What is, after all, to be done? Nothing. Time is slipping away, and he is ever more conscious, acutely conscious, of how little time he has left. He stands looking out the window, though he sees nothing in the evening gloom of winter. Perhaps there is nothing to be seen, as much as there is nothing to be done.
     Tiernan turns from the window, kicking off his shoes with unusual reckless untidiness, pulling his shirt up over his head and off. He does not look at anyone or anything as he does so, wandering into the bathroom to splash water over his face, running a comb through the still-dark curls, the crescent marks on his skin gleaming in the dimness. He wonders if you will come to bed soon. He wonders if you will come to bed at all.
     But he doesn't say anything out loud. He feels the gulf, but he can't cross it. He can't tie the two sides of it together and pull. There's a chasm there which he knows you think that time will only widen; and he's powerless to answer you, one way or the other, because here is something that he just doesn't know.
     Tiernan splashes water on himself again, closing the tap and reaching for a towel, eyes closed as he rubs the soft cloth against his skin. I don't want Heaven. I don't want Hell. I just want to cease to exist altogether, and be out of it.

     As hopeless as it seems -- as hopeless, truly, as it is -- when you are near, he summons up every ounce of courage, every inch of will, and every atom of love to cross the gulf that exists (and will only get wider). And now that it is so near, there is a desperation in his movement whenever he approaches you.
     Two days -- now seconds mark your presence here, not years, not months. Forty-eight hours...
     Iowerth hasn't moved far from the bedroom all day, but there's very little evidence of how he's spent his secluded time. He has not left the suite, really, since everyone arrived at the Capitol. He has yet to venture to any floor below a double digit. Your eyes are closed and the water was running: did you hear him enter? He is standing at the entrance of the bathroom, his hand on the lintel for balance. He looks at you and at your reflection, his eyes lifting and lowering, darting in a panic to memorize you. And to forget any of this is happening.
     Do you hear him before you feel him? His arms slide around your waist and his mouth parts at your shoulder as he stands behind you. Whatever any might think of him in the coming days and weeks and years -- drunkard, coward, recluse -- he throws his body against your pain.
     Iowerth lifts his hand to your dark hair like a wave against a rock. He kisses the nape of your neck, and you can feel the water. "Come to bed," he whispers. "I want to hold you..."

     He turns towards you, when he feels you, turns and winds his arms around you, bending to kiss your cheek with parted lips, suckling lightly to memorize the taste of you. He keeps his eyes closed. If he doesn't, he might begin to weep again. "All right," Tiernan acquiesces quietly, his voice no louder than yours. "I'm yours to hold, Io. My heart is in your hands."
     You might almost be boys again, hushed and whispering, sneaking past the eyes of the High King with this forbidden love. But how does one sneak past God's notice? If he could, he would. He would trade everything, just now, for the Holly King's powers, to set things right (or wrong) and be able to say with you, be with you. And the many lights of your children and his play no part in that wish. It is you.
     I followed you through pain and suffering, I told you that I would follow you anywhere. And I did - until you were no longer leading. And now I am being called to follow somewhere else, but my heart still longs to follow you. Why, deus, why?
     He does not share that with you. There is anguish aplenty enough in your own heart without his every thought being broadcast to contribute to your pain. Instead, Tiernan kisses you again, his arms wound snug around your waist. "Bed, yes," he murmurs at your ear. "Lead the way, beloved."

     He is exhausted. He has not been eating, not sleeping well, and the constant battering ram of emotions is wearing the stone of his strength away. Iowerth keeps his eyes closed, his mouth turning, knowing how to find yours with his eyes closed (and both hands tied behind his back).
     It is eerily similar to those first nights, of sneaking out, climbing through the windows of cat-houses before finding an empty or safe flat and making love in secret and in darkness, always, always on the edge of being caught. Only now it's not a corrupt fairy witch you run from, but Heaven and its army of fates.
     Hand to your nape, Iowerth turns with you, clumsily leaving the bath for the bedroom. He moves, his heart and mind in a fever. Don't leave me, don't leave me, don't leave me. The pleading of his soul is not voiced, is not shared, your heart already burdened by its own pain, its own anguish. He will not add to it. The bed squeaks as he plops down with you, his arms surrounding you, clasping to you beneath the winter bedding.
     The bedroom is completely dark, the door locked, and there in the bed, you and he huddle for protection against the future. "I love you," Iowerth whispers, even his softest voice is taut with his emotion. "I am sorry I have not been a better husband. I am... so sorry. And I love you so much." He is clothed in fleece pajama bottoms, the softness of the cloth sliding between your thighs as he tangles his legs with your own. Iowerth shivers as he holds you, his hands moving against your back, your neck, your face.

