Though there are no marks of Day or Light, Morning or Evening, Hours or Minutes, there is a certain... daily kind of routine, a rhythm through which those in this Tower, and those in any other tower in any other part of Heaven, perform their duties and mark their accomplishments. Those of Dreams are no less concerned with productivity than Mark's group might be. Though their routines are more metaphorical, it does not mean they do not have them.
Galadriel's recuperation has its own schedule. Before, it amounted to a great deal of floating and resting, answering questions from his own Choir and those of others. Not inquisition, mind you, but the preparation for such. But he is strengthening. Slowly but surely, he is improving. He fills his days now by taking occasional (albeit very slow) walks from the Chamber of Aspirations to the Garden of the Five Elements, to speak with others, to be involved socially, to enjoy the dreams of flowers (yes, even they dream) in the garden.
The Sentinel is recently returned from one such sojourn, his attendants with him. It takes much out of him to do this, but it builds strength as much as it may sap it. Putting finger and thumb to the corners of his mouth, Kit gives a whistle, and one of the floating carpets swoops down. Like a cowboy calling his horse, in the old movies...
The paths of the Lord may be made straight by the toil of the earnest labour of the virtuous. That could be a password, if passwords were needed here; but here, the only credential is Song, and the Harmony or lack thereof significant unto the day.
It is with this that motion is procured; and, truly, Madian is never at rest. He is one of those for whom movement is eternal and even in forgiveness there is no respite, and forgiveness is something withheld, from himself to himself, from others to himself... from himself to others? Perhaps.
He is approaching, now, his movements as rapid as ever so that he advances and then must wait, impatient, for his accompaniment - like a child at an amusement park with a slower, aged parent, perhaps, or merely a restless dog out for walkies. Neither simile would amuse him. He is too earnest.
Are we there yet? Can we do this now? Will I succeed?
Who knows...
Lord willing, may I succeed...
Ishrael, the Prime Indestructible, moves with such ease along the corridor that it may seem he is on autopilot. There is no need to look where he goes or even to choose directions. His motions happen. The Malakim's dusty form drifts through the garden - is he talking the long route - arriving when he arrives with his charge to the chamber. His instructions are clear, and as Malakim wont, so does Ishrael. Inscrutable.
"Sentinel," his voice finally comes to announce himself. We have arrived.
The Sentinel still stands, not yet aboard the magic carpet, his attention turning to the arriving Indestructible and ...other. He is changed since his visitation with his lover, the Archangel of Brilliance. It does not have to be gossiped; it is in all things most evident.
His dusky blue face is dusted with stardust and dream dust, further highlighted by the corona of star brightness behind his head. His strong Cherubic figure is wrapped loosely in flowing garments of blue, trailing out into stars where it meets the floor. His feet are bare, decorated in the mendi style of adornment in blue violet lotus oil. He is beautiful. Fragrant. And loved.
Yes, he is very much touched by Love...
His ringlet curls of silver bob as he nods his head. His hands fold in front of himself and with a placid face Kit looks to the Prime Indestructible and the Guest. "Do you mind if I sit?" He expects not. He turns to sit cross-legged upon the carpet.
The Guest. The Guest is in his way, an awkward presence upon the carpet. And he is, of all things (as he always is and has been) literal-minded. "It is not my place to mind. I offer no objection."
He is restless. Now is the hour and moment of his obedience. The fear of failure ...
Enough. There is not time for this, there is never time for Doubt (though for one who moves so fast there it takes no time at all) there is only time for obedience and obedience commands action. Now. Here. The present. Time...
"If you are tired by this, inform me," Madian begins, wrapping himself in himself as he regards Kit blankly. "I will cease my questioning then until we may begin again. If you are so willing. Of course." There is no hostility to be felt. Yet. He is absorbed in his own concerns, ordering and reordering that which he must discover - too busy to examine his own feelings.
"I am to discuss with you the recent events which have transpired," Madian begins, "and try to glean from you a comprehension. To know what has occurred, first - and proceed from there." He turns. He examines the Malakite with that same blankness. "You," he must be joking, "have no objections?"
The Malakim's regard stays as always. "It is not my place to object. If our Master has concerns, I am certain that they will be raised at the appropriate time," he explains. To that end, the Malakim rises from the floor, taking up a position away from the proceedings directly, behind the guest's left shoulder. Over the guest, he might see the Sentinel, for whom is all he appears to have any real worry or concern. Certainly, in the Symphony, everyone has its part to play...
"I will be happy to answer whatever I may," Kit says as he sits upon the carpet, settling there. The robe that ends in stars becomes a trailing comet in his movement, then swirls around his now hidden feet in a spiral galaxy.
