The Archangel stood at the top of the Castel Sant' Angelo. It was early morning. The sun rose in the east, letting the most beautiful play of colours dance on his face. His eyes were the shade of bright lapis lazuli, and his hair, a fair chestnut in the golden dawn, blew softly in the morning breeze.
The birds sang their songs, and the river pounded gently against the pillars of the bridge connecting the ancient fortress to the Vatican. Once a safe refuge for the Pope when the city of Rome was under attack, now a tourist attraction. And a popular one, at that. The only thing keeping the mortals from seeing the actual angels among the stone ones when they gathered here was the illusion magic hidden within the heart of the grand citadel.

The Archangel inhaled the fresh morning air. His eyes travelled down to the empty streets. It seemed a sunrise was no longer valued by humans, perhaps because it happened every day. And because they valued their sleep. Where was the time when people stood in their fields and stopped work to look upon what the Lord had made for them? Fields were disappearing now. So were forests and lakes. Even mountains and glaciers were crumbling.
Humans thought they could do better. Although he had to admit, they persevered, and they tried. But it was all work. What about simply standing still and listening? What about looking past the end of their nose? No one did that anymore.

"Enjoying the sunrise, Gabriël?"

Gabriël blinked away his thoughts and turned at the sound of the familiar voice. At the base of the grand statue of Saint Michael stood the man himself, looking rather grim. Of the two, Michael was the fairer one, with blond hair and blue-grey eyes. Not to mention his muscles from combat training. And being almost a head taller also helped.
Though they supported each other in the hierarchy, Michael was the leader, the Lord Protector of the Heavens. He never let an opportunity go by to remind everyone of the fact. Gabriël wondered why he had bothered to descend from their home. Though, he could guess.

"As a matter of fact, I was contemplating mankind," he replied calmly.

"Again?" Michael rolled his eyes. "You know there is no point in trying to understand them. I stopped about two hundred years ago."

"Come now, Michael. Did our Lord not create the humans after His image?"

"And look at how far they have come. Are they still in His image?"

Gabriël gave his friend an annoyed look before averting to gaze once more at the rising sun.

"You should not speak like that, Michael."

"He knows there is truth in my words, as do the others. I believed you did as well?"

"I do, yet it is not so for all humans. As you well know. It is just their misfortune that -"

"Their misfortune that His wisdom and grace do not reach all," finished Michael.

One more, Gabriël gave in to irritation, lips pursing into a thin line. They had discussed this a hundred, if not a thousand, times before, yet his friend still couldn't see the potential. He could be narrow-minded sometimes.

"Why are you here, Michael?" asked Gabriël. "You rarely come down to Earth, and the others only do so when you command them. As God's Messenger, I have no other option but to constantly travel up and down to connect with the chosen ones. But you only leave the Heavens if there is a battle, a problem or by command of our Lord. So, which is it?"

"I forgot how well you know me." Michael chuckled. "You are right, of course. A problem this time. A recurring one, actually."

Gabriël waited with bated breath. He fervently prayed it wasn't who he thought it was.

"Joan."

He groaned silently as Michael said the name. Joan... again. Why didn't it surprise him? Who else would cause a problem? And naturally, Michael wanted Gabriël to take care of said problem. For where Michael had the looks, Gabriël had the charms. And it was precisely those charms Michael came to appeal to, yet again.

"What has she done this time? Or is it that she did not do what she was asked to do?"

"She continues to rebel against us. Her actions do not bode well for her. Nor us, for that matter." Michael started pacing. "If we cannot control her... I fear for what comes next."

"Michael, come now, do not exaggerate." Gabriël turned to face the Lord Protector again. "Yes, she acts out, but can you blame her? She put her faith, her love, her very life in our hands, and we let her down. How do you expect her to act?"

"I would expect her to finally get over something that happened over six hundred years ago! She is valuable to us, yet she thwarts us in every way she can."

