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"I am the broken blooming bough
The countless sunsets of a lost world
See me, see me
So alike we are, you and us soon"*
General Aziraphale was trying very hard to look proud or at least interested.
He was standing between Uriel and Sandalphon, listening to Supreme Archangel Gabriel’s grandiloquent speech about Heaven’s victory.
The angelic hosts all stood there behind them in neat white-robed rows too, receiving due praise, radiating a soft, humble happiness.
What was left of them, that is. Aziraphale’s heart sank. He bowed his head.
He remembered each of them, the ones he saw die at the hands of each other, and those who he himself smote. He was suddenly transported back to the turmoil of the battlefield, and relived every move, every parry, his own numbing fear that each moment might be his last, the slashes he avoided, then the final thrusts of his sword, the way it scorched through their souls until they evaporated like fireflies… he couldn’t look away, their faces burnt into his soul. How will he ever be able to forget? His hand clenched into a fist, and nausea reared at the pit of his stomach, his breathing turned shallow.
He shook his head to try and rid himself of the memory.
Uriel frowned and nudged him.
Aziraphale was pulled back to the great hall and looked up. Gabriel was now talking about his merits, looking and pointing at him. Aziraphale forced a smile. He felt positively sick now.
I don’t deserve praise. I deserve to be punished. Kinslayer.
The thought came out of nowhere, and was instantly followed by a bout of guilt. He’d just done what he was created for… hadn’t he? To do what God expected of him, protect Heaven. How dare he regret doing God’s bidding? It surely was for some Greater Good.
Then why didn’t he feel the pride he saw on the others’ faces? Why was he crushed by remorse and why was his heart aching for the defeated rebels too? Why…? In Heaven’s name, what was he doing? It was not for him to ask questions. He knew what happened to those who had done so... they were now banished into that horrendous Hell place forever. No second chances.
Like that red-haired angel…
The memory of their brief, tense encounter after the battle stabbed him. Aziraphale’d remembered him of course, from before, his pure fire, his enthusiasm and the look in his eyes as he gazed at the newly created universe. How could he have forgotten that undiluted love?
And what had become of him? His fire had turned bitter, it seemed to consume him from the inside, his eyes angry, hurt, and lost, so, so lost…
Aziraphale was yanked out of his reverie by a thundering applause. He looked around, dazed, then clapped his hands uncertainly a few times and flashed a watery smile at the angels who patted him on the back.
He was rushing along the hallways of Heaven, his robes billowing after him, as if he was being chased by the hosts of Hell, desperate to reach the one place he knew no one would look for him. A few moments later he practically hauled himself into the new, narrow corridor between Heaven and Hell, “strictly for emergencies.”
His knees buckled, but somehow he remained standing, leaning his forehead against the cool wall, and squeezed his eyes shut. As if it could help. It never did. It never stopped the tide of memories crashing down on his mind. Always the same pictures, over and over again, even after all this time. The silent scream of those rebel angels he’d killed, the terror in their eyes as their soul dissolved into nothing. The clamour of the battle, the yells of fury and pain, the blaze of all those swords. Then... the silence which was even louder. “Triumphant victory” Michael had called it. “Outstanding achievement” Gabriel had praised him.
Aziraphale felt a bitter taste in his mouth.
The only thing he wasn’t ashamed of that day was the one act he should have been ashamed of. And the weight of his guilt for not being ashamed of it was burying him. He should have killed him, that red-haired rebel, it would have been his duty. But he didn’t… he couldn’t. He couldn’t help it. He knew he downright betrayed God, but when he looked into the angel’s eyes, desperately pleading for answers… what answers?
His beautiful face distorted with pain stayed with Aziraphale, and the memory of his closeness, the heat of his feverish breath on his own skin disturbed him.
And later the rebel could have killed him with his own sword…He had the perfect chance, while Aziraphale was bent over his wound. But he didn’t… For a fleeting moment, when they looked at each other, it was as if there’d been just the two of them in all creation.
He hardly dared to admit to himself, those somehow felt the most sane seconds of the war. What it all should have been about, dressing wounds, choosing healing over hurt…
He froze, hand clasped over his mouth, terrified of his own thoughts. What was he thinking again? Just like all those rebels….. They questioned the Almighty, their creator, and got what they deserved. And here he was… doing the same? Helpless, he banged his head on the wall, a hopeless sob rising in his chest. He scurried deeper into the corridor, into the twilight where the light of Heaven and the gloom of Hell mingled. He sank to his knees, unable to bear the torment of his own mind and bit into his finger to stop himself from whimpering.
Echoes of footsteps and fragments of conversation interrupted his thoughts. He took a shaky breath and opened his eyes. He must go back, he will be missed from the next meeting about… what was it about? A garden.
Thinking about work actually helped. He had things to do. Good things, building, implementing God’s plan. That would make him forget.