     He does not want to leave; and yet the gulf widens with the passing moments. He cleaves to you, and he kisses you, fingers catching against your wrists, your shoulders, your hair. "I love you," Tiernan echoes quietly. "Don't apologize. You did nothing to apologize for. I want nothing so much as..."
     He silences himself with a kiss. You know. And he knows. And it changes nothing. Despair threatens to root itself in his heart to the ruination of all else. My beloved.

     So much time has been wasted...
     It is too sore, too raw, to convert to passion. And there is so little left to say. Iowerth stares at you in the close quarters of the bed, mouth to mouth. He just whispers it, declares it: I love you. Turning his face against the pillow slightly, he cups a hand to your cheek. He looks at you as his hands brush through the dark curls.
     Until his eyelids grow heavy, weighted by the gravity of poor sleep and emotional chasms. The heavy form of the most solid Captain King moves flush against your own, tangling, and giving shelter as much as taking sanctuary.
     His breathing slows and his heavy form goes still with the onset of sleep, his arm lying slack against your waist.

     You fall asleep before he does, his eyes staring painfully up at the ceiling before he too surrenders to sleep. He twines around you, clings to you, knowing his time to be short. Neither sleep nor death can ease the stricture of it, and he does not wish it eased.
     He only wants you.
     Tiernan sighs, and gently he pulls the blanket up, over your hips and his. He settles himself into the pillow, sinking into the mattress with his devotion and his misery both still in place. Deus...

     .... There is, in the distance of your mind, a sound that calls to your soul: the low and steady splash of a gong. The sound waves are felt. They touch each crescent mark with peace and love, with Understanding, Comprehension. And your sleep becomes a trance-like state, a meditation, a prayer...
     At your third eye, there is golden illumination, the light of your soul pouring forth and, through it, the enlightenment of Heaven. In that golden light, there forms a golden, smiling face; radiant with inventiveness, with intellect, with an open heart and an open mind. At his third eye, there is a jewel that is a mirror and a telescope.
     Tiernan, bright diamond of Heaven, my name is Liwet, the voice is the soft sound of the distant gong, that zen, musical sound. I am the Angel of Invention, and I have come to you to convey God's Love and Understanding, that you might Discover what it is you wish to know.

     He does not stir in his sleep; his physical form gives no hint of what transpires behind closed eyelids. Dreaming? No, not dreaming; this is no dream. Of that, Tiernan is certain. And though his sleeping eyes remain closed, the third eye opens, peering, cautious, curious, wary but without hostility.
     The weight of his grief still fits around him like a cloak. It does not seem inclined to loosen any time immediate. I am honored by your presence, Liwet, Angel of Invention. As I have been graced by your inspiration throughout my life. He does not pepper you with questions immediately. He is, after all, of inquiring disposition - but patient, in his way. Even in despair, he will try to be courteous.

     The beaming face of Liwet still holds a smile, though that smile acknowledges your pain and struggle. There is Compassion. There is Love. There is Understanding. As I have been inspired by your work. You have been with me all along, and I with you.
     As your third eye vision comes into focus and strengthens, you see more of the Angel. He is seated cross-legged, his vestments of a roseate and bronze silk. His feet are bare. His wings are both mechanical and theoretical. He embodies the inspiration of invention and the revelation of engineering. He sits upon not a cloud or cushion, but the unfolding of Mind, represented by a magenta lotus blossom of immeasurable petals. His hands are pressed, steepled, in a prayer pose.
     I know your heart is heavy, Tiernan. I am here for you. To discuss your future. To answer whatever question you may have. And, I hope, to begin to soothe your heart, bright diamond. Please... His hands part from one another to rest, palm-upward, upon his knees. His eyes are vivid blueprints. Speak freely and be true to your mind and to your soul. For, truly, what else is there.