"She burned at the stake for believing in our Lord and in us when the so-called men of God denied us! When we were not allowed to save her, the very least we could have done was prepare her for what was to come!"

Gabriël hated this discussion. After all, he had been one of the first voices to speak to Joan when she was but a teenager yet living at home. What he hated most, though, was Michael's insensitivity to the situation. Even now, Michael looked at Gabriël as if he had gone half-mad.

"Prepare her?" he questioned. "How could we possibly have prepared her? We ourselves did not know at the time. We still do not know when or what will happen, merely that it will happen."

"She at least deserved to know what her purpose truly was. That the battles she fought on Earth were merely a test for her. That she was always meant to die and join us. She would have understood that. Embraced it, even."

"Gabriël -"

"She would have!" exclaimed Gabriël. "She was strong, is strong. But when we remained silent in those last days, her body was not the only thing that died on that pyre. Her faith did as well. And that was our doing."

Michael remained silent, eyes narrowed and brow pinched in pensive thought. Gabriël knew what he was thinking. His friend worried about this burst of passion, which only shone so brightly in battle – on the rare occasion his poor warrior skills were tested - or when he defended Joan. He never hesitated to speak on her behalf.

"Gabriël," started Michael, "I understand. Believe me, I do. But my concern is not only for Joan, but for all the angels. I am the Lord Protector, and I have a duty to you all. It is my charge, and I cannot - no - I will not forsake it. The only reason I come to you is that I know you have some influence over her. She may yet listen to you. Catherine and Margaret have tried, but they do not have your... sway, if I may put it like that. Please, just speak to her. I ask not only for her but for us all. If you cannot solve this problem, I will be forced to act."

"Solve this problem... Do you even hear yourself?" Gabriël hung his head as his voice quivered with contained anger. He chose his following words with care. "Very well. I will speak to her. But I implore you not to take any action. She will be the key to helping us in the Final Battle; I know it. We cannot afford to lose her over this."

Michael looked at the sun, which had now risen entirely over the city of Rome. Gabriël suspected he would've rather dealt with Joan himself off the bat, but that was not God's will. She mattered to His design, so Michael had to agree to Gabriël's terms if he wanted his help.

"Very well. Do what you must. But be warned, Gabriël. This is her last chance. If she does not change her attitude, she will lose her wings, and there will be no way back for her."

"You take her wings, and she will be the ultimate prey for the darkness," argued Gabriël.

Michael's ivory wings grew out, and he soared above his own statue.

"She already is," he said, a dark undertone in his voice.

And he was gone. Gabriël sighed and rubbed his temple. Michael was right. The darkness that lurked in the Mortal Realm had wanted Joan from the moment she was born so long ago in the little farming village of Domrémy. The moment she lost her faith, was the moment she became an object of desire to the hellish fiends below. Letting her fall was not an option.
With one last look at the sun, Gabriël spread his wings and flew into the clouds. He had a few ideas of where to find her.

***

The young woman dressed in dark jeans, a red shirt and sporting a leather jacket walked towards the entrance of the once majestic castle. She pushed back a lock of brown hair, which had fallen from her messy braid. It was so bothersome that she couldn't cut it. She'd tried several times, but her hair always grew back to the length it had been at the time of her death.
During her imprisonment, she had tried to keep it short with shards of glass, but the guards had taken everything when they found out and whipped her. At the time, she forgave them, believing they were only following orders. Now, she despised them and hoped they were suffering with the other beasts in Hell.

The Great Hall of Chinon was in ruins now, but she still remembered what it looked like when she had been brought there to meet the Dauphin. The castle itself, the courtyard, the decorations, the people... All so glamorous, but not for her. She would have preferred going to battle a thousand times before going through that ordeal again.
A young peasant girl from the small village of Domrémy, entering the Great Hall and being put to the test of recognising the real Dauphin. Her angels guiding her to the man on her left, hiding in the crowd. The scrutinising looks alone were enough to make the bravest man run behind his mother's skirts. That was in the year of our Lord, 1429.
Only a year later, Joan of Arc would be captured by Burgundy and sold to the English. And her King did not even try to save her after all the victories she had given him. Not once.