He wiped the traitor tears off his face and pulled himself up.
“Congratulations on completing the so-called Garden of Eden!” Gabriel announced, raising his arms in his usual dramatic manner. “It has now come into existence, just as the Almighty intended. The Lord is surely proud of us all, not only did we vanquish the rebels, and thus condemn them to an eternity in the circles of Hell, but now we have acted on God’s will to fashion a home for her new creatures…”
Aziraphale’s heart tightened, skipped a beat then began to pound. Not again, not now, he pleaded silently. His hand flew to his chest and began stroking it with jerky movements as if to caress his aching heart. It didn’t work, the images of the red-haired angel plummeting among the other Fallen, impacting into the sharp rocks of Hell, screaming, then being tormented in the darkness, his beautiful light becoming filthy, his wings charring, turning black, didn’t go away.
He couldn’t bear it any more, the constant guilt and then feeling even more guilty for his remorse. So much time had passed, but he was still imprisoned in those moments. His hands flew to his temples as if to tear out the torturing thoughts. He was by now convinced that it was God’s punishment for doing the wrong thing. Or for feeling it was wrong to do the right thing? But then why had it felt so right at that moment? How could he escape the torment or set things right? He was afraid of every moment now, on edge, ready to flee, never knowing when it would happen, dreading that the time would come when he wouldn’t be able to reach his safe haven or wouldn’t be strong enough to control his face and somebody would discover… he shuddered at the thought of Sandalphon or Gabriel happening on him, sobbing in his hideout. There was no way out, just eternity stretching in front of him. But if it was God’s will… he had to accept it, even if it was destroying him.
He took a deep breath to steady himself, and looked up.
Thank Goodness, Gabriel was still speaking.
“...however, we must be vigilant as the forces of Hell are astir, I have word from the most direct sources,” he smirked with the smile of someone who is well aware of his own power. “that they might try to thwart the glory of creation. Thus, it is my duty to appoint dedicated angels, ones to guard the gates of Eden.”
He fell silent, looking over the crowd expectantly. Most angels were examining their feet.
Aziraphale couldn’t believe his ears. Go down to Earth…? Far from Heaven, where everything was new, wild… It sounded like an unexpected gift. A new chance, to put the memory of the war behind, to be away from the watchful, judging eyes… No, of course not to escape, he corrected himself, but to prove himself, to do good, be a guiding light to humans, to show them the right way.
He suddenly felt he could breathe again.
“Well…?” asked Gabriel.
Aziraphale straightened up, looked into the Supreme Archangel’s eyes and raised a hand.
It was a nice day. Each one of them had been nice, as far as the Angel of the Eastern Gate could tell.
He was fascinated by the mere fact that there was such a thing as “day” and “night” (though seeing all the stars always gave him a sinking feeling) and all the things in between. He was standing in the middle of Eden, now lifting his face towards the sun, and stretching his neck a little. He closed his eyes and absorbed the wonderful, golden light, letting it warm his soul. It was so very different from the constant pure, cold white brightness of Heaven. He listened to the tiny noises of the animals, the soft wind rustling the leaves, bringing the lush aroma of flowers and wet earth to him and gently caressing his face. The tall grass and small bushes brushed against his legs when he started walking. Everything was a miracle. All these delicate touches and sensations, the changes of warmth and cold, light and darkness, the growth of the plants and animals. Life, in its richness, after the unchanging existence he experienced back in Heaven, filled him with awe and began to heal him.
It was almost flawless. The only flaw was within him. He still carried the memories of the war, the pain, and he knew they would never leave him, although they were now slowly being glazed over with all the wonders around him. He felt a stir in his chest, a glow as he gazed at the creatures, as he thought of the first beautiful, fragile, innocent humans, Adam and Eve, now resting in the shade somewhere. Love. He already loved them.
As he shifted, something scraped his thigh. His sword. After the war he never wanted to use it again, but Gabriel insisted. He’d been appointed guardian of Eden now, after all. He could just pray no demons would risk an open attack.
Demons… just like him. The idea of that beautiful angel looking hideous, distorted was still very painful. They could hear rumours up in Heaven about how horribly altered those former angels had become. He shuddered as his imagination threw pictures of scales, hooves, fangs, horns, misformed features and other monstrosities at him. What had he become? Could he retain a hint of his beauty? Or his light… He didn’t dare pray but he wished.
Suddenly he heard rustling behind him, like a large animal slithering past in the undergrowth. He opened his eyes and turned around. The peace of Eden seemed undisturbed, fragrant petals floated from the trees, the shadows of the leaves cast intricate patterns on the warm ground, the birds were still singing. The next moment Adam and Eve stepped out of the grove, walked past him with a nod and a smile, and strolled towards the heart of the Garden.
Aziraphale smiled back. It was a nice day. What could go wrong?