For the first time in years, Kit stands alone. He is not flanked by guards, assistants, chatty stars. For a moment, a blissful moment there is just him in this Glade. And in the sound of crickets he detects the laughter of God.

     "I wonder what is going to happen now," he says, dreams in his cadence. "To all of us. I am not worried about myself," Christopher says suddenly, softly. "I will answer Dominic's questions, but this time I will not be afraid."

     You may be remade for your service if your Heart is True. You must be willing to give up your very identity in this, your very being. If you cannot submit, the metamorphosis will rip your being apart and you will not survive. This is spoken with reverence. For the Hellborn, it is the first time they hear the full power of the Symphony. But for the two of you, those once Fallen, it is a return Home."

     His hands go to his neck, lifting a stardust chain. It holds a chime, the sound of his own note within the Symphony, and it bears his sigil etched upon its surface. "You are my dream," Christopher whispers. "I want you to wear this replica of my heart around your neck. Where you go, Soldekai, I shall always be..."

     Permission was given not only for him to cross the Marches again, but to manifest within the Tower walls itself. Into the Dream itself. An honor in that, and he was keenly aware. But his mission, this time, is simple. To have a moment with the Sentinel he loves. To give the Sentinel some comfort that the others of the Tower cannot provide.

     There is a demon seeking Redemption...
     I am helping him...
     ...cross The Marches...

     "...Heaven's... complexion must change, too, Soldekai. Or we will forever be fighting real and imagined shadows..."

     "If Heaven is near Southwark," Soldekai smiles, still hovering near the bed. He smiles as he watches, taking delight in the scene.

     "Never..." and Soldekai's voice trembles, "...never ask me for anything again, when we are like this. Do you...understand, Christopher?"

     It makes him smile. For the first time since being on this planet and in the material realm, he can honestly say that he is very, very happy.

     London. Is everyone going there? What is going on anyway? Well, you may know. A front of a battle only beginning to make itself known. Kit. Going to London.

     Someone to join his ranks. If he were mortal, he'd pump his fists and dance, yelping Yes! to the achievement. But archangels don't pump their fists.

     Soldekai's eyes drop to the stone upon which he sits. He had not thought of things as you say. That there are others who wish a new home. Who would want to be with him and his Word.

      "Tell him I am here and ease his worried heart," Christopher all but sings out. "And tell him that... for Heaven's sake," a ribald twist of his mouth at the pun, "... he should join me here and pull up a carpet..."

     A quick comment in rapid angelic tones: I love you. Love, the old citadel sparkles no doubt. Continuing, despite the loss of its Archangel. Are the two of you not proof of that.

     "Meanwhile," Soldekai smiles, "...practically...I ask the Council to remove the lions and any proscriptions. That...will take a bit, I think now." After talking with Yves. He will say what the others cannot...what Blandine cannot. Ignore them. The proof is in our actions. Politic is Nothing.

     "He should not be trailed and watched like an offender, while in the other hand, he is made Sentinel?" Come now. It is insane. "If he should be Sentinel, then the others should know and it is there that conflict be reslolved. Why hide his honor? Would it bring divisiveness? If he is honored then he is not some...criminal."

     But then, there is you. In his flurry, Soldekai pauses to see you and give a smile. "My love is true, Christopher," no matter of yours or how this began. "I believe yours is as well," the soldier talking. And whatever he had planned between you two this day is left in tatters. He has to go to Heaven. Soon, they will all know that he knows, that you know, and that all is clear. They, on the other hand, should know - the Archangel of Brilliance is his own being.

     It has always been our cave of joys. We have come here together, in secret, snowy trysts. We have made love here. Even though we do not need to, to express our love. I had to describe it once in great detail. I had to ... examine... why I copulate with you. Why I enjoy it. Blending the bodies is no greater sin than blending the souls. I do not think I was understood. I believe it was called frivolous...

     He is quiet for a moment, then you feel a little smile. "It is a good dream." And with it, he will ride from thoughts of captors and guards. From thoughts of leashes and cages and flesh and clay. It is a good dream.

     ...The lights of candles sparkle in multi-colored glass votives. Surrounding a window overlooking a small canal. The sounds of the Grand Canal are not far off, no. Wafting like the wind through the narrow passages of this old city. This old 14th Century gothic house, now separated out into various flats and spaces for rent, boasts some of the loveliest arched windows in all of the city. They are opened now, to let the breeze flow in.

     "Anything," Soldekai grins. "We return...Sakir..." he has such a hard time calling him by a name, "...and that is it. We have located where he might spend his time," a grin at Jonathan, "...not a hard operation. After that...who knows. Maybe Americas for a bit. Then...we decide what to do about the valley. How's that for a plan?" Soldekai glances around to each of you, waiting to hear suggestions or other ideas. "Put it this way...if there is something in the Valley," he explains, "...then it is better that we find it...instead of the others."

