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This chapter is a day early because of my boyfriend's arrival due tonight (will most probably keep me busy throughout the weekend… :-p), and because I had a "let's do nothing this afternoon, you did a good exam this morning" kind of day.

Chapter 13. Knighted

The Zann Esu stood in the courtyard of Atsanit's house, waiting for something to happen to tell them that they could go in again, to pay their last respects to their Ice mistress, dearly loved member of their sisterhood. They were all agitated because of an Archangel's descent in their village, obviously to see Atsanit's passing, and because they could all see the other lesser angel now. And suddenly, they scattered in awe once more, agitation rising another level in the village.

Another Archangel was descending upon them. Again, David knelt to the higher-ranked angel.

"My lord," he saluted.

"At ease, David," the other answered, and floated forwards.

He was different than Tyrael, the first one to descend upon them; he shone golden instead of silver, and his wings were different, shorter but thicker, but the nobility and the majesty of his presence were the same.

David stood, but kept his place in front of the door. The Archangel stopped. "Why do you not step aside, David?", he asked, his voice only curious.

The lesser angel was trembling in fear, knowing he was opposing his commander and risking his wrath. He seized his courage, and explained himself: "She… is my friend. He is not intervening, and I do not see why they should not be allowed this, the instant of her death."

David could easily sense the smile that went through his commander's aura. "I am not here to forbid it. I am here to intervene."

David, completely puzzled, stepped aside. The Archangel suddenly glared with a light so great that every Sorceress turned her eyes elsewhere. When they opened their eyes again, the door of Atsanit's house was closed once more.

ooooo

When Michael came into Atsanit's room, Tyrael and Atsanit were striking a peaceful and tender icon. He held her hand in his gloved ones – Michael felt Tyrael's worry that the touch of his skin would kill her, in her weakness – and he had lowered his hood, so that she could see his face once more, as she had requested.

Michael took a moment, upon the realization that this was her only request to Tyrael at the moment of her death, to acknowledge her wisdom. Many mortals, had they been given a link to the divine as she had experienced, would have tried with cowardice to use it to their advantage, to try to tear a few more years of mortal life or another intervention. But Atsanit was beyond this pettiness; her only humble request was to see his face again. The Council's late decision would not prove to be a mistake. Michael was even more sure of it, now that he had witnessed this. And witness he did.

Tyrael was sitting on the side of her bed, her hand in his, slightly leaning towards her. His wings were almost still, barely waving, surrounding her bed and lighting it gently. She looked very old; Michael was sure her time in Hell and in Pandemonium had accelerated her aging, because she should not have looked so old; she was barely fifty years-old. Her hair was completely white, her face had many deep wrinkles that showed how she smiled and squinted her eyes, and her frame was very slim. Her frail shoulders and hands were hardly recognizable as those that had wielded weapons in the battle against the Three. She was looking up at Tyrael, her breathing laborious, and he was looking down tenderly at her, his face sad and loving. He was projecting in all his angelic senses so pathetically strongly that she was as beautiful in his heart and eyes as she had been all those years ago. Michael sighed; despite everything, this was definitively beyond his comprehension.

When he closed the door, Tyrael's attention snapped in his direction, and Michael felt that the other Archangel was shielding Atsanit from his anger; she was so weak that any burst of emotion on his part could kill her.

What are you doing here, Michael?, Tyrael snapped in the innerspeech. For once that I step on all that I feel, obey the Heavens and do not intervene, I would expect to be left in peace during her last moments. I will not allow my only presence to be forbidden to her now, of all times.

There was genuine anger and rebellion at this unfair, unnecessary appearance of Michael to keep him away from her. For once, Michael could understand Tyrael's rebellion. He made his good will plain in his aura, which Tyrael could not fail to see, and floated forward. Atsanit was a powerful mortal, even on the doors of death, and she felt Tyrael's change of emotion, and a new angelic presence in the room. She turned her head to him, but she surely could not see him, with her waning sight.

