"Was that before or after the Song of Transitions..."
     The questions. Like the bells they have tolled, tolled, tolled. It is only the beginning. He knows this. He has been in a similar place before. A throbbing headache. A thousand and one questions. In the end, Dominic. A dusky, twilight hand lifts and brushes against his Brilliant-cast face, the once dusky face altered again to bear the evidence of his ... associations with the other Archangel in a constellation, a beaming from his own eyes and face.
     Galadriel turns his head, exhaling with the floating downward of a carpet. "The Song is constant," his reply is soft, his words are slow. It takes energy you know. Energy he is pooling, only slowly. When he arrived and fell at Ishrael's feet, bearing up the prince who likewise bore him, he had nothing left. He was almost a figment of Dominic's imagination.
     If Dominic had an imagination...
     His hair has gone to shining light, as have his multicolored wings. But the light is dim, yet. "I felt something... I don't remember what made me turn...I don't remember. But I remember I opened my mouth and the Song was like a beacon. I ...called out with it, reached out with it, and moved toward it..."
     "And you didn't know who it was..."
     "No..."
     "And what aid, specifically, did you offer..."
     Galadriel exhales again, closing his eyes and frowning. He is resistant to questioning. It is not helping. Understandable, but not helping. Not when the questions are the same questions. Over and over. "I attuned myself to his aspiration for redemption... as I believe it is my charge to do." Testy-testy...

     From nowhere, a voice comes.
     "It is your charge. Orithiel, I believe it is time for a pause."
     A slight breeze wafts about the chamber, and in the light above, Ishrael appears, far better than his last arrival.
     "I will let you know when you may continue with the Sentinel."
     Dusky Malakite, Ishrael lowers into the chamber, filling it.

     Orithiel couldn't agree more. Even if he hadn't been ordered by the Indestructible to do so. "Of course." There is a look for the lounging Sentinel. He meant no offense. But the questions are the questions.
     "Thank you," Galadriel murmurs. He closes his eyes for a moment of peace, but then opens and looks to you. Galaxy eyes are not as resplendent as they shall be again. He is there, certainly. Testy, very certainly. But it is not all of him. He is not all in his power.
     That shall take time....
     In between questioning...
     "I wish one telling of the story were sufficient. I know that this is the ...kinder... gentler... series of questioning. But I do not have patience for it. I should be more gracious," Galadriel thinks to say. "Any word of Soldekai... the Marches.... what is happening?" For someone so tired, and resistant to questioning, he asks a lot of questions...

     Ishrael lifts a hand to halt the questioning. "Patience is everything," he suggests, reminding gently. He floats for a moment in silence, giving a small smile.
     "You have endured much, Sentinel. I have come to give you my personal thanks and appreciation for what you have done." Something genial in the midst of all this. "I want you to remember this when times grow more difficult for you again."
     "As for the Marches," Ishrael explains, "...we make ground...in goodly parts. Uriel would be...thoughtful," Ishrael chooses, turning to see his current confidant. "Brilliance is...just that," he nods, "...right now, we could not ask for more."

     "I hear it's a virtue," Galadriel sighs. "I really should study my virtues." His movements are all very small, very slow. He is quiet, however, through your words. There is a purplish tone to the dusky-fleshed cherub. "I ... have done only what Our Dream wished. My Word was called and I answered. I must answer it, too. He said... reach out to those...who have forgotten... " In his weariness, his emotion is more on the surface. His hand waves. "...as you ...almost forgot. But God is good, and the Dream... is everything..."
     Can angels cry? Oh, if they could not, there would not be Mercy...
     They are brilliant, moving down his face like falling stars, slowly drifting comets down the heart-shaped face and dangling there like starlight off the edge of his chin. "I will remember, Ishrael. When it is most difficult... I will remember." And he knows that last time, as awful as it was, was probably simply a warmup to this. He is not so naive now.
     "I am ... glad he is here. It is ... our love... that reminded Love that he... was still here. He forgot," Kit nods, "... but he remembered. And remembering, could not stay..." He echoes what has been said before. But by ... higher notes of the symphony than him. And by Andrealphus himself.

     "That is the rumor that is being told," Ishrael nods, not indicating whether or not he puts much faith in rumors. "On that basis alone, you will see litany of Yves' Readers, who will want to ask many a question on this. It is...such Knowledge," he affirms. "There is much implied in your syllogism, if it is True."
     But he leaves that to others who question theology. Ishrael's arms fold behind his back. "How are you, in your essential self?" For the physical has little meaning. "Improving, I hope." Who else to minister to a dreamer, but another dreamer. "If they are not caring for you in their best fashion, you will let me know."

