Dream Is All. The Dream Must Survive.
     I Am The Strength of Dreams.
     I Am Constant.
     Never Suffer The Dreamless To Remain.
     This shadowy figure, in other ways indentical to his brethren, turns about, rising above the bookshelves to an open space in the room. In addition to his form, there is a bluish mark scrawled at his right breast, a gleam of Blandine's symbolic self. On his left breast, another angelic script in white light, of angles and moving parts. The script is not so much an word, but speaks a meaning: 'universal motion'.
     Ishrael, the Prime Indestructible, Malakite Master of Dreams and Dream Sword of Laurence, gives a nod of his dusky head, his arms folding behind his back.
     "It is good to see you again, Sentinel," Ishrael thinks, knowing the powers of the plane and his master's Tower. "You look well. I am glad to have Rumor substantiated."

     The Prime Indestructible, Malakite Master of Dreams and Dream Sword of Laurence is an awe-inspiring site. Indestructibility and Volatility sharing the same space is also amazing in its way. Galadriel does so try not to gape...
     Instead he simply stares for a moment...
     When I thought I was Falling, would I have felt your hand at my back, Ishrael...
     Galadriel blinks, his universal eyes with their midnights and silver stars and comets of Brilliance shining, galaxies swirling, thinks (to say): "Ishrael," and he even bows his head in greeting, "It has been a While and Then Some. I am glad to be well." And he smiles. The Old Kit would have asked about Rumors, tickled to hear them, but no longer. He merely accepts the compliment. "The story is a good one," now, "... if you dream it, you can become it."
     Even forgiven...
     The Dream survives, does it not? Is that not what this is?
     The symbol is not the Dust but himself. The outcast making his own journey of a thousand-and-one steps back to the steps of Heaven. "I wish to make my journey, years in the making, and still it will be years before it is Done," redemption complete. "I could not have better escort..."

     "You're kind," Ishrael smiles, looking you over. He's glad to see you himself. "And you are right," he affirms, "...if you Dream it, it can Be. I am glad to know...that you Know."
     Maybe, once, he was not so far away from you, Galadriel. But if that is so, the Prime Indestructible will not speak of it.
     A turn aside, the angel seems to indicate, 'your lead.'

     Was it your hand that I felt on the back of my mortal shirt as I stood upon the ledge? Were you with me that night with Fra Spero when I thought that I had already Fallen? When I felt myself wobble, but I did not Fall, was your hand there?
     You give him the lead and for a moment Galadriel looks slightly terrified. Do I even remember how to get there? But he bolsters himself quickly, a little girding, and then he speaks the Song of Transitions, whispers the angelic chiming, sweet cherubic, and with several motions creates the Sentinel's sigil. It is multi-hued as are his wings and it shows the effects of Brilliance every bit as much as his Self does. The sigil has a portion of Soldekai's within it.
     He steps through it...

     ... It will only carry you to the edge of this side of The Marches. He is allowed no farther on his own. There he waits for you, his illuminated wings of ever-transitioning colors and Brilliance stretching outward. He hovers, he waits.

     Ahead the Citadel of Fire stands. The first bastion of the Celestial Realms. There, Gabriel's Flames forever burn, despite her absence. A veritable host flows in and out of the spires and archways, still diligently doing the Archangel's work. Across the rise, an expanse away, the space yields to great fields. The campus of Michael, forever filled with practice and struggles. Other spires rise in the great eternal city, leading to other Archangelic grounds and Heavenly buildings.

     "There is no barrier," Ishrael says, looking over the Heaven he knows so well. "Go ahead," he offers, waiting for a step to be taken.