"First, if I might have your name. It feels more like a discussion and less like an interrogation if I know who you are. And... I will be sure to tell you when I tire." Silver eyes sparkle with sudden meteor fire. Kit smiles a little. "As Ishrael well knows."
His hands settle in the center of his lap as he looks at his new guest and waits for answers to his questions.
Names? Names are inconsequential, surely. What difference does it make, who I am?
But it would not do to be rude. "I am Madian." There. That is done. "Tell me how it began, if you would. In your own words. How did things ... come about ... and why?"
It is simple, each question. The answers - not so very. Madian remains where he is. Resisting the urge to pace, as best he can. It is difficult...
There's nothing from the Prime Indestructible when his most-used name is mentioned. Ishrael looks to Madian as his question's asked.
"Madian," Galadriel repeats. He nods his head. He expects you were introduced by your Superior. Whomever that might be. "I became aware of ... an aspiration... very distant, but in my Song... I felt it. I reached out for it. I ... was trying to lead it to me so that I might discover it more. That I might help it To Be... that is my whole self and purpose."
"It remained faint," he continues, and I worked very diligently to be a beacon. There was a point at which," his face contracts in his concentration, "...that this Aspiration... exploded on the Marches. It wished to atone for what it had done. This aspiration was for ... redemption, for forgiveness. And ... to me," his face relaxes, softens, "... I understand this aspiration, for I have most recently shared it."
The cherub looks to Madian. "When Andrealphus made himself known to me... I reached for him. He held out a hand of his hope, his aspiration, and I... who Am Aspiration... could do no more than help him. I called to him. I sang: You have called my name, I am here. Come to me...and have your answer..."
It is most strange. Is it to be believed? Perhaps. But it is incomplete. But how does one crack this nut? How does one get away from the shell and into the meat? It is frustrating.
Why can I not be asked simpler tasks...
My place is not to ask why, but to question how...
"What passed between you? What did he say - what communications beyond this reaching?" There is no expression behind the words - if there is urgency, then it is the urgency of the Orfanite's being. They cannot stay still. Even now, he rolls himself restlessly, very slightly, as from one foot to the other before holding himself still, with a shudder.
Quick, glancing motions, attention never diverted but nonetheless never still. He strains at his own lead, self-installed though they are. "It may prove," he continues doggedly, though his voice is quiet, "important. To understand how this has come to pass. To know - to ensure there is no snare. For you or another."
Inwards, he grits his teeth. I do not coax. I am not honeyed. I am not made for this, but I do what I may. Pray it will be enough, good enough. "Please, go on."
There is a silver glance for the Prime Indestructible, but the cherub continues on with his story. "When I ... discovered it was Andrealphus ... naturally I was nervous. But an aspiration is an Aspiration. Had it been Lucifer himself, I could have reached no less. I journeyed to meet him. I sang out to those on the Marches... the old gods and goddesses who dwell there and who are favorable to my Mistress' Realm to assist me, to clear the way for me, wherever possible. And to reach him, so that we might meet. The Far Marches are a wild place. Even the middle Marches should not be attempted by most servants. But I am... not most servants..."
There is a quick if archaic smile for that. No, no... Galadriel is quite his own being. Some say, fortunately the mold broke with him. "I attuned myself to him. I used my Song as a bridge upon which I could cross to reach him. It is the Song of Transitions, of making a dream transition from Possible to Actual. When I reached him... he spoke of his deep desire to return to His Creator's Bosom. He spoke of his emptiness. His loneliness. He spoke to me of his struggles these years, so many he said. And he said that when he felt Love stir within him again, it was when Archangel of Brilliance ascended from our love."
His first crime. You may well recall this.
"I... as a former outcast, even in the lower-case variety, sympathized with his pain. And his Aspiration was true. Is true. Love wished to return. And I, attuned to him, worked to make it happen, to the best of my abilities."
The Prime Indestructible keeps his relaxed posture, only turning to see each of the two parties when he speaks. On an occasion, he seems to shimmer slightly, but no change in his expression follows. He is interested in what's transpiring, and his attention seems to be given fully to the conversation at hand, even if he is a silent participant.
Lucifer himself?
No, no, that - mere words cannot express the wrongness of this notion. He cannot contemplate it; his brain glances off of the notion and shudders off into a different direction, hitting the bumper and spinning off for a minute into oblivion. Briefly, Madian pauses - momentarily, he is absolutely still. It's probably a wonder that he doesn't fall over without his momentum to keep him stable.
"You attuned to the Outcast," Madian says dryly, with only that momentary pause to signal his surprise, "and you spoke to him. What did you do, firstly, to make this happen - to, as you say, the best of your abilities?"