"Who are you?", she whispered, speaking seeming like a terrible effort.

"Do not speak, my love," Tyrael said, his voice tender, although Michael still felt his puzzlement at his presence; if it was not to pull him away, then why was he here?

"I am the Archangel Michael, Slayer Atsanit, come to knight you an Archangel."

Michael smiled under his hood as he saw, heard and felt the utter surprise of Tyrael. It was peculiar to see his face and read his expression in yet another way. Atsanit turned her head to look at Tyrael. She did not understand either what was happening to her, or what Tyrael felt or knew.

Tyrael let go of her hand when Michael's wing pushed him gently aside. He floated back a little distance, observing Michael gently lifting Atsanit from her bed and holding her with his wings as though she was standing on her feet.

"It has been decreed by the angelic council that you would be knighted an Archangel for your vanquishing of the Three and their banishment, and your life-long battle for the Light. They have judged that your mind could easily encompass all of the new senses to be gifted to you, without any risk to your sanity. You have earned a place amongst the legions of Heaven, if you will accept it."

He infused her of enough of his angelic energy for her to be able to answer. "I will accept this honour," she said.

Tyrael behind him was sending out a series of conflicting emotions. Tyrael was not often so conflicting in his projections. Michael had felt such confusion only twice before, in all the millennia they had served together: when he had come back from his last encounter with Atsanit, and when he had felt her dying being closer. The first time, he had been confused between his happiness to be in love, his pain to leave her behind, a doubt on the rightness of his duty to Heavens, and his need to have all angels in Heaven understand love and take example from the mortals' courage, love and sacrifice, all in their weakness. The last time, he had been torn between his pain at her death, which would take her soul to Paradise where she would be beyond his reach forever, the sense of his selfishness in his inability to accept to lose her for the sake of her eternal joy, and his need to see her again. And now, he was completely incapable of understanding what had changed in the angelic council that had decided them to knight her after all this time. Nothing in history had caused so much torment in an Archangel before; only this frail woman about to die too young, bearing the bodily weakness of the great age. Michael sighed again.

He took off the glove of his right hand, and started to chant power words of magnitude, his hand tracing elaborate signs into the air. The runes started to shine with a fierce golden glow in the air in front of him, and he threw those forwards with a move of the hand. The runes buried themselves in Atsanit's chest, going to her heart one after the other, and she writhed in pain in his wings' grasp. She soon was engulfed in a ball of opaque, golden light, as the last rune went through her chest.

Then the light shattered, and fell to the floor in ribbons of gold. Tyrael behind him grew even more confused, knowing what he had done, but not understanding in the least what had taken possession of him. Michael smiled under his hood. It was, and had always been, good sport to outwit Tyrael. He set Atsanit back on her feet.

She had a quick mind. She looked down at her hands, having guessed there were the runes "time" and "return" in his incantation, and then reached over her shoulder to take a stray of her hair between her fingers.

"You have given me back the strength of my youth," she said, observing her back-to-raven hair.

"I have," Michael stated. Then he started another string of runes and complicated incantations, the walls of the house humming with the power he was summoning, his wings expanding until they almost touched each wall, and a fierce golden glow escaping each part of him. Atsanit closed her eyes. Michael's wings put her old armour on, fishing it out of a chest in a corner of the room with the rest of her old battle gear, blessing each part of the armour with a special rune, and put gloves on her hands, and a hood in the cape over her armour, which he did not put over her head. His voice was steadily growing stronger, and she was feeling a lot of his energy infusing in her. Then it seemed that the golden glow itself seeped into her deep to her very bones, and she fell to her knees, golden fire coursing through her as she was changed and her mind and senses expanded.