     "My well is not very deep. I feel..." His eyes peer, not outward but inward. "Shallow. Not empty," a little smile. "But ... I am drifting," he is on a flying carpet. Some drift is to be expected. "I am trying not to dream. To think even. A sabbatical of the mind. But I have not been very successful. There is... so much happening. And I am ... wondering what will happen."
     So he draws from his tank, even as he seeks to refill it...
     "I ... know ...this time I know that I did what was Right. That ...no matter what happens, or what form my story shall take, I acted as Aspiration would act. I did ... what I was meant to do. I will not be confused, as last time. My... heart... is in the right place. And I know now that ... politics... are a separate issue."
     Galadriel turns his face to you and he nods. "I shall let you know. I am ... a horrible patient, I am told. And ... I have no patience," a small quirk of a smile. "Somehow I think these things are related..."

     "It will take Time for that essential self to rebind appropriately. Take hope, as for many, Trauma often never is healed. You shall be more fortunate, I think," the angel suggests.
     "What might we help you with further?" Ishrael asks. "Is there anything that we may bring, or is your progression but for Time?"

     "I will hope...I have... gotten better at such things." He has his sense of humor. It is a good sign, even if it is quiet and slow. "I do not know, Ishrael. I do not know." He shakes his head. For a moment he closes his eyes. "If I am being true, and selfish," Galadriel realizes it is so but there is no self-chastisement. "I should like to have news ... that ... Brilliance... is victorious. In my heart of hearts, I should wish to see him."
     Galaxies turn to you as he does, "I think... Love... is what I need. Love and Time. But I will have to make time for questioning. And I must resolve myself to that, to my future." He drifts on the carpet, like the rise and fall of a chest in breathing. "I do not know what else, Ishrael. But I am inventive. And... with having no energy for anything else," the old smile threatens to return, "...I may be able to come up with something."
     A moment passes. "And Our Master... I want to look upon the Dream of God..." the tears come again. "He is pleased? Has He spoken with you?"

     "He has," Ishrael nods. "He is in meetings of His own, among Us and in Council. He is with those Dreaming, as We must protect them most diligently during this time. And there are those who work their diplomacy among the Others that He continues to direct. There is a Prince in His Tower. And where He can, there is support for Brilliance's efforts directly. And so, the Dream remains...Shared. But more so because you have shared it." You and the Archangel.
     "I will have someone send word of the events on the Marches," Ishrael makes a note. "And when Our Archangel may see you, it shall happen immediately. Know that He thinks of you, wishes you well, has the highest regard for you and for Brilliance, and will see you when He can."
     "As always," Ishrael grins, "...you bring a smile in his Thoughts."

     "When God made me, He broke the mold, and everyone was thankful," Galadriel smiles to your grin. "I wish there was more I could do... I wish... but... I know I have done what I ... can do. And now... I must rest. But I do not wish to rest." It is an internal argument he is having, but he shares it with you.
     "Thank you," Galadriel murmurs. "That will help me. It will be as if I was there... helping Him...helping them. I will want to have energy. It will make the briefings bearable." He smiles then. "Well... it will make them more bearable."
     He looks up at the ceiling. "I can imagine... no... I know how ... angry the other side is. And will continue to be. We are not in the middle, Ishrael, but in the Beginning. It is just beginning... whatever...is happening...in a larger sense..."
     Again, his attention is drawn to you. "If there is anything else I may do, you will tell me." Now he sounds like you...

     "I will," Ishrael nods. "But, if I understand things, and I cannot imagine that I do...you are right. You have done what you must do. You can only go on doing, and being, what you Are, Sentinel. I am sure, however, that you will aspire to more," Ishrael grins, knowing the tautology of the statement.
     "As for me, there is much for me to do, as you may well understand. I take my leave of you for now, Sentinel."

     "I understand, Defender of Dreams. Your place is out there. The Dream is All," Galadriel whispers. "I will be there in spirit." There is a quirk of a smile. "As it's all I have left." He would laugh, but that requires more than what he has to muster.
     "Thank you," he says finally. "For your words... and for your... protection. I am in good hands. The Marches shall be in good hands. Perhaps I should dream afterall..."
     Galadriel closes his eyes, he remains on his back, his dim wings draping downward. "Tell Orithiel that I am sorry ... I will be ready for more... later..."

     "I will let Orithiel know," Ishrael nods slowly. "But, you deserve your rest." The angel shall not return soon. "We shall care for the Marches," he affirms.

     "Yes..."
     Yes...
     He gets out the one word and then his eyes close again. He withdraws. To where? Not past this room, not past himself, not to the battles that rage but to reconstructing his energies. Galadriel deserves his rest. His rest is not a dreamless rest, nor is it one of dreaming. There is no thought, no thing.
     It is reflection. Silence. It is Prayer. He takes his position at the foot of the steps beneath the throne of God, where Uriel is said to dwell. For this time... he is with God...
     And where is God, if not Within?

Posted by rowan at January 30, 2005 10:12 PM