Shadows lengthen and the sky hastens into dusky shades of night.
     What is it that angels dream of when they rest? When time out is taken in the mortal form, when mortal act is practiced? In this case, even Dreamer can enter the Marches, and feel its touch. Shaping and forming, suggesting and soothing.
     Few though, see the ultimate Master of Dreams. Even a quick, comfortable sleep is an opening into that other world. When He appears, he is dressed in something bright. Armor. Familiar armor. That of the Sun. Etched and engraved with Living Shapes and Words. It is the armor of the Chamberlain. Should you not dream of him? Should not Blandine cover such...so that interested parties find not the information.
     It is a gray haze, whatever was rolling in the dreamscape gone for now. Clouds come and haze the feet, bringing the strange light with it. Dreams never get things right, right? The sunlight is skewed a bit, with dark shadows attached to each ray. Only a faded, altered remembrance of Soldekai is Blandine, and the face...a strange fluctuation of both. "You look nice," the voice says, something ethereal, something soldierly. The sweet smile of appreciation begins, but then is replaced by the sweet smile of Superior's affection. This Soldekai begins to fulfill your expectations...then does not. "How goes things, dear Christopher?" That...is Blandine.

     And to whom all dreams are Good, is there ever a Should or a Should Not? Is not the Herald of Aspirations allowed aspirations of his own, or are those merely the rewards of the Mortal Existence? Some wish devoutly for the consummation he knows daily -- to live forever as God Wills It. But if he might make a request, let it be to dream as he so wishes...
     The images come and go. He is used to riding the current of them. How long has it been since he has been seen on the Marches in mirrored armor and a smile only a cad could love? Something to the image. Something to the Knowing. Something to the dreamer and for his Master's laughter. In this dream image, he is as he so often was upon The Marches. The Herald Raven sitting upon the tower one minute, strolling at the feet of Theseus the next. No, my lord, you are nothing like a bull...
     There is the feeling to the sleeper of feathers stroking his cheeks. His vessel shifts but does not waken. "I, my blessed lord?" Says the voice of The Dreaming One. "I am well in the dark of my duty, but dark for the endless well of my missing you." You. Blandine.

     He smiles, this Soldekai does. Can you see the flat shadow of the Other behind the image? "You have already lifted my mood." He could always take a sweet comment from you. "I have not seen you for a few weeks, I hope all is alright...with your light darkness." As opposed to the Well.

     "I am well. Still searching...searching...turning over every stone and feather looking for The Chosen One. I have quite the rock collection now," the soul leaps at that. Such small delights he takes in nearly everything. Particularly the shiny. "But as of yet, still unmatched for my wit. I have been reading to excess, shall that please you?" A student-bard-philosopher Herald, loitering poetry at the breast of a tavern bar. "How is my most missed Lord?"

     "A fine collection," the voice comes. The image continues towards you, extending a hand towards your cheek...the need to touch...but then opens. Upon it, a small glowing ember. A piece of the Sun. Shaped Helium. "For your collection," he says. "And I...I am well, thank you. Better for your visit to Me."

     The gift is taken and held to the heart. In beak. In feathers. In fingers. The feeling of a soul-touch. Enkindled to the highest good by your mere acknowledgement. He is a servitor that breathes Dreams...and in so, you. "Is someone visiting you as I asked? Are they singing songs about small black birds at your window, Sire of Sleep?" There is something there. The Want to be touched by The Master of Dreams. And the one in whose guise you are appearing. "I miss the Marches, but I am your Herald bearer on earth...is there a wish you have for me?" Another reason for the visit apart from the obvious admiration?

     "Yes, Menuriel visits me," the voice says, "...and sings. A fine student. But you," Blandine-Soldekai says, amber eyes flashing, "...are unique to me, Christopher. Do not forget this." The hand comes down near your cheek, but dares not to touch it. A mask of the Chamberlain's response to you...or something of his own. Blandine smiles. "I have seen what I needed, my Aspiration's Heart." Soldekai cocks his head, peering at you a moment. Blandinish. He thinks, You care for him, but it is not spoken. It is in his eyes.

     I do. But it is not as his admiration for you. His love for you. It is...different. Something...new for the Herald. Letting someone other than you inside The Sphinx's Riddle. Other than yourself. Soldekai was ever a friend when well met. Now he is something more than. Though there were stories told, were there not? Or perhaps you did not hear them? That once he wished to be the Consort of the Night. Such never did nor never could happen. And so Love always finds a way. And dreams. He has a heart he wishes to give. But who shall take it? "I shall not forget it. Stars will turn to dandelions and be blown like scattered seeds by the fingers of children before I forget what you are to me and I to you, Lord of Slumbering Sweetness." There is a bowing of his soul. Low, as his duty and love and adoration are high. And yes, says the look when he rises, I do care for the sun...I do indeed, and much.

     He should like to care for another...and he does his best. But Blandine...his story in this is all but told. He would give himself to someone who despises him. His Universal Opposite. And the universe is firm in its balances. He has no choices...such is the way of one so Primally Essenced. Amber eyes twinkle a moment, seeing your care. Information on his feelings are not carried forth, as usual, and the cogs of the Universe go on. "Come sing for me one night," he says softly. Missing your companionship...if that is all the Universe should allow him. "I have....new chimes too." A gift from Menuriel.

     Oh, were Jealousy not a Sin! And were he capable of it without singing a sour note he would quip at that. But...he does not begrudge His Most Precious Lord and the First Love of all his Loves -- the face of his own Essence, Dreams, that exists by your Virtue -- gifts that others might give to increase his joy. There comes a ribald smile. More felt than seen. "I shall sing for you tomorrow. I will fly to The Marches and hawk my arrival. I shall give you good news. I ... your Herald...beseech your allowance, King of Dreams. Let me please you..." In the only way we have.

     With that...the shadow seems to dissipate behind the image of Soldekai. And instead, the dream version of him remains. It closes, the hand rising again. This time...touching softly.

Posted by rowan at May 04, 2003 05:26 PM