Inventory took longer than expected, and night had fallen by the time Joan and Gabriël left the apothecary, but no one complained. Raphael had been glad to see his friend and fellow Archangel, so he and Gabriël talked while Joan inspected the herbs. He invited the pair to stay for dinner, but both had kindly refused. Joan didn't mind working for Raphael, but she disliked his constant chattering. She had always preferred silence. Until, of course...

"Um, Joan? My house is this way, remember?"

She looked up at Gabriël. He had gone right as she continued straight to her own little farmhouse. 

"We need to stay together," said Gabriël upon noting her confused expression. "I have guard duty in an hour."

"You're kidding, right?" complained Joan. "I've been up since dawn, and I haven't eaten yet."

"You can eat at my house. Or do you really hate my company that much?"

Joan didn't want to answer that. She just rolled her eyes and followed him. No, she didn't hate his company. On the contrary, she enjoyed it. Gabriël was one of the few who understood her and knew what she needed. What she hated was this whole situation. Then again, it could have been worse if Gabriël hadn't spoken up for her. She could have been stuck with Raphael, for example. Oh, that would have been punishment!

They continued in silence, Joan a few steps behind Gabriël. Passing the Lake of Nevaeh, she now realised how similar they were. In living arrangements, at least. They both preferred solitude over neighbours, the calm of nature... On a clear day, they could see one another across the lake. But unless one invited the other, it remained an occasional wave. Having this new arrangement was already endangering that silent mutual understanding.
One thing she found fascinating about Gabriël's home is that it often transformed its appearance. Sometimes it was a farmhouse like hers, or a Victorian residence, and even a tower. She could have sworn she saw an igloo once, too. It's like he just couldn't settle on one style. He had to try them all. Right now, it was a homey country cottage with a stable sheltered by a giant willow tree.

A horse left the stable to meet them as they approached; Thirza, a dainty palomino mare. Every angel who received combat training was tested to see if they could handle one of the Heavenly Horses. It was rare to pass this test. Joan had, as everyone had expected her to, although she struggled at first. Her own stallion, Spiritus, was purest white, except for his manes, which were black as coal. He was probably wondering where she was. She rarely stayed away for this long. Across the lake, she saw him grazing. As she thought of him, he raised his head, and she smiled. 
Thirza accompanied them to the front door, where Gabriël hugged her gently and whispered some words. Joan watched curiously. There was a rumour that Archangels who had bonded with a Heavenly Horse could have an actual conversation that none other could understand. It's what made them indispensable as leaders in the cavalry (though some wondered how Gabriël would ever lead since he was no outstanding fighter. They even wondered how he had bonded in the first place.). An animal could sense danger, whereas other beings could not. It was definitely an advantage to have that bond.

As Joan followed Gabriël into the cottage, she noticed the table in the kitchen was already set for two, with food ready to eat. Cooking was the one thing nobody had to do because it was always right there (though they could if they wanted to). Nobody understood how, but nobody asked either. At least, not anymore. Food - and sleep, too - was not necessary for survival, after all. It was merely a means to replenish energy and to give the new arrivals some peace of mind that not everything from mortal life was gone.
Joan moved her plate further away to the far end of the table and sat sulking. Gabriël frowned but said nothing. She was grateful he got the hint. Yes, he was only helping, but she honestly didn't care. For all his good intentions, Gabriël was her jailer now. It changed everything between them. And that hurt her more than he could possibly imagine.

***

The Gates of the Heavens were called the Pearls because of how they were built. From a distance, they looked like twelve giant pearls. Anyone who had spent their life near the sea swore they could smell the salty air and see nacre glistening on the frames. Joan couldn't confirm or deny this, as she had never been to the sea. Not back then and not now. Hills had always appealed more to her than waves.
There were twelve Gates, each leading to a person's destiny in the hereafter. Everyone who deserved to be in the Heavens was directed through the right portal by one ever-present being - the Keeper of Heaven's Gates; Peter, the first Pope and one of His Son's chosen few. Though he found himself unworthy of such an important task, no one could do it better.

Peter's task never ended. Work, eat, sleep, work again. When a soul came up, Peter looked up their deeds in life in a scroll (Joan had snuck a peek once, but it appeared blank to her) and then passed judgment. That was always the most challenging part of it. Deciding who to let pass through the Gates and who to send away to the Circles. Thankfully, the most depraved souls never made it up; the Angel of Death saw to that.
Judgment usually came swiftly, but sometimes Peter had to think and question the person before him to make sure he would make the right decision. So that he would not send them to a place of torment when they were not meant for that fate.
And, of course, there were times he singled out those whom the Lord himself had chosen in life and who had proven their faith in Him to enter the Vale and prepare for the Final Battle. Their names were provided by Michael. Sometimes, certain characters of questionable moral were chosen, which raised questions, of course, but most rightfully deserved their place in the Vale. Honourable warriors of unseen talent and skill, artistas who could design machines to defend and attack, writers who became magicians, physicians who could heal and kill with a simple potion... Every one of them had a particular skill the Lord deemed useful for the Final Battle. 