But then again, neither did they, she thought ruefully, glaring up to the sky.

"I thought I might find you here."

Joan didn't face the man behind her. She would recognise his voice anywhere; it was the only voice that always spoke to her with kindness. If she looked, she knew he would once again win her to his side.

"Don't get me wrong, I tried other places as well. Orléans, Paris, even Rouen."

"In other words, this was just another lucky guess?" She couldn't help sounding bitter.

"Well, yes... I suppose so," Gabriël paused a moment. "Michael came to see me."

Joan scoffed and rolled her eyes. So predictable. Gabriël moved to stand in front of her, but she turned her head. She wouldn't let him win this one. At least not without a proper fight.

"I'll understand if you don't want to look at me, but will you talk to me at least?" 

She clicked her tongue and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. She noticed he was wearing his grey striped suit. That one made him look like so sophisticated and classy. She preferred this attire over the robes he usually wore, if she were honest. There was no specific dress-code in the Heavens, but Archangels were sticklers to keep 'the old ways' alive.
The regular angels like Joan only wore their robes and gowns when there was a celebration or ceremony. Most kept to the clothes from their own time since very few of them had travel privileges, but those selected few who were allowed some Earth-time were not opposed to dressing more modern. 

"How much do you know of Michael's strategy for the Final Battle?" she finally asked. "If it ever comes to that, of course."

"Not too much," admitted Gabriël. "I'm the Lord's Messenger, not a full-time soldier. When it comes, I'll follow Michael's orders."

"Just like that? No questions asked?"

"He's the Lord Protector, Joan. The Guardian of the Heavens and our leader. Is it perhaps common for humans to question their commanders? Did your men challenge you when you led them into battle?"

"At first, but it had nothing to do with my strategies. Only with the fact I didn't have the same thing between my legs they had."

The Archangel chuckled, and she almost smiled at the memory. Michael had been the one to stand by her during that time, but Joan knew Gabriël had still watched her. She'd felt him near. Somehow.

"Joan, please tell me what happened," he urged.

"I was at the last meeting," said Joan with a weary sigh. "If Michael continues with his 'strategy', we're all doomed. He may think he knows how to plan a battle, but he doesn't. The fight can shift at any moment, and he hasn't taken that into account. One soldier can make the difference between victory and defeat. You always need to have a backup to save as many as possible and foresee the most favourable outcome - your primary plan of attack, then your reserve. Even you seem to understand that concept, and you're not even an active fighter."

"Yes, well, my mind is more analytical than Michael's, but let's not digress. I'm assuming you spoke up?" 

"He dismissed my concerns, as always. I understand Michael is the Lord Protector, but apart from training and a couple of small fights at the Gates and here on Earth, he has no experience in proper battle. He thinks himself a strategist but he isn't. I've been to war, though. I've been through it all. And I always felt safe, knowing I had Heaven's strongest warrior watching over me when I was in the midst of battle, but now..."

She paused, hesitant to continue, fearful of Gabriël's reaction. Her eyes remained focused on where the throne once stood.

"I couldn't take it anymore. I told him we stand alone anyway when it comes down to it. There are traitors in every army, no matter how divine it might be or how angelic their faces are. Even your most trusted friends and allies can let you down."

And with those words, Joan finally looked at Gabriël. She always forgot how handsome he was. Michael was usually the favourite, but not to her. She liked those soft cheekbones. And, oh, those piercing blue eyes. Eyes that made her lose yourself entirely as if she were cast into the deepest ocean. Those eyes, usually twinkling with wonder, stood wide now.
Gabriël's dismayed expression said it all. He knew her meaning. When she spoke of her most trusted friends, she wasn't talking about her brothers Pierre and Jean. Nor of her knights, La Hire and De Metz. Nor even the most beloved of all, her beau duc, Alençon. She spoke of him. Of Michael, Catherine, and Margaret. Her voices, her most trusted friends, who had let her die alone.

