Liriel watched them with awe and dread. Many of these had been known to her back when she was an angel herself. Some of them had been friends, others had only been distant acquaintances. But back then there had been no Seraphim Council. It had been formed in the aftermath of the Revolution, while the rebels were imprisoned in the Pit; that place she no longer called home. Before the Revolution there had been peace and unity. Now the two sides were locked in a War that had raged for twenty-five millennia, and here in this place, she was the enemy. The traitor.

The otherworldly forms faded and became human, as one after the other stepped out of the Heaven-light and into the world proper. Now they looked like men and women. Old and young, fresh-faced and wrinkled. Only their eyes betrayed their alien natures. All but one, that is. There was one who never took human form, and it descended into the form of ten thousand bees, gathered in a dense cloud. It settled all over a table in one great, crawling mass. The final arrival didn't come from above. A tall, gaunt man with greying hair and piercing, pale-blue eyes, slipped quietly in through a door that wasn't there a moment before.

The Seraphim Council had gathered.

Michael was watching the appearances with a carefully arranged face. Blank, except for his eyes. The amnesiac's stance shifted imperceptibly as he eyed the last one to arrive; his eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened. Liriel clung to Michael's arm, trying to hide from the gazes of all these angels, wanting nothing but to melt into insignificance.

The tall, gaunt one wasted no time. Dominic, Archangel of Judgment, beelined for Eli, and his dry, commanding voice boomed out: "Eli, Archangel of Creation! I hereby charge you with Heresy, Negligence and..."

"SILENCE!"

The sudden absence of sound covered the room like a thick, wet blanket. A short, skinny, intense-looking young man glared at Dominic and then at Eli. The Archangel of Judgment glared back in angrily, but had no choice but to hold his tongue. Laurence, Lord Commander of the Lord's Host spoke again, this time in his normal voice, "We will deal with that later, Most Just. For now, I have questions of my own." He focused on Creation, who was popping an olive into his mouth. "Eli, kindly elaborate on the situation, and make it plain. We have no time for clownery." Laurence's normal voice was only slightly less commanding than Laurence's Big Voice.

"I've called you here to help restore Archangel Michael," Eli said into the pregnant silence, and indicated Michael with a gesture of thumb. The Council stared as one at him, and in the case of the bee swarm, this involved coordinating an astonishing number of eyes. Even the big, bearded fellow who was pacing around the room stopped and remained utterly still for all of twenty seconds. Then the eyes of the Seraphim Council moved again, and came to rest upon Michael, who stared right back at them.

"He is empty," one woman said in a hushed voice. "I cannot see into his heart." A quiet whisper of agreement rustled through the group.

The object of scrutiny displayed little amusement. "Well, if you're all quite done staring at me as if I'm some kind of goddamn freak...?" he sniped.

"Do not speak Profanity to us, Michael. Invoking the Lord's Name in vain is a sin!" Dominic snapped.

"I don't like you, so shut it," Michael growled in response. His hands inexplicably tightened into fists, as his eyes shot daggers at the austere Judge.

Laurence frowned and cleared his throat meaningfully. "Why did you not bring him to our shared Holy Place in Paris?" he asked Eli.

"Because he was War, and should become so again," the shorts-clad one answered. "This place sings with his Word, and oughta heighten our chances for success." Eli shot a wry smile to a lush, African-looking woman, "Sorry babe, but you know it's the right thing to do..." She nodded reluctantly, adjusting her flowery sari.

"Indeed," boomed the big, restless man as he turned on his heel and walked to the front of the gathering. "Look, are we gonna stand here and yak all day, or are we gonna hop to it and get things done? I've got places to be and people to rearrange. This dude looks like Mike, talks like Mike, acts like Mike and obviously remembers who he's not loving. So what's the hold-up? You've a plan, right, E?" He rubbed his hands and grinned at Eli, ignoring the furious glance from the skinny little man with the big voice.

"Sure. I know what we have to do. All we need is to agree to do this, and we'll be ready. Commander?" The Archangel of Creation tilted his head in deference to Archangel Laurence. The latter frowned. "There are some questions I would like answered first. Let us start with why you did not inform us sooner that you were tracking War's Remnant." He eyed Eli coolly. Dominic cleared his throat and added, "And you will also kindly explain what that is doing here," he demanded and pointed a long, thin finger straight at Liriel.

"Er, I didn't inform you because I, uh, wasn't. Tracking him, y'know. Like you, I though he was a goner." Eli smiled sheepishly. "In fact, she found him and took him to one of my places." And with this, he pointed happily at Liriel, who was failing miserably in her endeavour to turn invisible. Eyes, so many eyes regarded her. Some with distaste, some with pity, some indifferent and some with deadly intent. She trembled, knees weak and palms sweaty. Only a massive effort of will stopped her from falling to her knees to grovel before them.

Michael shifted to an even more protective posture, and peered at them through slitted eyes. The Judge moved closer, staring malevolently at Liriel. His finger still pointed right at her, accusing her. "A Fallen. A Traitor to Heaven. This mockery of a being will be placed in confinement pending interrogation and trial," he announced.

A unison intake of breath filled the room, as Michael took one step forward and punched Dominic in the face. The Archangel of Judgment was caught completely by surprise and hit the floor with a solid thud. A strangled whimper escaped Liriel's throat. "Don't you dare talk like that to me and mine in this place, you scrawny prick! Come near her again, and you'll be in a world of pain." Michael stood over the prone, nosebleeding Archangel, his voice a menacing hiss. "This is my house! You get to show some respect around here, or you get to fuck off."