She opened her eyes again. Michael's wings had shrunk back to their usual size, and he was shaking slightly, his wings shivering in the air. She pulled herself up in a more dignified position, staying on her knees facing the Archangel who had knighted her, with obvious cost to himself. He pulled his sword out of its sheath, the holy blade burning with white fire, and laid it on each of her shoulders. She looked up at him, her dark eyes confident and wise. He saw in her already powerful aura and projections that she knew what he was going to do next, and she was readying herself to. Not many newly-knighted angels or Archangels had this wisdom.

He backhanded her harshly across the face. He head swirled the other way, as her last link to the mortal plane was snapped by the hand of an Archangel. She was now no more mortal, had lost her mortal name, and would never be mortal again. She was a power of Heavens for the rest of eternity, bound to its rules and decisions, and gifted wisdom and power. She turned her head back to Michael, feeling a little shaken, but her will dragged her to her feet, her pride and challenging personality unchanged in all the years since her quest against the Three. Then she expanded her wings, a glory of yellow, thin threads that escaped her back, and waved in a shape of disk behind her, and began to float off the ground.

Not many newly-knighted Archangels recovered from being taken away from the mortal realm so quickly either. She was indeed very worthy. Michael knelt in front of her, and so did Tyrael, as he presented her with her holy blade, a small crystal sword of dimensions she could wield efficiently, burning with white fire, green runes carved along the blade:

"The Three vanquished,

Their power forever vanished.

The meaning of love caught,

Many lessons taught."

She read the inscription twice. She was quickly mastering her overwhelming new senses, and felt it was Michael's craft. She also knew, coming from Tyrael, how an honour it was. She wished to try the inner speech, but felt a little weak to do so yet.

"I am honoured, Michael… how shall I call you now? Lord?"

"You can, if you expressively wish it. Although a simple Michael will be tribute enough."

"Very well, Michael," she answered. "I thank you." She paused a while longer. "I should have a new name. Am I the one to choose… to learn it?"

The three Archangels looked at each other.

"I feel what it is, although you cannot see it," Tyrael said. She turned to him, full of hope and expectation, and he said: "Atsaelle." She made a pause, surprised at how close it was to her mortal name. "You are close to your mortal self," Tyrael said, answering to her thoughts.

Michael nodded, and then turned to Tyrael, whose urgency of curiosity was causing him some pleasure.

"Why have you intervened?", Tyrael asked. He made it clear to Atsanit… the Archangel Atsaelle… that it was Council's orders to knight her, but her rejuvenation was Michael's own doing.

"Because you have succeeded in your wish, Tyrael," Michael answered. Still, the powerful, bright, old Tyrael did not understand what he had accomplished. "You have… showed us your love for this mortal. You have stood up to your judgement by Paradise for loving her with trust, without repent, and clear in all your senses that you believed you did nothing wrong. Paradise could not smite you for disobedience, because you were beyond punishment with your belief that you were in your right. You have been preaching so well the cause of mortals that you have won us all to your love of them, and you were humble enough not to notice. You and this mortal have taught me love, admiration for the accomplishments of the weaker, their courage to do what must be done despite the lack of power, and I felt that teaching something of this importance to an old Archangel that had been blind to it for so long warranted a reward." He gave a knowing smile to Tyrael and Atsaelle, and said: "For both of you, need I to specify?"

Atsaelle blushed, showing she was still human in a way, and Tyrael stayed really surprised at Michael's unexpected change of perspective on things.

"Now… I will leave you both to your reunion," Michael said, and glared bright again as he got out of the house, ready to fly up to Heavens, making sure no human present could see the uncovered faces of Tyrael and Atsaelle.

He smiled as he passed by David, who had "heard" it all with angelic senses. "Try to make yourself forgotten, now," he ordered, although David felt the flash of humour, most uncharacteristic flash of humour, in his commander's aura. Any human that had seen an Archangel – and all the more reason two or three – could see a simple angel as him now, and he wondered how he was supposed to guard over his charge now that she could see and hear him. He would no longer be a discreet guidance. He frowned.