     He hovers there for a time, looking upon the expanse of Heaven, the distant view of Heaven, a thing which he has not seen in some time. He had taken it for granted once. He would sail in Once Every Great While, drink manna with a group of cherubim and play dice. The Malakim were almost mythological to him. He knew many -- he is an old cherub. But they were so strange to him. His opposites in many ways. Urfiel and another one of Gabriel's ... what was his name... oh yes, Soldekai, her Chamberlain.
     He would always go with a flippant word and a casual wave over his shoulders as he'd take off for The Marches again, never giving Heaven 'the place' a second thought, no matter how constant Heaven 'the idea' was forefront in his mind.
     And now it is here, and he is here, and the way before him is clear. Galadriel looks to Ishrael and he nods, the smile is a little wan -- but not for Sorrow's sake. Simply in recognition of a much changed Present.
     Waves of spectral light, like the solar flare northern lights over the north hemisphere of Earth, move over Heaven as he flies in. The Forgiven Outcast. What can we not learn from our past? What can we not learn from our mistakes? We can learn to change. Even we can learn to change.
     And to dream...
     Galadriel glances back to Ishrael as he enters Heaven's airspace. Past the Citadel of Fire. The Citadel where Soldekai once held court for his missing Mistress. He smiles as he passes it, and as he passes Michael's Campus Marti. His eyes search out for the empty buildings, the forgotten citadels, the places where hearts rest, broken.

     Not so difficult, really?
     Ishrael lifts and suddenly takes up a position, much like an escort. He avoids blocking any view or inserting his presence into the reacquaintance. A few angels, moving to and fro, look over and whisper, eventually waving at the two moving by.
     As with all formations, there's radio silence.

     There is no Citadel yet for Brilliance. Perhaps there never will be. But is there a brighter, more Brilliant plane of Heaven? Is he here? The dusky creature goes a roseate violet as he keeps his thoughts of his lover to himself. "Look," he says to Ishrael, smiling, "...you have a fan club..."
     Long sweeps of color stretch against the sky. He is sunrise and sunset and every spectrum of color in between. Galadriel stops looking for his boyfriend -- ah! another blush -- and returns to the matter at hand...
     Buzzing over the Holy Populace and looking for the Ruins of once great citadels.
     "Ishrael," chiming sounds your name, "...I don't remember where they are... the Citadel of the Broken Heart ... and the Citadel of Lost Dreams..." Andrealphus and Lucifer.
     And Heaven is a bright, glorious, confusingling colorful, overstimulating vista...

     If he was mind-reading, there's no evidence of it. Ishrael floats downward, coming into viewing periphery. There's a simple acknowledgement of the fly-bys, an almost salute, but then Ishrael spins over to look at his charge.
     "Where would you like to go first?" Ishrael asks. "I am to take you wherever you wish. That of Love, is closer..." he explains.

     As for Brilliance, he is in residence. His space, towards the other side of Heaven, remains unfinished. But even from this side, there is a gleam and ripple indicating a shift in perception in that general direction.

     Had we all forgotten? Surely over the past millennia angels had continued to love and be loved. But it seemed to be sleeping, Love. Sleeping or forgotten for a while in the distraction of war, duty and politics. And then a marine took off his hat in a pub and Love was Everywhere.
     "Love," Galadriel says. The answer is an easy one. "I wish to go there first." A pause. "Maybe after I have been to both, I will be able to pay a visit to Brilliance? I can see Him from here," he gestures that way, to a ripple and gleam.
     How could I return to Heaven and not pay a visit to Soldekai?
     "Amazing..." he says, he waves to others as he passes them by, and he looks to you, letting you take the lead. You know where you're going afterall...

     A nod, and the Prime Indestructible makes himself more visible by dropping into the field of view. Suddenly, he angles to the right, taking a path that moves close to the Great Machine of Jean, towards the palace once inhabited by the Archangel of Love.
     The gardens are first visible. Cared for by servants of Novalis, the hanging terraces and secluded grottos remain in immaculate condition. A few servitors of Love can be seen walking about the vast greens, still doing the work that they can. They look up, seeing the aura and standard of the Prime Indestructible, and some point when they see who accompanies him.

     The grotto from which some of the most longing-filled songs to ever be voiced were sung, where songs of love were invented once by a glorious being named Pharzuph. Seeing the grotto, the hanging gardens, reminds him...
     ... He barely remembers Andrealphus. He can remember how he was more than what he looked like. Galadriel was so young then, so new, crafting dreams for angels before angels forgot to dream, pushing floating petals of multi-hued flowers from Novalis down the many waterfalls. Water that was not Water; Flowers that were more than Flowers.
     There is vibrance, Brilliance when it is given a Dream of colors, as Galadriel wings his way to the Citadel. The angels come into sight. Those who remained still so tenderly caring. That is their way, yes?
     That is the way...