If he were human, if he were mortal, Madian's mantra right now would be Don't fuck this one up. As it is, he affixes that blank regard upon Kit again - his Nemesis, or so he is told. There is the faintest tremor of scarlet and gold through the wheel, but he is still - as still as usual, but no more still than that.
"He wished to return. To what purpose, did he say? Tell me," Madian almost sighs, "everything..."
The shimmers seem to be going around. For a moment, that corona of silver starlight that backs his visage also shimmers, here and there as with the birth and death of stars. "I did ... attune myself to him. I am a cherub." It is what we do. "It is the way I have to keep him with me... me with him, to know things about him, his dreams, his aspirations, to be able to move within them more easily. To help us get from that dread place back to the Tower. For all must cross the Marches to come to Blandine's Tower if they wish reconciliation with God. That was the purpose of my attunement."
Part of the reason for the shimmer is his own wondering at what Madian means. "Everything is ... a lot. I will do my best. If I repeat too much or," he shakes his head, "...I will try not to repeat." He glances to the Prime Indestructible. "Andrealphus spoke to me. He said he wished to return to Heaven, to be forgiven by God, to seek redemption for his crimes, to heal himself, to not be absent from God anymore. And he said he was not alone. There were two others, he said. Two of his who would likewise be seeking such. Or so is his ardent belief."
Hands in his lap, Galadriel seems prayerful. "I felt in him a great deal of pain. A great deal of loneliness of the spirit, of his essence. His aspiration, which is the only matter upon which I may truly speak, was to Love again. He has begun to love, perhaps he has always loved but denied himself out of... feeling he failed us all. You shall have to get that from him... himself. But this his aspirations said, and so... yes... of course I helped him. I had to help him. And ... is that not what the War is truly about? Becoming One once again? Isn't that the Dream?" And his mandate as a cherub of Dreams.
"We did not have time to discuss without moving. We journeyed and we fought from the far Marches to the middle Marches, where Beleth sent her Aztec Army..."
At the question on the Dream, Ishrael nods stiffly, affirming the words. He gives a small smile to his Sentinel. "We are but helpers to the Dream. We go, as we Are." Each has his own word and role. Just a reminder, in case the visitor is unaware. Some have to get dirty, to do their jobs.
"I would focus on your experiences, Sentinel, as those may be most helpful. The actions of battle are part of the public record," Ishrael reminds, this time looking to Madian.
Yes, of course. Madian indicates his assent by a sharp motion. "Quite. The Record may be consulted for that - it is the personal experience and - what communications or experiences have not yet been entered... that must be examined."
Examined. Weighed. Measured. Cut and dried? If only it were that easy. But still...
Failure is never an option, is it? But he can feel success slipping from his grasp like silver sand through mortal fingers. "Tell me of your flight with him, of what he said and how you were moved - from the first flight to ... your arrival."
"There is so much in my memory," Galadriel says. "And so many questions that have been asked and answered. It is all running together." He closes his eyes and brings his folded hands to his lips, his heart-shaped face beaming behind him.
"We moved swiftly, using Songs to cross the distance. I moved us through dreamscapes. He, far more powerful than I, helped by lending essence. He said for me to think about Soldekai..." Galadriel opens his eyes then blushes. "Archangel of Brilliance," he corrects quietly. "My lover... that my love for him would help us, shield us, arm us."
Closing his eyes again. "I thought of him, and when we were set upon by the first group... sentries... demons of Nightmares, who later would tell Beleth where we were heading," how else would the Aztecs have known where to go, "... those thoughts powered me, emboldened me, became the only sword and shield I would ever need."
"Andrealphus was there with me, helping me, protecting me as we moved from far to middle marches, crossing plains where Nightmares held sway to others where My Mistress' influence helped to shield us." A silver line of illuminated dream dust moves downward over his cheek, an ethereal tear.
Ishrael listens quietly again, as if he has not heard this story before. However, that is unlikely.
"I am sure. I do not intend to make this more painful for you than must be." Madian says it as if he means it - and he does mean it. Pain can come later, right? No. "I just wish to arrive at Truth. From your own Perspective," as befits his own calling, "for now."
He shifts position again, as if to wheel up tracks in the dust, then is still (as still as ever he can be). "How did Andrealphus protect you? What actions did he take, what words did he speak?" What, in short, transpired, that can be picked at and apart.
Galadriel does not wipe the trail of dreamdust, but bears it with as much honor as he does the corona that now backs his head. "It is not painful, but I appreciate your concern, Madian." He nods gently, opening his eyes as his hands fold together in his lap.
