Joan had made her decision. She'd be damned if she'd let them take her wings, so there really was only one thing to do. Upon returning to the Vale, she set out to find both Gabriël and Michael. She had a feeling they would be together. If she knew Michael, which Joan believed she did, he had undoubtedly followed their discussion from up on his balcony and would want to question Gabriël about it. He always claimed he didn't use his sight unless an emergency arose, but Joan found that hard to believe. Somehow, the Lord Protector always knew what was going on where. The only thing deterring his sight was the privacy of one's home. Even he was not allowed to intrude on someone like that.
On her way to Michael's home, Joan passed the central plaza - the Agora. It was a place of gathering, foremost for the poets, singers, and musicians among them, yet all were, of course, welcome. For some strange reason, the actors needed an actual theatre. She was told it was a replica of the one where Shakespeare had opened his plays. It had never really interested her.

Joan came upon the winged lions guarding the entrance. Their heads turned to follow her movements as she walked by, but they did not attack. They knew she meant no harm. Still, she proceeded with caution. Those beasts could crush someone in the blink of an eye if they wanted to. Once she'd safely climbed the steps, she allowed herself to breathe again.
A shiver ran over her body as she entered the inner courtyard and caught the sun's reflection on the water in the pool as it clattered down from the fountain. She didn't enjoy coming to this place. In all those centuries, Joan had only been come to Michael's private home on invitation, which was just fine by her. From what she understood, the mansion on top of the hill was in the style of the Roman villas and was thus aptly named the Villa. She always wondered why he'd decided on that particular style, but it certainly reflected much of its owner. Cold and sparse of any decoration and colour, except for the occasional statue and curtain.
There was only one room Joan enjoyed visiting on these premises - the armoury. Michael had weapons of every age and every size, but only the ones used in honourable and 'gentlemen's combat', as he liked to say. No bombs or missiles, but all the swords and sabres ever made. Spears, various bows, daggers... He even had a pistol or two for duelling. Joan would never deny he was a good fighter, because he was certainly that. He trained daily, either with the army or on his own, constantly changing weapons to make sure he kept his skills up. If Michael would only listen to her...

"Joan. What brings you here?"

Michael stood at the top of the stairs, Gabriël just behind him. They both wore their regular clothing. Michael looked like a Roman Emperor, while Gabriël appeared more like one of those famous Greek gods she could never remember the names of. She shook her head and blinked a sudden intrusive thought away, forcing herself to remember why she was here.

"I was wondering if I could speak with you," she said. "Both of you?"

The two Archangels looked at each other. A streak of anxiety crossed Gabriël's face. His jaw stood clenched, and he was trying very hard not to meet Joan's gaze. Clearly, her previous assumption of Michael questioning Gabriël on her had been spot on.

"Certainly," said Michael then. "Come up; we will speak in the parlour."

Joan did as she was told and continued up the next flight of stairs. There were only two rooms Michael allowed people in, one being the war room on the left for any meetings with his generals and advisors, and the other a sort of presence chamber for those who requested an audience with him. This parlour hosted a couple of Roman beds surrounded by sheer draping and decorated with only a few pillows. Wine and fruit were already present on the small tables. Michael and Gabriël fit right into the decor, but as Joan was still dressed in her Earth clothing, she felt somewhat out of place. It was almost like she had travelled through time.

Follow protocol, she thought as she took a small tip of wine at Michael's invitation. And stay calm.

"So Joan, what is it you wish to say to us?" he inquired.

"I came to apologise," she said.

"For what exactly?" asked Michael.

"For what I said earlier, in the meeting. I did not mean to overrule you or offend you or any others present. What I said, I said out of anger and should have been discussed in private."

"Or not even at all?" prompted Michael.

She bit her tongue before agreeing, "Or not even at all, yes."

"Well, Joan, I am glad to hear it and accept your apology. I will trust this will not happen again, but to make certain of it, Gabriël will stay at your side for the time being."

She tilted her head and looked at Gabriël, unsure of Michael's meaning. He remained silent, but his widening eyes and the subtle shake of his head cautioned her not to fight the Lord Protector on this.

"Gabriël is to be your guardian, Joan," clarified Michael upon seeing her confusion. "You will do all of your tasks and training with him, and you shall also accompany him when he goes down to deliver the Lord's word and check in on the current charges. You shall only be apart at night unless you are both on guard duty."

Joan felt her anger rising. Her blood boiled, and her heart pounded in her chest. She could scream at him. The nerve of him! To appoint a guardian, as if she were a toddler needing a babysitter! Gabriël intensified his look.

