A/N: Everyone, please take a moment to have a look at these two pictures:
lunissa. deviantart. com/ gallery/ #/ d4jipsn and lunissa. deviantart. com/ gallery/ #/ d4jiqji
Thank you.
Also, soundtrack updated on profile page.
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Chapter Six
Innocence
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Aziraphale wasn't feeling very well, these... days.
There was something wrong with his head. It didn't hurt, and the insanity wasn't coming back, for which he was deeply thankful, but he couldn't seem to properly focus on anything, for some reason.
Whenever he attempted to start up a train of thought, whether it concerned his past life, or the two visions he'd been given, his mind would automatically derail, his thoughts either becoming far too hazy to make sense, or shooting off in a dozen trivial directions. What on earth was it supposed to matter to him what kind of breadsticks he'd once had in a French restaurant in the incredibly remote past? Or how he'd once dug through a pile of black clothes - he'd never even worn black clothes! - to take hold of... But even in his current state, his mind would quickly shy away from such things. That he'd started to come to terms with his past didn't mean he had to like it, after all.
But the most unsettling thing out of all this was that, in every one of those pointless scraps of memory, the veiled one - as Aziraphale had come to call them, whoever they were - played a part, looming larger and larger in Aziraphale's mental landscape, but would never let themselves be known. It was like looking at random bits of film, with one of the actors entirely cut out, even their voice.
When the thought of this unknown person became very strong, Aziraphale tended to lose the ability to walk straight. It was a wonder he didn't permanently stray from the path and wander off over the trackless sands, what with all his veering left and right, so dizzy and light-headed. These attacks, for lack of a better word, were becoming more and more frequent, too. There was no physical cause; rather, it was a sensation as though his very own counterweight was missing, whatever that meant, and he didn't know where or how to find it.
He had never felt so lost.
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He had come upon another mirror, the third one. Its frame wasn't made of any kind of wood Aziraphale had ever seen or even heard of, but it was magnificent. It was wood, but it gleamed like polished metal, shimmering silver and gold, blent into one. There were no carvings on it whatsoever: it was smooth and satiny-looking, utterly pristine. It looked like it came from a tree cut down in Eden, if such a thing had been possible. Anyway, that was rather irrelevant now. The mirror itself was what really mattered.
He settled down in front of it, and waited patiently for the whirling sands to clear away. When they did, however, he was left blinking for a minute. Who in the world were these?
He saw the reflections of a boy and a girl, both in profile. The boy looked to be in his mid-teens. Blond hair and blue eyes he had, and he was dressed in an old T-shirt, faded jeans, and a scruffy pair of trainers. The girl, brown-haired and hazel-eyed, was very, very young indeed, just a tiny child. There was a picture of what looked like a sheep or a lamb on the little blue dress she had on. She was seated on the boy's arm, lifted up high enough to be able to look him straight in the eyes. She had one arm around the boy's neck.
Plainly dressed though they both were, Aziraphale had the distinct impression that he was looking at pure-blooded royalty, and he had to resist the urge to bow his head to the ground.
All these details Aziraphale noted and dismissed in less than a second. Two other things held his attention riveted.
The first of these was this: each child was holding a coronet over the other's head. Neither actually put it down, simply held it up a few inches.
The crown meant for the boy, Aziraphale could see at a glance, was an absolute masterpiece of refined workmanship. Pure gold it was, worked all over in delicate filigree, and inlaid with precious stones, rubies and emeralds and sapphires, small and few, but exquisite. It looked exactly right for the boy's regal head.
The one meant for the girl was considerably simpler, but no less beautiful. It was made entirely of silver, and more closely resembled a garland than a crown. A wavy band of silver, like a vine, decorated with leaves and flowers, so perfectly wrought that one could almost imagine catching their fragrance, like the scent of spring. It was very fitting for her, he thought, looking at her soft, round little face.
But this, even this, was not as striking as the looks of affection those two gave each other. They looked like a brother and sister, sharing a peaceful moment. It was plain as day, in their smiles and their eyes.
As Aziraphale gazed upon them, a nagging sense of familiarity began to build in the back of his skull. It couldn't be because of the girl: he was morally certain that he'd never seen her in his life. Which left the boy... Wait, wait, it was coming to him, yes, that boy was...
Oh.
Oh.
Of course. How could he have forgotten?
Adam Young. The Antichrist. Son of his old Master.
Well, that was one of them cleared up. Now for the girl. Aziraphale felt faintly puzzled that the sight of Adam Young didn't upset him any more than it did, after so long, but somehow he felt that it was imperative to know who the little one was, first and foremost. All the rest could wait until later.
Now then, and he peered at her, at the both of them, with deep concentration. He was confident that he'd find the answer, but he would have to be logical and sensible about it. What information did he have to go by? Well, each of the previous mirrors had shown him beings of equal rank: the first, Hastur and Ligur, two Dukes of Hell; the second, Pollution, War, and Famine, three Riders of the Apocalypse. Good. So, logically, the two before him now could be supposed to be of equal rank as well. Again good. Now, what being did he know of that was of equal rank with A... dam...
Something clicked in his brain, and the bottom promptly fell out of his stomach.
No, that was impossible. Impossible.
Wasn't it? Surely it had to be.
He stared at her to the point of straining his eyes. Only now did he see that her coronet was decorated with something besides flowers and leaves. Those looked like... thorns?
Aziraphale's jaw dropped. So it was true. She was the one. The Lamb. Agnus dei. The Christ Child hi- herself. And then he did bow his head to the ground for a moment, struck dumb by the realisation.
But... But what was the meaning of this? The mirrors only showed him those he'd killed, so he could better realise his sins, learn from them, and repent; he understood that much. Which was why none of this made any sense. He'd never hurt Adam Young, not really. He had been about to once, but someone - the veiled one - had stopped him, somehow. Besides, the Adam in the mirror was clearly a few years older than the boy he'd known, so it couldn't be that. And he was still positive that he'd never even met the girl. So what on earth -
Wait.
Wait a moment.
Did the mirrors show him those he'd killed, or the ones for whose death he was responsible? An insignificant-seeming nuance, but in reality, it was nothing of the kind. However, even granting this to be the case, it still didn't explain any of this. How could he possibly have caused the deaths of two such beings, years after he'd died? The whole thing was patently absurd.
Sensing that this was something he would never be able to grasp, he put the matter out of his head as hopeless, and began pondering something else that had struck him, something that was only now truly sinking in.
The Antichrist. The Christ. Two beings, existing to be mortal enemies to one another. How could it be otherwise, given how diametrically opposed their respective sides were, and how they were the very incarnations of those sides? And yet, here they were, together in perfect harmony, like brother and sister. Indeed, the more Aziraphale looked, the more he became convinced that this was truly what they were, if not in flesh, then certainly in spirit. Was it, then, possible for one of Hell and one of Heaven, for two creatures as opposite as the darkness and the light, to unite as one? Under so much hate, could love lie buried?
Aziraphale shook his head. No, that could never be. It was one of the fundamental laws of the world, and he didn't think that even these two could break them. And yet... What if it could be? What then?
No sooner had he thought this, than the reflection vanished and the mirror fell apart, like the two before it.
Oh. Well, it seemed he'd learnt his lesson, then.
He got to his feet, and continued on down the path, a path, he was certain now, that led to an end. Even as he did so, and considered the conclusion he'd arrived at just before the mirror had disintegrated, a dull ache, not of the body, started up in his chest, and he got the strangest feeling, deep down inside, as though a vital part of him was missing. Not just his counterweight, oh no. Something far more important than that.
But what?