     Sakir's eyes widen slightly. You can almost read his thoughts from that expression: Great, lunatics. I'm fucking trapped with lunatics.

     Essence is what is given. Essence is what pours out of the one collapsing back on the sand, singing today. In sound audible to all ears. In power felt by some more than others -- that is the nature of this song. It continues, with its call and answer to Allah in a tongue that is of no tongue but understood in all nations.

     Steps that were lost when he was arrested in India were retaken and followed until reaching this village of the fountain and the many caves. It is this... womb of the world. The Mesopotamian basin. He has returned to where it once all began.

     Soldekai, Aceh must wait. When the fire speaks, you know it is Michael. And the jungle goes suddenly silent. Every 'friend' that thought to advance now clings to its spot of God's Earth. There will be no movement now. No more movement tonight.

     "Lunch sounds wonderful," Soldekai nods, smiling as he takes a look at you. It is...an interesting way to keep one's vessel. The bag is hooked over the back of his seat, and polite as Soldekai may be, he cannot keep from staring. You look different. He exhales, "Each time I see you," he muses, "...you look more and more as if...you are from here." He, on the other hand, does not.

     "I.... don't ...remember..." comes the melodious voice. There is a soft laugh to that. "It is... too much to remember, perhaps? God... Prince Brilliance... is ....Merciful..." An Archangelic joke. I don't remember, Soldekai. There is... no story to tell. Only... Peace... and so... It Is True. Where else could he have been so long? And to remember nothing?

     "How do you know if pinkus hybiscus means Sri?" Soldekai now frowns. This is...not good. Suddenly, Gabriel's ache becomes his own. How can one whisper inspiration...if the words are...well, they're words. Not cosmic thought. That is how the Symphony works. Suddenly, Soldekai doesn't like words, and his frown becomes more of an anxious tremor.

     His Being swells, his wings outstretched as he is now within your Light. A Master of Night and the Archangel of Brilliance and Lumination? "I am.. very proud," he says, angelic tongue as Song. "Of you... and of the Healing of Our Father's Heart that he should set you thus. I am proud of This Heaven..." Molten eyes of stellar matter look to you and the Herald nods. "This Heaven pleases me...."

     Spinning glass. A globe suspended in midair rotates with a glassy glare. Casting colors to the walls. The lighting low, but for the candles sparking here. Flickering there. And so a constellation forms upon the ceiling. Two fingers holds a silver chain.

     "I hope that is how it goes," Soldekai says, a whispered hope of his own. Only you know them...as it goes. "I ask for the day that we no longer...are as we all are..."

     He cannot hear the gunfire. The tank is far too loud. It rumbles as it halts again, sand scattering as gears are put into neutral. As soon as Kit has it halted and settled, he stands up...his head popping out of the tank. And then his two arms raised, angelic leaving his lips. "If you can get the Chamberlain out, I can blow it up you know..."

     The Mad Danes have long since left the makeshift stage. The college crowd has come and gone. The true drunken poets and philosophers yet remain. The last few patrons lingering, loitering, waiting on that Last Call.

     "Soldekai...I am not blunting your purpose...I hope. You know...it is my choir's ...nature to attune to individuals. And...I..." am attuned to you. "...I do not wish my fastening devotion to get in the way. It will be a concern." Of and for Others.

     "You are Blandine's," Soldekai teases, even as the space between you is covered. He smiles as you near him and opens the necklace out so that your throat would walk into it. "From me," he says, "...personally."

     The Mad Danes consist of four musicians. All coming from very divergent backgrounds -- jazz, celtic traditional, classical. Only two ever sing. Hotspur Hal, the bassist -- and Kit Marlow. Guitarist and violinist.

     "Desire is ...a portion of a Wish, of a Dream. Inspiration, your mistress, is another part. Subdivided, a dream is a lover with a horde of concubines. Why should we, therefore, be solitary? One is the dream...the other inspiration...together, intermingling...they can become prophecy..."

     His green eyes look at the whelps. Boys is a good word. Soldekai nods, "Milk might be good," hair on the chest, "...with a whiskey chaser, huh?" And as Yisun turns, so does he. Jonathan. He'd smile if he didn't feel like going nova.

     "Either of you seen the boys?" Soldekai asks, the hint of his nature never departed. Red-blonde hair is cut close, but it is much too alive. Where Gabriel is the Primal Force, her Sol is the center of this universe, the Sun itself. "They seem to have...gotten away from me." The Firemen. Lost. As usual.