"Andrealphus used my love of ... the Archangel to fuel his Songs, to rebuff those of Nightmares and other... elements of the far marches, chaotic elements as we traveled. He spoke of Love's endurance. Of Love's strength. Of its ability to reach those that believed they were long ago forgotten. Always he spoke of Love, of God's Love. He said: I fear nothing, for I know the Love of God. I fear nothing. We sang it together."
There is a break in the story for a few moments. Perhaps he is showing his wear? Or perhaps in his memory there is a moment of remembered weariness. "He used a variety of Songs... some of which I...didn't remember, maybe I have never heard them. Some of them may have been diabolic in nature. I do not know. You would have to speak to him of that. All I know is that I had more power with which to help him, to use in my own combat...Dreams to Nightmares...with his assistance. I am strong enough in my own right, but there were more than a few we had to contend with at first. That few, of course, became a multitude." He frowns. "A raining multitude..."
His body moves, a moment of graceful flailing as he seeks to make himself comfortable with the return of such thoughts. "There were too many soon," Galadriel whispers. "Too many for both of us to hold off. Though... we tried, we tried. I used all of my arsenal, everything I knew, even if only remotely. To protect ourselves from them. Everything I could recall from my earliest memories to most recent Songs. I fear nothing we shouted it at them. We fear nothing. And then... we were weakening. They were too many for us, a myriad against two. Andrealphus grabbed my hand, he pulled me to him... shielding me with his own form as they descended upon us and he shouted: Say his name, say his name, call him. And so... I did ... with everything I had... I called Soldekai." He doesn't correct himself this time. His form jerking, he shifts on the carpet again. "I thought we were going to die. As I... called for Soldekai, Andrealphus kept singing: we have nothing to fear, for we are the Love of God."
Ishrael takes stock of the situation by moving around slightly. Having his Sentinel upset is not in the game plan. Granted, it has been some time since his return and allowance by Blandine for visitors. And even though Ishrael was aware this time would come, he remains protective of the leeway given by his Master today.
"Sentinel," the Prime Indestructible asks, "...is there anything We can get for you?"
"One more question."
Madian focuses his attention on the two rather than the one - as if ensuring that there is yet that space. It is not a desperate move - at least, not externally. Internally, no doubt he is in a churn of thoughts. What is he to say? What is he to do? When he makes his report - what then?
How can he redeem himself? It is hopeless...
"You say that he shielded you," Madian says slowly, "and that he pulled you to him, and in that moment, he commanded you to call upon your Mistress. And as you did so, he continued to sing - were the two of you in harmony at that moment?"
Harmony... or harmony...
Perhaps he means one. Perhaps he means the other. Perhaps there is something more to it than it seems. Perhaps there is not - perhaps he is as desperate as any drowning man.
Or ...
Perhaps not. He waits... hovering upon the response.
"No," Galadriel assures softly, gathering his stardusted wings to himself again. It is a protective posture. Peeking out between the feathers, the cherub whispers. "No... I am fine. I will be fine. I am fine to continue," he insists after another moment, his wings stretching strongly and then lying at ease.
"Yes... he shielded me. I called not to my Mistress... no...but to my lover. The Archangel of Brilliance. Perhaps I should have called my Mistress too," he blushes at that. "But there was not time to think. I called Soldekai, I called for my lover. And Love covered me. It filled me. And ...yes... Andrealphus and I... we were attuned then." They are not now, of course. "We were in harmony... but...I do not know what else you may mean by that, Madian. Could you...clarify? I want to answer you correctly."
He glances to Ishrael and mouths the angelic words for Thank you, Protector, as he waits for Madian's clarification.
Ishrael nods, letting Madian's last questions stand.
"You have answered me adequately. The answer you gave is complete." Madian bobs once, then straightens, alert. He regards the cherub and the protector briefly, one and then the other, and then backs away a step.
"I have no other questions. I shall take my leave, if that is acceptable..."
Galadriel nods and begins to settle upon the carpet once more, this time to recline. "I thank you, Madian." He rests his heart-shaped face upon his hands. "And you, as well, Prime Indestructible. As ever." He closes his eyes by way of bowing.
But he does seem tired. It does not take much to make the cherub weary. Speaking of battles, or at least these battles, seems to take the wind right out of him. "I...hope this has given you what you need..."
And has not damned me...naturally...
it seems the Sentinel is done. Ishrael says, "I will escort you," to Madian. "Thank you for your visit. I shall let our Master know what has transpired," he offers, floating towards the opening back to the gardens. "When you or others of the courts are prepared, please do let me know."
Madian signals his assent. "As The Will decrees." He has nothing else to add. There is no signal, nothing to indicate pleasure or displeasure, anger or gloating or - any emotion whatsoever. Brisk. Businesslike.
Almost eager to depart...
Posted by rowan at July 16, 2005 01:14 PM
