In Rose
The golden light slowly filtered in between the thorny branches of the rose bushes, calling pale luminescence from the pure white feathers that flowed up towards the shoulders of the man who lay there. About halfway up, the milky feathers were stained with crimson blood, the bone of the wing apparent through his skin.
Quatre groaned as his consciousness returned. Trying to sit up, trying to spread his wings was futile as he cried out in pain, a strange, unearthly cry that scattered the inquisitive rabbits that had gathered close to the grove, drawn by the soft welcoming power of the angel.
He had fallen so far, so far… the branches had done nothing to catch him, only ripping his skin and breaking his wings. He would not be able to fly for a long time, even if they healed properly.
Why had he fallen? It took a moment for the memories to return. Golden hair shifting as he shivered in sudden recollection, he made a sound like a choke, the tears catching in his throat.
He had dared to love a mortal, and the Lord had cast him down from heaven. His wings moulting feathers wildly as he fell, the sun picking rainbow reflections as he plunged, he had keened a sorrowful lament as his battered body dropped to Earth, wings snapping with a horrible sound as they collided with solid trees and earth…
He might have been forgiven if the mortal had been a woman. But to an angel, there was no difference between mortals but the purity of the soul, and he had fallen in love with a man…
Quatre himself was not another Lucifer. He had never dreamed of becoming exalted beyond even God. All he had dared do was love another who was not the same as him. But, the same as Lucifer, he had been thrown from the highest, another Son of the Morning, thrown down into the pit of unknowing.
Where was Trowa, now that his Guardian Angel had fallen? Was it possible that the last two days since Quatre had watched him, something terrible had befallen him? Could he even now be on his way to Heaven?
Unlikely, but possible. It was also equally conceivable that he had been struck down by a vengeful Xapthania, the female angel who had denounced him before the Supreme Court of Justice. She had loved Quatre, but his heart was already given to another… and to a mortal, no less! She would have no mercy on a mere human.
Rustling in the bushes alerted Quatre to the approach of some living creature. The rabbits were long gone, and this was too big to be a mere rodent. Perhaps a wolf had scented the despair and blood in the grove and had decided to devour him. Certainly, there was nothing Quatre could do to stop such an animal in his condition.
With an effort, the angel pushed himself upright, powerful arms weakened by loss of blood but following his determination to face Death upright. He had met Death before. The Reaper was not somebody whose victim he had ever expected to become. But surely he had been demoted to mortal status, doomed to perish in fire and water, in earth and air, as the Elementals would play with his bones.
A sharp snap, and the noise stopped outside the roses. He may never see life again; he was certain to be sent to purgatory with the other lost souls. Quatre looked around, drawing in the life from the blooms around him. Such beauty on this small planet! We tend to think of it as an ugly place, but yet such loveliness finds roots here.
The roses were full and red, early morning dew sitting like small crystals on the velvety petals. Despite their maltreatment of his body, still he looked on them as symbols of love and hope. The ancient Germanic tribes used to believe that if red roses flowered on a grave, then the soul had transcended and would live again. Somehow, there was small comfort in that. Perhaps he would be forgiven at least a little and allowed to return as a human on this planet, even if he could not reclaim his angelic form in another life.
Without warning, a human face stuck itself into the small bower, disturbing a pair of nightingales that had nested above his head, their tuneful voices raised in alarm, though the notes still came out sweet.
"What the-" Trowa stared wide-eyed at the otherworldly creature in front of him. The man sat with his legs folded under him neatly, as though he had merely been resting tranquilly there before Trowa butted in. Long white wings grew from his shoulder blades, sweeping in graceful arches to the ground, save for the tainted place where the bone was broken and the blood had welled up, leaving obvious trails in it's wake. It looked painful.
"Trowa?" His name was easily recognisable, but the strange voice that uttered it was distinctly eerie. A whistle, a note of pure music that shuddered through your bones but left behind a feeling of peace and harmony…
"That's my name…" Perhaps it would be better to treat this man as a young child. He could manage that. Ripping a strip of tunic from his clothing, Trowa walked quickly over, ignoring the shrinking back of the angel and bound the broken bones tightly, cruelly crushing some of the feathers but securing the bone in a straight line to prevent malformed healing.
"Thank you," Quatre told him with a smile; though it was obvious the man couldn't understand what he said, the meaning spoke itself in words of silver and gold.
"What are you, then?" Trowa asked in the soft voice he usually kept for when he was dealing with animals. Even if this was a man, and a beautiful one at that, too beautiful to be a real human, a soothing voice was always welcome to anything in distress, whether it understood the words or not.
Quatre's heart had leapt when he found it was Trowa who had discovered him in the roses, Trowa whom he loved had found him and all thoughts of death and despair had fled. Perhaps he could make a life for himself. Perhaps it would all be all right. With Trowa's help, he raised himself to his feet and walked from the place he had expected to become his grave, leaving only a scattering of scarlet petals to show that he had ever been there at all, in-between the roses.