Joan and Gabriël, both dressed in grey guard uniforms that fitted their bodies like a second skin, were posted on either side of the Main Gate, where Peter would call upon the many souls waiting on the borders. Their primary task was to keep him safe at all costs. Without a Keeper, the souls were doomed to roam between barriers and risked becoming earthbound spirits. 
Keeping those souls calm was their secondary task. Some could be mischievous or restless through no fault of their own. They were the ones who had been touched by a dark entity. The ones who could haunt and possess the living. The ones who had been unjustly claimed by the darkness and needed to be judged with care.

After being judged unworthy for the Heavens, one soul had struggled, but Gabriël had made quick work of him and sent him down to the Circles. Joan stood in front of Peter to keep him safe, and during the ordeal, she remembered protecting the Dauphin herself as a bodyguard. It really wasn't that different. Once the commotion was over, Gabriël retook his position and nodded at Joan. She didn't react, keeping her focus on the souls before her and not on the man beside her. 

"Well, I'm going to have a small bite," announced Peter suddenly. "Oh Joan, my dear, you must be hungry as well. Or at least thirsty. Accompany me, won't you?"

"Thank you, Peter, but I can't leave my post," said Joan.

"It's okay, Joan," said Gabriël. "I can handle it for a few minutes. Go on."

She really shouldn't, but it would be a welcome reprieve to sit for a few minutes. Especially since she hadn't slept yet. Joan followed Peter into his home and sat down at the table. He reminded her of her grandfather. A shrunken and wrinkly man with a bald head, save for a few plucks of hair at his ears and a fluffy white beard. His grey eyes seemed to reflect every pleasant emotion in the world. She doubted if Peter could even get angry.
Joan looked around the interior of his home. He was a man of simple needs. A fisherman's hut with a table, a few chairs, and a bed. Bread, fish, and butter were his meal. Sweet white wine was his drink. There was a second cup on the table for Joan. She put it against her lips, taking a moment to enjoy the scent before drinking.

"My dear, do you remember when you stood here in front of these Gates?" asked Peter. "When we first met? You were terrified to be here. You thought all this was a lie and a dream. That the burning had not happened, and that you were asleep in your cell. I couldn't convince you it was real. Not on my own. There was only one person who could."

She did remember. When she had opened her eyes, she was lying before the Gates, clouded from view of the other souls. Only Peter was there. Top priority, as she recalled it. But she had been too confused to understand. Close to frantic. Feeling the pain of the flames and the smell of her own burning flesh one moment and then absolutely nothing the next.
And then he had appeared - Gabriël. He had held her in his arms, warm and comforting, and whispered that she was where she was meant to be. That she had lived her life in service of the Lord so she could pass through the Gates and be part of what was to come. Peter had let Gabriël escort her into the Vale, no questions asked. Joan was part of His Design and under the protection of an Archangel. That was all he needed to know.

"Of everyone here," continued Peter, "the two of you are among a select lucky few who were able to maintain the deep and precious connection that was formed between mortal and angel. There is friendship, of course, that doesn't go away. But you and Gabriël -"

"What are you trying to say, Peter?" interrupted Joan, too tired to read between the lines.

"I'm saying I noticed your behaviour toward him, and I don't care for it. You and Gabriël always used to talk, my dear. One of you has it hard, and the other is right there, like it or not. So whatever is not making you speak to each other now, resolve it. It'll eat you up if you don't – both of you."

Joan lowered her gaze to the table. She twirled her empty cup between her hands. It was true; she always talked to Gabriël because she trusted him, and... he made her feel alive, somehow. But she didn't have to admit she needed him. Not to Peter, Margaret or Catherine. And certainly not to Gabriël.

Suddenly, an awful feeling made Joan's heart clench, and she jerked her head towards the door. Something wasn't right. She jumped up, and her cup fell to the floor. Peter made to follow her, but she raised her arm to stop him.

"Peter, no! Under no circumstance do you follow me! Stay inside and signal for help, now!"

Joan ran out the door. She hoped she wasn't too late.

***

Gabriël watched Joan and Peter walk to his hut. A few moments away from each other was probably good. Besides, he had the feeling Peter sensed something was wrong. Maybe some small talk with the old man would cheer her up.
He turned his attention back to the souls. They waited calmly. Some talking to each other, others just looking around. Still, Gabriël remained vigilant. He paced in front of the Main Gate, wishing the replacement guards would come soon. Much had happened in little time, and he needed to rest.
Then he saw it. A shadow, it seemed. But it had gone in the blink of an eye. As he scanned the area, he saw it again, larger and darker. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword as the shadow burst into a dozen little ones.