"Y-You... You didn't say... Please, tell me you didn't say that!"

"I know I shouldn't have. I was angry. It just... slipped out."

"Slipped out?" Gabriël's voice went up an octave. "Joan, for Heaven's sake, you need to keep these thoughts to yourself! How can you continue to see us as traitors? You know you had to die to join us. We needed you. We still need you. You are one of the bravest, noblest, and most selfless persons I have ever encountered, but I will not let you say these things in the open anymore. Come straight to me if you want to talk about this, but say nothing to the others and never speak like that in front of Michael again."

"Why?" demanded Joan. "Why is this so important to you?"

Gabriël drew back. He bit his lip, hesitant to speak. Joan stepped up to him, sensing something was amiss.

"You're on the verge of losing your wings," he said. 

"My...?" Joan's anger flared up. "Are you kidding me? You let me die in my human life to join you for the Final Battle, and now you would cast me out before that even happens? Then what the hell was the point of all this in the first place?"

"Joan, calm down, please. Michael won't do anything. Not yet. Not until he's commanded to or until -"

"Until?"

"Until you leave him no other choice. So please, I beg you, keep these thoughts to yourself or come to me if you want to talk. But if you lash out like that one more time, it will be over."

Joan's fists balled up. She fought hard to hold back her tears. No man had ever seen her cry. Not even when she had been imprisoned. She never allowed herself to show them they could get to her, least of these maddening Archangels.

"You're telling me I can talk to you? Fine, let's talk," she dared him. "You warn me now, but where were you six hundred years ago?"

"Joan, I... I couldn't," Gabriël stammered, taken by surprise. "Michael -"

"Kept you away, yes, I know," Joan cut him off. "But that doesn't change the fact you all knew, Gabriël. You knew my sentencing before my judges even knew. Any of you could have told me. I had a right to know. I would have died with my head held high and with pride, knowing I would serve a greater purpose in Heaven at your side. Instead, I died alone... and abandoned."

She couldn't hold her tears back any longer. Nor could she stand to be in his presence for one minute longer. She turned and walked away.

"I tried, Joan!" Gabriël cried, making Joan stop in her tracks. "I tried. Don't you remember? The night before your execution, I came to your cell despite Michael's orders."

She shut her eyes, letting a single tear to roll down her cheek. She did remember. That's why it hurt so much. Michael and the girls were the ones who had the most contact with her, but it was Gabriël who had delivered the most important messages from the moment he helped her recognise the Dauphin. Gabriël had been the one who offered comfort when she truly needed it. 

"That was the last time I saw you smile," he said. "You reached for me, and you smiled."

"Yes," whispered Joan. "And then you disappeared."

Why was he tormenting her like this? Why wouldn't he just leave? He had done Michael's bidding; nothing more needed to be said. 
Joan refused to look back at him. She heard the rustling of feathers as Gabriël took to the sky, leaving her at Chinon with her memories and thoughts and the hauntings from the life she had once lived.

***

The shadow watching Joan since that morning left as she did. It went to the nearest forest and continued deep in the heart of those murky woods. There, it entered a dead tree, descending into the deepest Circles of Hell. It had to pass through all nine of them to get to the Master. He would be awaiting a new report. And he would certainly like to hear this one.

This will most definitely please him.