     It's a thin glass twisting and twining that forms the shape of the Palace. A gentle creation of clarity, rising in the middle of lushness. The glass seems to rise and fall in haphazard patterns, sometimes diving downward to disappear into canopies of green. A maze, truly, where tinkling glass and fertile gardens are more joined than disparate.
     At one of the glass openings, layered with a trellis of purple and violet floweres, someone stands. Mizrath, his snake-shape coming into view, blinks all of his seven eyes. A Seraph, he remains as one of the caretakers of the abandoned citadel.

     Galadriel slows as they approach the citadel, and as the seraph comes more into view. There is a glance to Ishrael, as if gauging whether the Malakim will address the seraph on his behalf. But then he moves forward, descending toward the glass opening.
     "My name is Galadriel," he says, not recognizing the seraph there, "... Sentinel of Aspirations, Cherub of Dreams..." First things first, an introduction.
     He waits to see what Ishrael shall or shall not do, and what Mizrath shall or shall not say...

     Ishrael lands a few feet back, returning to his non-intrusive stance. He looks around at the space, perhaps not having been here for a while as well.

     "I am Mizrath," no titles offered, no honors, no Superior, no role. He Is. Mizrath gives an appraising look at the Prime Indestructible, then says to Galadriel, "I have not seen you here before." A Truth if there was one.

     Nearby, a few mortals are being given a tour. Once the Prime Indestructible turns to look, the leading angel, a Seraph of Michael, bobs his head and scoots the mortals in another direction.

     "Hello, Mizrath," Galadriel says quietly. "It has been a long time since I have been here. And too long since I have come to walk its halls. I would like to be able to ... wander it again for a while. To linger and to think. For what do we not owe Love? That is," he bows his head, he does not look like a regular cherub, that is not the typical celestial bestiary that is the cherubic choir, "... if you do not mind..."
     Galaxy eyes look to the Seraph of Michael, to the mortals in tow, and to their exit. Swirling Milky Way's and Andromeda galaxies spin in his every look. From Ishrael finally to Mizrath again. "It is Love that brings me here," Love that is everywhere evident on him if you know the story of it that is. Of what he was before and what Love has made him.

     "We cannot let wanderers," Mizrath says, his eyes blinking as he hovers. Three glance at the departing tour, as three remain fixed on the visitor, and one on the Prime Indestructible.
     Mizrath's tail relaxes.
     "I will let you, for a moment. Most visit the gardens," Mizrath states, although he does not seem to conscribe this visit to such rules.

     Galadriel smiles, and Brilliance moves over his countenance, from his eyes to his stardusted features. "A moment will be more than enough. You are very kind, Mizrath, and I thank you for your allowance."
     He bows his head to the seraph and then glances over to Ishrael, the Prime Indestructible. And thank you, Ishrael, for your allowance.
     Permission sought and permission granted, Galadriel tucks his wings against his back, folding the colors onto themselves to create a glimmer iridescent, like the refraction and reflection of light from the gaseous colors of nebula. He waits for a final dismissal from the Seraph of Love -- the citadel is Mizrath's to keep at the moment, and therefore Mizrath's dismissal to give...

     Mizrath floats away, seeming to head towards the gardens. He lifts and slithers off, small wings carrying him quickly off into the distance.

     Ishrael watches the Seraph leave, then moves to take a spot near where the departed Seraph stood. He seems to make no motion to enter, but to take Mizrath's spot, in case others would wander inside.

     And the colorful cherub drifts downward, solitary, to one of the grottos in this great maze of glass and gardens, the best of what would become Venetian palazzi and their hidden, grotto gardens millennia later...
     Who but God was to know what would happen here...
     Who but God was to realize the second coming of this Citadel on earth...
     Who but God was to know that this very cherub would not only wander through Venice but the Citadel that was one of its inspirations...
     With Love in his heart...
     And redemption on his mind...

Posted by rowan at November 11, 2003 10:43 AM