     My only questions can be for those I love. Leaving them is the hardest thing I've ever been asked to bear. I am worried about them; and I do not wish to go. He is honest, as after all, he always has been. It is his nature.
     Tiernan's heart would weigh the same as a brick, if not moreso, right now, though his body remains gripped by his sleeping trance. It is not only the unknown, the step into it. These are the people to whom I have cleaved; my friend, my lover, the only one for my heart, the only one I would wish for my heart. I worry for him. And I do not wish to leave him. That is the meat of the nut I have here, sir, in front of me. I know there is work to be done. There is always work to be done, and I hope not to shirk what work is laid before me. But...

     Liwet's expression remains gentle. All of this is understandable, expected. Every birth is painful. From the womb, from a star, from plane to plane, even experience to experience. I would be far more concerned if you were thrilled. It is your reticence that makes you wise.
     In your vision-visitation, you are handed a cup of tea. It is less a matter of work to be done, Tiernan, but of what you are to become. That is the transition. You are eternal. We are all eternal. It is only our experiences that are finite. My putting this in context for you will not, of course, remove the pain of separation that you will feel or that your family will feel for you during that time. But I hope it will soothe you to know that the separation shall be brief. Your love is not ending, or at least, Liwet smiles to you, the Love of God reflecting on the mirror of his Third Eye, I hope you do not stop loving them as you become a greater instrument for Love and Learning.
     Liwet closes his eyes briefly as he cups a small ceramic dish to his lips. He breathes the perfumed steam -- rose and hyacinth -- and then opens those blueprint eyes to look at you. Love him. Please. Speak with your children, for you will always be able to hear them. And they will always hear you. For Iowerth...it will be more difficult, Liwet acknowledges. But not impossible. Most of all, he will need time. As you will need time. Your love has not ended. Your paths have diverged. He has his own path to walk. It is very different from yours, Tiernan. But you...though you were held back falsely by magic... have fifteen hundred years more experience. This is no small amount. That you were able to find one another and walk the same path together for nearly thirty years is a miracle, separated by fifteen centuries as you have always been.
     The mirror of his Third Eye is a telescope. If you look there, you will see the probabilities of your path, your angelic being, the transformation of your spirit. This should have happened many years ago. You ache because you have been put on hold. You have felt that your time was short nearly as soon as you met him. But you cannot cling to him and to the attachment to this plane that he represents to you. Your spirit is ready to move to the next plane of existence, to the next level of Understanding. And your heart, in time, will open more, Tiernan. Even as you understand more. It is a greater thing than you think. Liwet smiles to you. It is as big as the universe, but is bound in a shell as small as a fist. When you are able to free its light, you will understand why the separation is necessary, if painful. But it will not last forever. You are eternal. Experiences are finite.

     He listens, but he is not soothed. In Eternity, perhaps it will all seem as you say, and he will be composed to it, reconciled to it, even as he is presently resigned but not reconciled. How could he be reconciled to it, when he has loved the same man, the same spirit, since he was a youth of sixteen, seventeen?
     I want him to be complete. I could go and not think of myself if I knew that he could be happy. But I know him. He is going to suffer. And Tiernan will have to watch. He can no more blind himself to his beloved's suffering than to any of his children's. But he says nothing more to it than this. The fact that it is true does not obligate you, nor the universe. He will keep it further to himself.

     Love is the hardest thing to do, the most treasured thing, the most sweet, and ...sometimes... bitter. Liwet's blueprint eyes seem to fold and unfold in all the permutations of engineering. But each image there is actually the various conceptions and renderings of the heart, including artificial heart pumps.
     Love him. That is all that you can do. Wish the best for him, as I know he does for you. You cannot keep him from suffering. You cannot make him complete. That is his journey. Yours is your own, Tiernan. And just as worthy.
     Liwet pauses in thought, the blueprints of his eyes turning to sketches. If you could wish one thing for him, one thing that Heaven could extend to him, what would it be?
     What you may wish for yourself is another and separate question.

     That he would not let this turn him from sharing his life, Tiernan answers immediately. He knows the truth. If he is to see his beloved again, to be with him again, that time will not come for centuries or longer, if at all. He confronts his own potential loss unflinchingly, though it cuts him. That he realizes that who I am, who I have been, is only a man, and that he can move on freely. I know it will take him time. But he is stubborn, and he blinds himself in his misery most particularly. I would wish him to see.
     His face is wet with tears, but he does not let that stop him. When has he ever? That he let go of his guilt, and not blame himself...