Don't say a word, his eyes warned her. Accept it.

"All right." Joan gritted her teeth. "If this is your wish."

"It is His wish, Joan."

***

The Agora below the hill would be packed with angels at this time of day, so Gabriël did his best to steer Joan in the opposite direction. The last thing he needed now was bumping into anyone who stood close to her. He had tried to avoid the argument they were having now, but it was in vain. Joan had kept her rage to herself until she was away from Michael's home, but she let it all out now. And the only person she could vent to was her 'guardian'.

"How dare he? This is, by far, one of the worst things he has ever done! I try to do what I'm told, and what do I get? A babysitter?"

"Joan, please, try to -"

"Et toi! Ne me lance pas sur toi, espèce de misérable, sournois..."

A whole string of unholy words followed in her rant. Gabriël knew it was serious when she started speaking French. And they said French was the language of love.
He would have to reason with her. Yet again.

"Now you listen to me, young lady," he started, trying to sound like Michael - and failing miserably.

"Young lady?" Joan rounded on him furiously, her hands at her hips. "Oh, you're going straight for the job, aren't you? I suppose you're pleased with yourself, having such an important task to guard the shrew of the Vale! Well, don't even think for one sec -!"

"God damn it, Joan, will you shut up for one minute and let me speak?"

He grabbed her arm and pulled, spinning her to make her face him. She gasped at his forceful action, and her lips remained slightly parted when their eyes met. Hers stood wide in shock. Gabriël loosened his grip a bit, but didn't let go. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

"You... You realise what you just said, right?" Joan asked.

"Yes." Gabriël sighed. "And I'll regret it later, but I don't care about that right now. What I do care about is you. Why else do you think I volunteered to guard you?"

"Volunteered? What -?"

"What did I just say about letting me speak? Yes, I volunteered. When I went to Michael, he had already made plans to appoint another Archangel as your guardian. I told him it may be better if you had someone you trusted and who knew you. It wasn't easy, but I managed to persuade him."

"I don't understand. Why would you -?"

"For Heaven's sake, you really need to listen. I... I care about you. Is that so difficult to believe?"

Then he realised that it probably was. Everyone in the Vale only contacted Joan when necessary because she had a reputation for sudden outbursts. Now that he thought about it, he was the only one who ever actively reached out to her. Even Margaret and Catherine were hesitant at times, and they had known Joan just as long. Her temper certainly didn't do her any favours. He had expected her to lash out now, maybe even kick him to get out of his grasp, but to his surprise, she didn't.

"You care?" she whispered.

Oh, no.

"As a friend, of course," said Gabriël quickly. "I care as a friend."

Joan's amber eyes locked with his. Her gaze was so intense that he lowered his head, desperately wishing she wouldn't notice the blush that must've appeared on his cheeks. Gabriël let go of her arm and stepped back to create some distance between them. He wished with all his might that Michael wasn't on his balcony right now.

"Joan, I am only trying to keep you safe and keep you here. Not just because you're supposed to be here. Also, because... well... you make it enjoyable here. I don't know if you noticed, but sometimes it can get pretty dull. I mean, why do you think I go down so much, even when I'm not supposed to? But since you arrived, things became interesting, and I..." Gabriël stopped. He knew he had to. Otherwise, he would say something he would regret forever. "You know what? Let's just forget everything that happened today. We'll make a deal, you and I, okay? You don't see me as a babysitter, and I don't treat you as a baby. We're just two friends who are assigned on missions together. No more and no less. Can we agree on that?"

"Just two friends," Joan repeated softly. "Sure."

"All right then." Gabriël gave an approving nod with his head. "Now, I have nothing to do until this evening; what about you?"

"I was supposed to help Raphael with the herb inventory."

"Let's go then."

***

As Joan and Gabriël continued on their way, a fair young woman with an olive-tanned complexion, auburn curls, soft facial features, and emerald eyes emerged from her hiding place on the shrubbery lane. Margaret fiddled with her gold cuff bracelet and thought about what she had overheard as she watched the pair walking in the distance. She decided she had to see Catherine right away. They needed to do something. 
Catherine was the patron of scholars, so she was bound to be at the only learning institution in the Vale. The Scola catered to the great minds that had passed on and were interested in continuing their studies and debates. They brought their ideas to each other, striving to perfect their inventions and theories. And Catherine, barely an adult woman when she left her first life, was their muse. As Joan often put it, she possessed a certain 'je ne sais quoi' that appealed to everyone. To a pursuer of knowledge, Catherine was a kindred spirit. To an artist, she was a young beauty with hazel hair, deep brown eyes, and a honey-skinned body that seemed to be carved out of marble. The only imperfection to a trained eye was the white scar on her neck, a remnant of her death.

