"There's no way of doing that without destroying the Cleavers," Merlin said with chilling flatness. Gabe averted his eyes from the vibration of that memory in him, the guilt weighing his expression, and looked to where the Cleaver had been instead.
It wasn't exactly wrong, but it wasn't quite right, either. "Well," he said, "maybe not all of them. We might be able to--"
"Gabriel, I need to speak with you," Merlin said abruptly, turning away from Solomon and moving toward the other side of the room, tension written in every line of his body. Gabe blinked and glanced toward Rafe; Rafe shrugged, rose and followed.
Gabe squeezed Skulduggery's arm reassuringly and moved off to join them. Behind him, he heard Corrival speak with a sigh.
"This is why I didn't want to be Grand Mage. Didn't I tell you I didn't want to be Grand Mage?"
"You're not the Grand Mage," Solomon murmured, and while his voice was still hoarse it was at least a bit steadier. His tone was the sort of a man who wasn't thinking about what he was saying, but still had enough awareness of it to be distantly amused. "You're the Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire. Lynott says so."
Gabe grinned, left the conversation, and turned expectantly toward Merlin. "What is it?"
The old Ancient's gaze was grim and old, but steady. "Gabe, we can't help them."
This was so completely not what Gabe expected that he stared. "What?" he exclaimed. "Of course we can! Rafe said it before--a single reflection would probably be strong enough to contain Bliss's soul. It's the simplest answer; it's his, so it's already got an attraction, and being ensouled would keep it from being a void. We'd just need to repair the mirror."
"That isn't what I meant," Merlin said. Quietly. Patiently. "Gabe, don't you think you've done enough? That we've done enough?"
Something turned over in Gabe's being and he pulled himself in close, his gaze flickering for a moment toward Rafe. The other Archangel stood silently, his head bowed. "I don't know what--" Except he did. He could read it all over Merlin mind and soul. He could read it in Rafe's presence that the other Archangel agreed. Gabe took a breath to steady himself. "They're my friends."
His voice was wavering, almost pleading. Because they were. His friends. They weren't angels. They weren't his wards. They were friends. How many angels could say that? Did Merlin not understand what that meant to him?
"And you're not helping them by providing them with every answer," Merlin said simply. "Gabe, having the will to choose to help doesn't give you the licence to. How many times did I beg you to do something or other for me, when I was younger? How many times did you refuse?"
"That was different." Even to himself, Gabe sounded defensive.
"Because you could throw responsibility on our Lord," Merlin pointed out. "You've witnessed the wagers. You, of all people, should know that inaction can be as helpful to the people as action can be. This isn't even our world. You were right to step out of their politics, but if you're still going to be here, giving them answers to questions that will define their nation and how they police it, then you may as well just take control here and now."
Take control?! Gabriel stiffened.
"I would never--" he started with pure indignation, but Rafe laid a hand on his arm, and between that and the mild chagrin on Merlin's face it was enough to quiet him.
"That isn't what he meant and you know it, Gabe," Rafe said. "But he's right. If humanity relied on us to answer every major question, they would never grow. Just because it only relates to a relative handful of people doesn't change the fact that you're going to make them reliant upon you, even with good intentions."
"The road to Hell," Merlin said softly, and Gabe finished.
"Is paved with good intentions." His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed. They were right. How many times had he seen it happen, that someone eager to please, eager to be helpful, could be led so astray? Even himself.
Merlin squeezed his arm. "The hardest part of having free will," he said quietly, "is knowing when not to step in. That's the part I don't envy anyone. But it's the part I don't envy you the most. You're used to it all being orders. Now, it will be your responsibility."
Free will, Gabe thought bitterly. A double-edged sword indeed. The most wonderful gift in existence, and the most difficult burden of all. He opened his eyes and looked over at the others. At Skulduggery and the strained-glass of his restraint. The little bloom of joy that was fast becoming familiar at the sight of him helped something in Gabe stabilise.
Even for all that, he wouldn't give it up for anything.
"You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry." He smiled, a little wobbly, as he looked back at them. "I think we need some better guidelines. For ourselves, if not from our Lord."
"I think we do too," Rafe agreed wryly, his dark eyes nevertheless serious. "It's one thing to push the boundaries. Another to know when to stop. I'm not sure where those lines lie, so we need to put some down ourselves."
"This coming from the angel who painted Dublin red?" Gabe teased, and Rafe grinned sheepishly.
"Either way, Mr Bliss's situation is something we have to leave to them," Merlin said firmly. Rafe nodded. After a moment, so did Gabe, even with apprehension written in his face. What were the others going to think of that? How were they going to react? Telling people 'no' was different when you didn't have to be there to face their disappointment and know it was directed at you on a personal level.