     The face of the Angel of Invention is, in this moment, Love. It does not come from him but from the Love that connects all things. That belongs to God. Love will surround him. The love of children, grandchildren, brothers, parents. While I cannot promise you what the outcome will be, for that is up to Iowerth to decide, know that Love will come for him, it will be there for him, even as it is here now and will be for you. It may take him many years. But there is one force that is greater than the Ocean. And it cannot be dammed, not even by stubbornness.
     Liwet folds his hands together. And for you, Tiernan. If you could have any concession from Heaven, if you could wish one thing for yourself, what would it be?

     You've asked the one question which stymies him. To ask for himself? There is so little that he would ask. His children are taken care of. He has faith in them; he has faith that they will prove the works of their hands and the deeds of their hearts. He cannot protect them from the realities of life, here or anywhere else. They must live, and learn, and he believes earnestly and honestly that he has done his best to prepare them for whatever lies ahead.
     He has asked what he would for Iowerth's sake. For his own sake? He would ask for more time - but he knows, and you know, that whether it is in a day or in a year or in a decade, he would ask again, and again, for more time. There could never be enough time, and he cannot ask that this cup pass him by. He cannot cheat Heaven, or the Reaper, or whichever other servant comes calling.
     There is nothing I could ask for. I do not know what I am going into, and so any request would be ill-informed, something I would hate to do. And where I am coming from ... I know that my family will be watched over. It will be hard, Tiernan acknowledges, but I believe in them. I do not think that my going will destroy them. If I thought otherwise, you would find me more resistant. All I can ask is that those I love and have looked out for will be blessed.

     You are going into the heart of the machine. You will see the gears and works of God. You will know how things work, and why they work, you will see the models of Time itself. There is something you do want, but you will not ask. Liwet smiles and rises from his lotus cushion. Information. Knowledge. Understanding. As he rises, your heaven is revealed. This will be your first stop, but not your last. The things you do, learn, experience, contribute here will be revisited upon the earth and your home on the edge of Heaven. When? That will be up to you to decide. You will know when you are ready and it is time.
     Behind him, you can see the outlines, like sketches, the blueprints of Design and of Creation. You can see the effects of gravity and time and how they bend and how and where they fit together. There are multiple palaces, and horticultural landscapes. One palace stands out from the rest. Its towers shift, engineered to rearrange, and visible gears ring out the orderly Keeping of the Clock. And creations made and believed to be lost are there. Birds. Hippos. And one lion.
     Would it be a comfort to you if I were to tell you that you could visit your family at any time? Set your watches, and you can calibrate to their time. For it is true, in Heaven, millennia pass by like minutes. That is why wounds long ago made seem so fresh in the memory. It feels, and was, like only yesterday.
     Liwet allows you to enjoy the splendid view of your new home in peace and silence. It is after many moments of such that he speaks again. On the day you have set, I will appear. Not in your sleep but in physical form. And I will escort you here personally. You will not die. You will simply become your...next You. And the peace that seems a distant hope now, will be felt. Perspective will shift. And then, you will begin to learn your new home, meet your extended family. There are many for you to meet. Much for you to learn and we to learn fro you. And I would say to you: what you wish for Iowerth? Before Iowerth can do it, you must do it yourself.

     A comfort... perhaps. I hope so. I appreciate it. They mean so much to me.
     They are his children, his loved ones. How could they mean less than everything? Even with his gift of perspective. Tiernan bows his head and nods. I will do my best to be open to what you say, sir. And if need be, to readjust myself for Iowerth's sake.
     For Iowerth, he could do almost anything. For himself? Well... he is much less important. Or so he has always behaved. Thank you for taking the time to speak with me. The burden is not entirely lifted. But it is lessened. And perhaps that is enough.

     There is for your comfort, a lotus blossom laid to rest at your belly. It is warm and loving, like the head of one of your children is pressed there in sleep. Nothing else is said. The Angel Liwet smiles upon you. He watches over you in your rest.
     When you wake, you will remember that the Archangel hummed until you slept.

Posted by rowan at October 02, 2010 04:49 PM