When humans died violently, they bore a mark showing where the instrument of their death first touched their bodies. Catherine had been decapitated, then reborn upon her arrival in the Vale and usually hid the scar with a scarf or a choker necklace.
Margaret bore several scars from the torture she endured at the end of her own life. They had broken her body with horrendous devices. Most of her physical injuries healed when she died, yet it was her mind that bore the deepest scars. It was fractured, and some of the cruellest memories were repressed for her own well-being. She would forever be grateful to Michael for showing her helping her in this.
And then, of course, there was Joan. She would sometimes mention the smell of smoke or complain about being hot when not even the tiniest flame was near. A minor burn wound at her ankle, where the fire had first touched her, left a definite imprint.
Joan, Margaret, and Catherine shared a connection with each other. They had died young, before their twenties, violently and – the reason for earning their place here – in defence of their faith. But sometimes, Joan would fall out of the clique, as Margaret and Catherine had been together far longer, and she had not yet fully forgiven them for leaving her alone in her last days on Earth. The girls still felt guilty over it, and if they could have done it over again, they would have helped Gabriël. They owed it to both him and Joan to try to do so now.

Margaret found her friend in the Studio, a wing dedicated to those interested in studying art and beauty. Catherine was speaking to Luke, who was their patron and someone the mortals had named an Evangelist. He was a calm and charismatic person and respected Catherine and her work. He had asked for a room in her Scola for those who wanted to educate their skills and minds. She had given him an entire wing.
As Margaret drew near, she picked up on their conversation. They appeared to be talking about one of Master Buonarotti's latest works.

"Luke, you know he can do better if he would only reach into his memories."

"Cate, he does not want to do so. This is his new life, and that includes new work. So what if it is somewhat... unconventional for him? Remember, if the artist names it art, then so it is. If he is content with it, it is all that matters."

"I suppose... I just don't want to see him like this."

"You let me worry about Michelangelo. It would seem you have something, or maybe someone else, to attend to."

Luke beckoned Margaret when he noticed her standing awkwardly on the side, not wanting to intrude on anything important. She hugged Catherine and curtsied to Luke as he took his leave of them. Though also a friend, he deserved every respect. And she found him intriguing. There lay a certain sadness buried just underneath his cheerful expression that made Margaret think he might have suffered a loss. One of the heart. She wondered if this had been before or after the rules were implemented.

"Now, Marina. What news?" Catherine asked. "You don't come to the Scola unless we discuss childbirth."

Margaret had never got used to her nickname, but she knew that only her closest friends and most devout believers used it, so she didn't mind. She did not even remember who gave it to her.

"I was at the Agora earlier, and I heard familiar voices arguing," she said. "I looked for them and saw Joan and Gabriël coming from Michael's house."

As suspected, Catherine's expression changed to one of utter alarm. She took Margaret by the hand and led her to the hallway, where she entered the first empty room she could find so they could speak in private.

"If those two were there together, it can't be good," Catherine said. "Were you able to hear anything?"

"Yes, I followed them, hidden in some shrubbery. Apparently, Michael has appointed Gabriël as Joan's guardian. They have to keep each other company, even during training and tasks. She wasn't too happy about that and was shouting at Gabriël, insulting him in French, even. He managed to calm her down, though."

"Do you think this has anything to do with what happened during the meeting this morning? Michael must've been furious she spoke out of turn again."

Margaret wasn't surprised Catherine already knew about that. News and gossip always travelled fast in the Vale, and the artistas were the biggest chatterboxes around.

"No doubt," she affirmed. "Cate, Gabriël said something else too. Something that worries me greatly."

"What was it?"

"He said, I am trying to keep you here."

Margaret waited, hoping that Catherine would come up with another explanation. She mused silently, running her thumb over her lip.

"'Keep you here?' Marina, you don't think..." Catherine's eyes widened. "Oh no, not that. Michael would never -"

"Wouldn't he? You know what he's like about his authority and the order here. And you know how Joan is. If he sees her as a threat, he will not hesitate."

"After everything we have done to her? After everything she has done and gone through? No. No, I do not accept it. I will not accept it."

"Neither do I. But what can we do?"

"We change his mind. We'll start by helping Gabriël watch over her, in secret. Agreed?"

"Agreed."