Without another word Gabe turned to head back toward the sorcerers, and wondered how he was meant to handle this sick, certain feeling that he was going to let someone down.
no subject
It wasn't exactly wrong, but it wasn't quite right, either. "Well," he said, "maybe not all of them. We might be able to--"
"Gabriel, I need to speak with you," Merlin said abruptly, turning away from Solomon and moving toward the other side of the room, tension written in every line of his body. Gabe blinked and glanced toward Rafe; Rafe shrugged, rose and followed.
Gabe squeezed Skulduggery's arm reassuringly and moved off to join them. Behind him, he heard Corrival speak with a sigh.
"This is why I didn't want to be Grand Mage. Didn't I tell you I didn't want to be Grand Mage?"
"You're not the Grand Mage," Solomon murmured, and while his voice was still hoarse it was at least a bit steadier. His tone was the sort of a man who wasn't thinking about what he was saying, but still had enough awareness of it to be distantly amused. "You're the Crossword Puzzler Extraordinaire. Lynott says so."
Gabe grinned, left the conversation, and turned expectantly toward Merlin. "What is it?"
The old Ancient's gaze was grim and old, but steady. "Gabe, we can't help them."
This was so completely not what Gabe expected that he stared. "What?" he exclaimed. "Of course we can! Rafe said it before--a single reflection would probably be strong enough to contain Bliss's soul. It's the simplest answer; it's his, so it's already got an attraction, and being ensouled would keep it from being a void. We'd just need to repair the mirror."
"That isn't what I meant," Merlin said. Quietly. Patiently. "Gabe, don't you think you've done enough? That we've done enough?"
Something turned over in Gabe's being and he pulled himself in close, his gaze flickering for a moment toward Rafe. The other Archangel stood silently, his head bowed. "I don't know what--" Except he did. He could read it all over Merlin mind and soul. He could read it in Rafe's presence that the other Archangel agreed. Gabe took a breath to steady himself. "They're my friends."
His voice was wavering, almost pleading. Because they were. His friends. They weren't angels. They weren't his wards. They were friends. How many angels could say that? Did Merlin not understand what that meant to him?
"And you're not helping them by providing them with every answer," Merlin said simply. "Gabe, having the will to choose to help doesn't give you the licence to. How many times did I beg you to do something or other for me, when I was younger? How many times did you refuse?"
"That was different." Even to himself, Gabe sounded defensive.
"Because you could throw responsibility on our Lord," Merlin pointed out. "You've witnessed the wagers. You, of all people, should know that inaction can be as helpful to the people as action can be. This isn't even our world. You were right to step out of their politics, but if you're still going to be here, giving them answers to questions that will define their nation and how they police it, then you may as well just take control here and now."
Take control?! Gabriel stiffened.
"I would never--" he started with pure indignation, but Rafe laid a hand on his arm, and between that and the mild chagrin on Merlin's face it was enough to quiet him.
"That isn't what he meant and you know it, Gabe," Rafe said. "But he's right. If humanity relied on us to answer every major question, they would never grow. Just because it only relates to a relative handful of people doesn't change the fact that you're going to make them reliant upon you, even with good intentions."
"The road to Hell," Merlin said softly, and Gabe finished.
"Is paved with good intentions." His shoulders slumped, his eyes closed. They were right. How many times had he seen it happen, that someone eager to please, eager to be helpful, could be led so astray? Even himself.
Merlin squeezed his arm. "The hardest part of having free will," he said quietly, "is knowing when not to step in. That's the part I don't envy anyone. But it's the part I don't envy you the most. You're used to it all being orders. Now, it will be your responsibility."
Free will, Gabe thought bitterly. A double-edged sword indeed. The most wonderful gift in existence, and the most difficult burden of all. He opened his eyes and looked over at the others. At Skulduggery and the strained-glass of his restraint. The little bloom of joy that was fast becoming familiar at the sight of him helped something in Gabe stabilise.
Even for all that, he wouldn't give it up for anything.
"You're right," he said softly. "I'm sorry." He smiled, a little wobbly, as he looked back at them. "I think we need some better guidelines. For ourselves, if not from our Lord."
"I think we do too," Rafe agreed wryly, his dark eyes nevertheless serious. "It's one thing to push the boundaries. Another to know when to stop. I'm not sure where those lines lie, so we need to put some down ourselves."
"This coming from the angel who painted Dublin red?" Gabe teased, and Rafe grinned sheepishly.
"Either way, Mr Bliss's situation is something we have to leave to them," Merlin said firmly. Rafe nodded. After a moment, so did Gabe, even with apprehension written in his face. What were the others going to think of that? How were they going to react? Telling people 'no' was different when you didn't have to be there to face their disappointment and know it was directed at you on a personal level.
Without another word Gabe turned to head back toward the sorcerers, and wondered how he was meant to handle this sick, certain feeling that he was going to let someone down.