It passed other shades and contorted figures. Lost souls who would forever endure their punishment without hope of salvation. When it finally entered the Ninth Circle, the shadow saw the palace, surrounded by ice and snow. Only a privileged few could perceive the wintry fortress's splendour and magnificence. The weak-minded saw nought but frozen rocks. But not this shadow. This one was one of his confidants.
The shadow shaped into its true form as soon as it entered through the crystalized gate and continued on foot to the chambers of the ruler of the Circles of Hell. It was now a he, a man with a long beard, dressed in dark robes, who was once both feared and loved. A man who had been betrayed. A man who had lost his wings and embraced his dark self.
He let himself in, a privilege he had earned after years of loyal service, and found the Master looking into a grand wall mirror. The reflection showed the Fourth Circle - greed, most entertaining to watch... to a certain point at least.

"Ha-ha, oh look, Borgia has won the joust again. Oh, I do like that boy. If he wins another five tilts, I will promote him once more. What a marvel he is!"

The man waited until he was spoken to. He knew better than to interrupt his Master while watching his favourite sport. The Master often allowed the strongest souls from each Circle to compete against each other in a diabolical jousting tournament with no rules or judge. The last one standing was the victor, the losers were given to the hellbeasts for their amusement or to still their hunger. The prize was merely a tiniest bit of comfort and position that they were actually undeserving of.

"You have something to report?" the Master asked with a hint of curiosity, dark eyes still on the mirror

"My Master." He bowed and began his report, the slightest Russian accent escaping him. "I did as you requested and tracked the girl this morning. I came upon her at Chinon."

"Oh Joan, Joan, Joan, how wonderfully melodramatic of you, ha! Yes, continue."

"He was there as well; Gabriël. I heard what I believe to be a rather interesting conversation."

"Hmm, I'll be the judge of that. What did they say?"

"Apparently, she spoke out to Michael again. She believes his strategy for the Final Battle will doom them all, as he has little experience in the actual field, does not have backup plans and apparently will not take her advice."

"Well, that is predictable for Michael. Spends too much time with his head in the clouds. And though he is a formidable fighter, I'm inclined to agree on his lack of experience. Was that it?"

"No, my Lord. Joan still blames them all for abandoning her six hundred years ago. And she said so again to his face and all who had gathered at that moment. Michael wasn't too happy about that, of course. He threatened to act next time she speaks out of turn."

The Master looked up in surprise and came toward him. The red and black robes made absolutely no sound. His long black hair was bound back, revealing his charismatic face. His lips curled up in a wicked smile. He walked closer until the servant could feel his breath upon him.

"Michael would clip Joan's wings?" the Master wondered aloud. "After everything they did to get her up there?Oh, this is marvellous news! Grigori, my dear friend, you have proven yourself once more."

"Master, I do not deserve your praise and kindness," answered Grigori. "Merely knowing I have served you well is good enough for your humble servant."

"Nonsense, you shall be rewarded. And I know just how. How about two of them this time? Alexandra and one of the girls? And make sure the husband knows you have them. Take all the time you want with them, but do make them suffer. I didn't pluck them from their way up to the Heavens for nothing."

"You are most generous, my Lord. Yet... there may be a problem."

"Yes, I think I know what you mean. That feathered goody-two-shoes, Gabriël. He is the only one who might be able to keep Joan on the side of good. But then again..." The Master's grin widened. "His desire to protect her from Michael is exactly what we need. This may be the one chance we get after waiting for six hundred years."

"Can... Can it truly be done, my Lord?" asked Grigori, hesitant. "Joan is susceptible to us. Of that, I have no doubt. But Gabriël is an Archangel; he is much stronger and will not be swayed so easily to break his vows."

"Yes, I know what he is, Grigori. Thank you for reminding me." The Master sneered at him. "And knowing Gabriël, I can tell you with certainty that he will do anything to keep her safe. He owes it to her after not being there the last time she needed him. Michael did us all a favour when he chained Gabriël up that day. Oh yes, this is good, this is very good. Grigori, my dear friend, I believe it is finally happening."

"But, Master, if I may? What if Gabriël somehow sets things right between Joan and Michael, and she doesn't lose her wings?"

"Well then, we must make sure he does exactly what we want him to do. How about a visit from... an old protégée?"