Not good.

"Go to the Gates, hurry," he whispered as he walked past the souls.

They picked up on the urgency in his voice and moved, signalling others around them to follow. Gabriël tried to keep track of the shadows. He narrowed his eyes when he found them moving in strange coordination with each other, as if looking for a specific target. He held his breath when he saw what they were after—the children. Pure souls and easiest to influence.
Gabriël didn't hesitate. He drew his sword and rushed towards them. Just as one shadow made to attack, he pierced it right through its core, where the heart should have been. It gave a shriek and shattered like a mirror. The other shadows froze instantly, but focused their attention on Gabriël.

"RUN!"

As the children ran towards the other souls, Gabriël fought the shadows. He shattered two more and held off another as it floated up to grab his legs. Then he heard a terrifying scream. One shadow had snuck past him and snatched up a little girl. It was already moving to the edge of the border to drag her below to the Circles. Gabriël tried to make his way to her, but there were too many shadows surrounding him. He was trapped.
Suddenly, a flash of a sword cut through the shadow, and the girl fell inside the border as it exploded into nothing. Before another shadow could reach her, it was shattered by a well-aimed dagger. Gabriël exhaled in relief when he saw Joan picking the girl up. She handed her to some souls (soldiers by their looks) who had rushed to help, and then she directed her attention to Gabriël. She ran to him, shattering another shadow on her way. But more kept coming.

"Peter's calling for help," she said, panting lightly from her sprint and fight.

"Good, we can hold them off till then," Gabriël responded.

But even as he said it, he knew they might not. These were no ordinary shadows used for scouting and sending messages. These were dark souls in their unbound and fickle form, with a more significant task to fulfil. 
They fought back to back, but the shadows drew them apart by attempting to attack the souls again. Left with no choice, Joan moved to protect the souls as Gabriël was pushed closer to the borders. He had slain more than he could count, and they still kept coming. He didn't understand. It had been years since the last deliberate attack on the Gates. Why now? And where were the other guards?
Suddenly, Gabriël heard a sound behind him. In a reflex, he turned and swung his sword. It struck down on steel. He was kicked to the ground but recovered quickly and faced his foe. Not a shadow but a dark soul in human form, with raven hair and eyes as black as night. His armour fitted his muscled body as if he had been born into it, and he held his sword like it was an extension of his arm. Gabriël had hoped never to meet Cesare Borgia again.

The demon smirked at Gabriël. It had been a long time since their paths had crossed. The self-proclaimed Prince had also been chosen to serve in the Heavenly Army in a long-forgotten past. Up to a certain point, it had all gone... okay. Then his brother, Giovanni Borgia, had died.
Though the Roman people, and even his own family, had always suspected him of fratricide, Cesare escaped punishment. He was manipulative and eventually convinced those closest to him he was innocent. His lust for power and gold had driven him to do horrible things.

Where Gabriël had succeeded with Joan, he had failed with this man. She lost everything but kept believing till the last moment, while Borgia never bothered to pay attention in the first place. Though at first impressed by Gabriël's visit, he came to see it as evident. Why would he not be chosen? He was to be the Prince of Rome, Italy, the world even. Obviously, God wanted him in this grand army. No one better. His pride, greed, and cruelty were his undoings.
When the Borgia Bastard died, left in a ditch to rot, stripped of all his wealth and clothes, Gabriël had been asked to stand witness during judgment. It was not uncommon for the Messenger to do so, as he was the one angel who travelled down to Earth the most. Borgia had hoped Gabriël would speak in his defence, but he had been as ruthless as Borgia had been. After his testimony, Peter ruled Borgia unworthy of the Heavens. He had been livid; it had taken all the guards present and both Michael and Gabriël to control him.
'You said I had my place here, Gabriël! You will pay for this! If it takes me a thousand years!' 
Those last words still echoed in Gabriël's head. And now, here he was.

"What? No 'hello'? No 'you look well for being a demon'? Tut-tut Gabriël, you keep disappointing me," Borgia spoke as he advanced slowly on Gabriël. "I thought you'd be happy to see that I actually came out all right after all."

After observing this man all his life, Gabriël knew when he was toying with his opponent. Luckily, he also knew how to counter him.

"Oh, but I am. I knew you would fit in with all the other treacherous bastards down there."

Gabriël swung to his side as Borgia's sword came down. He took his chance to strike and change his position, facing the border instead of the Gates. In a glance, he saw Joan was still fighting off shadows from the souls. At least she was safer than he was right now.

"Is that all you can do, Gabriël?" taunted Borgia. "He wants you up here when you can barely hold up that sword, but not me? A true warrior? This is going to be easier than I thought."

"Don't be so sure."

They clashed together in full-on single combat - no holding back. The swords were mere flashes in the air, only seen when they struck each other.