"MICHAEL! STAND DOWN!"

"And fuck you too," Michael snapped to the Commander. The Council stared at him in stunned silence. Laurence's jaw dropped open in sheer disbelief.

"What?!" Michael demanded irritably. "What the hell's the matter with you lot? Are you superior beings or are you not? Are you going to help me or not?"

A loud, hearty guffaw tore the attending eminences out of their shock. The brawny, bearded guy doubled over and shook with mirth. Eli bit his lip with a strained look on his face, eyes dancing. The African woman closed her eyes briefly, and then took great interest in a nearby chair. The bee swarm crawled and floated and buzzed to itself, giggling. Others shook their heads or remained serene (though with suspiciously shining eyes), as Dominic climbed back on his feet and pressed a handkerchief to his abused nose.

Laurence, on the other hand, was anything but amused. "Janus, you will control yourself! Your behaviour is unbecoming of an Archangel." Janus, Archangel of the Wind and servant of change, chaos and mayhem, hooted with laughter. "He...he's..." he managed before succumbing to mirth again.

Liriel was for all practical purposes dead from fear. Old habit was the only reason she was still standing. Michael stepped back to her and eyed the ongoing circus with equal measures of bemusement and disgust. He turned his head and glowered at Eli, the one who had caused this to happen. "What's so damn funny, mosquito-bites?" he asked grumpily.

That was more than Eli could take, and he too collapsed in gales of laughter. There were other strained sounds of painfully withheld snickers, but furious glares from the Lord Commander and the Judge kept these to a minimum.

Finally Janus managed to get enough control over himself to hiccup out, "He's our Mike alright. Ain't no more doubt about it! He decked Nikki, guys. He can't be anyone but Mike!" There were nods and murmurs of agreement. Dominic stood thin-lipped and silent, making sure that he'd stopped bleeding. Laurence sighed in exasperated disgust. "It would appear so," he conceded reluctantly.

"Well. I'm glad y'all got that settled. So we're all in agreement that I'm me, and that you all know me. Good. Now can we get moving to the part where I get to know you? Hell, I'll even settle for plain recognition for now," the volatile amnesiac prodded.

Eli straightened up and wiped merry tears from his eyes. "Right you are, my friend. We'll deal with the formalities later, eh Chief?" he said and peeked at Laurence, who nodded gloomily.

"Okay. Gather around, double circle, please. Mike, come over here and stand with me in the middle. I'll restore the basics, and then leave you to supervise the rest," the eccentric young fellow said briskly.

The members of the Seraphim Council moved to comply with Eli's instructions. The swarming bees formed an amorphous, loud cloud and settled some of itself all over the lady in sari.

Michael watched them for a few moments, then turned to Lily. She was still trembling, and very reluctant to meet his eyes. He placed a finger under her chin, and lifted it so that she had to look at him. Her eyes were big and scared and brimming with tears. "Wish me luck, kiddo," he murmured and leaned down to kiss her.

Lily's words were long gone, so she let her lips do the other kind of talking. The final kiss. Even in front of the Seraphim Council she would not cut it short. Selfishly she clung to her lover and poured all of her emotions into that one last message. Treacherous tears trickled down her cheeks. She forced herself to smile, as he disengaged from the kiss and held her out from him. "Hey, what's with the tears, babe?" he whispered and wiped them from her face.

"Emotions," she muttered back. "Big, plentiful emotions. Good luck, my love. You'll be alright soon. I know you will." Lily let her hands stroke his chest and arms one more time, then took a step back. "They're waiting for you, Mike..."

He smiled to her and turned around. As Michael entered the circle to stand in front of Eli, she could tell he was nervous and apprehensive. She could also tell that he was totally oblivious to the winged, serpentine forms who were gathering above him, watching and waiting. The angels of the Council ignored Lily, and turned their gazes upon Michael and Eli. Silence hung thick in the air, and she could feel a tension building rapidly around her.

Eli closed his eyes and placed his hands on Michael's cheeks, and the youth with shorts and mosquito bites faded to become the classical image of an angel; a tall, beautiful human with huge, silky-white wings sprouting from his back. He opened his his eyes, and dark, amber orbs shone with power and joy. With a nod to the gathering Seraphim above, Eli started to Sing.

//Holy, holy, holy Lord, God of hosts. Heaven and earth are filled with Thy glory.//

Liriel started to back away as the Heavenly Choir joined him, employing every last ounce of strength in her. The voices were so pure, so beautiful, so familiar and so true. She yearned to join them, to sing with them. But the Song of Holies was forbidden to Fallen and Hellborn alike. Forbidden forever. As the Song continued, with all of the angels now joined in it, the power built and built and built. Liriel moved as if she was walking through a tar pit. Slowly, painfully and reluctantly she left the room. She was hardly aware of the bitter sobs that shoved their way up from her chest, and the tears that streamed down her face. He was lost to her now. Her lover was returning home to his life and purpose and servitors and friends. Lost.

Lily invoked a Song of her own, as soon as she was out of the house. It took her to Paris, and from there she headed east, seeking solitude and time to grieve.

Back inside the Normandy Tether, Eli led the Song to a crescendo, and so the miracle of healing was granted to the most ancient of angels. Michael, the Firstborn, Archangel of War, opened his eyes. All six of them. And he joined the Chorus...