A/N: Please take a moment to have a look at this: lunissa. deviantart. com/ gallery/ #/ d4hinal

Thank you.

–––

Chapter Four

Balance

–––

Over the years, Aziraphale had come to realise three things.

First and foremost among these was the highly comforting insight that, however horrible the atrocities that he, all unconscious of any wrongdoing, all convinced that he was acting in the name of Heaven, had committed in the course of six thousand years, his acknowledgement and acceptance of and contrition for these deeds were the first and greatest step on the path to peace. And that these were things he could do.

At first, he'd suspected himself of having fabricated an excuse, of playing a cowardly trick in order to justify his life in his own eyes, thus driving himself even further away from the final goal of redemption. It had not, however, taken him long to see that there was, indeed, no hypocrisy involved. His guilt was real, always had been. One particular memory had confirmed this beyond the shadow of a doubt.

A tombstone with one date. They'd only needed one.

He couldn't bear to think about it for too long at a time. He just couldn't.

Filth.

And yet... His own ancient pain, did that count for nothing? It had to, didn't it?

The second thing he'd grasped, a logical consequence of the first, was that, with repentance, redemption was not just an unreachable dream: it was truly possible. The horrible, mind-numbing fear that would often beset him during the first few... centuries? was gradually being replaced with hope, the tentative hope that the path would actually come to an end, someday.

It was something that had started after he'd peered into that first mirror, long ago. Of course, there had been - and still were, if he was perfectly honest - a good many relapses into terror, the terror that this place would be his dwelling place forever, but such relapses were to be expected, really. They were only natural, he supposed.

Finally, he was aware - how could he not be? - that the feeling of something having been forgotten-not-quite-forgotten had become a nigh-unbearable itch in his brain. This feeling was mixed with the most curious sense of desperation, growing ever stronger, occasionally even drowning out the ever-present guilt. It was so curious, because it wasn't his. He was often afraid, yes, and always at least slightly depressed, but never actually desperate. It was like an echo from another world, ghostly, intangible, despite its strength.

It was really very strange.

–––

Hold on, there at that bend in the path, was that...

Yes, yes, it was.

Another mirror.

Aziraphale at once hurried towards it, no longer frightened as he had been the first time, but inexplicably eager for another vision, another lesson.

Just like before, he stopped some ten feet away from the thing, and, stepping closer, examined it. Hmmm... How unusual. This mirror's frame was not made of a single kind of wood, as would have been customary. Rather, it was an intricate mosaic, composed of interlocking pieces of three different kinds of wood: white cedar, red oak, and blackwood, dark as could be. Each piece was decorated with stylised representations of crowns, swords, and scales, always one of each. They struck a chord in Aziraphale's mind, but he didn't know why.

It was then that the sands were cleared away. Aziraphale had been expecting it, this time, and was not startled. Not by that, at least. The people in the mirror saw to all the shock.

It took Aziraphale a few seconds to recognise them. When he did, his heart twisted within him, and tears sprang into his eyes. He desperately wanted to say something, anything, stammer out a too-late apology, but he couldn't find the words.

It was who they were, and it was their faces.

A boy in white and a woman in red, sitting, and a man in black, standing, against a background of destruction. All three were looking straight at him, and all three wore looks of kindness and compassion, rather than reproach.

–––

He sat in front of that mirror for a long, long time, not thinking, not even trying to. Just looking. The sight cut, but he couldn't tear his eyes away.

Kindness.

Compassion.

How long had it been since anyone had felt those things towards him? No-one ever had, as far as he could recall.

Or wait a minute - and he frowned - hadn't there once been someone, one single soul, who... who...

Oh.

Right.

Under the veil.

Typical.

Ah, well. At least now he knew that it was a person under there, not an object. That was worth something, surely.

With a shake of the head, he dismissed this train of thought. Not important, and probably just a constant figment of his imagination, anyway.

He turned his attention back to the picture. Those three. Each of them a victim of his, killed out of selfishness. Yes, it was true, he himself had suffered inside for millennia, but was that really any excuse? Now, ordinarily, Aziraphale would not have cared. They were personifications, after all, not real people. And yet... The complete pardon in their eyes, pardon for him, their murderer, it made them look so... so... blessedly human. Where had they found the incredible strength to be that?

And that was when he saw.

They were touching, the three of them.

The boy, seated on the ground, one hand adjusting his crown, the other clasped in the woman's, as she sat on a boulder, holding on to the pommel of the sword planted between her feet. The man, standing tall and straight beside her, a hand on her shoulder, the other toying with a pair of scales.

Could that be where they found their strength? In each other? Was it this that gave them such balance?

Balance.

Perhaps there was more to the concept than just this.

Perhaps, in killing them, he had been deceiving himself, had nearly made a fatal mistake.

Perhaps wiping out whatever was evil, whatever one perceived to be evil, didn't really solve anything.

Perhaps both good and evil were needed to keep the world turning.

Perhaps the two edges of the knife struck a kind of balance, too, like light and darkness.

Perhaps, if those three could... overlook what he'd done, that meant there were others like them, who could do the same.

Perhaps he could finally start letting go of his past deeds, himself.

Perhaps... Perhaps...

And the mirror fell apart before his eyes.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and felt a pang of regret at the loss of the homely sight. It had been so restful. Ah, well, and he shrugged and sighed. No help for it. At least he'd had it, for a little while.

Time to move on again, then, he supposed.