When Remiel entered Hell it was with a heavy heart. He still could not fathom what he had done. When had he committed a sin so great that the Father would sentence him to Hell? Near the beginning that was all he could do. Whine about his punishment. And who better to listen then Duma, a silent and seemingly empathetic ear. For the other angel shared his plight, Remiel reasoned, if he was not silent Duma would be complaining along with him.
But, as time came to pass Remiel realized that perhaps it was not so. Duma had, after all, accepted the key from Lord Shaper. Remiel came to see that he had believed the other angel below him. What was silence in comparison to ascension? To greatness? Nothing, he had thought. Yet as he came to know his silent counterpart he saw that he had, perhaps, miscalculated. He saw that Duma's silence was the silence of knowledge, of wisdom beyond words. Duma was silent, not from a necessity of duty, but because he truly saw no need to speak. His burdens were his own, as were his triumphs. When necessary he could convey himself on a level deeper than words ever were. A tear from Duma was worth more than a thousand sobbed words from the mouth of another. A smile was more than the most joyful of songs or speeches. Duma spoke with his face, with his body.
Once Remiel discovered this he began to notice Duma comforting him. When he knew what to look for he saw the encouraging nods as he wept and bemoaned his fate in Hell. He saw the comforting smiles he was given after returning from the overseeing of gruesome demons and torture. And he came to realize that Duma never complained, even in his silent way, about the lot God had given them. And Remiel had to wonder, did Duma know something? Did the other angel, in kindness and silence, see more of the greater plan than any other save the Lord? As Remiel sat in Hell it seemed likely.
Some days it was worse than others. There were days when Hell made Remiel wish to cry. He had lived a happy and sheltered existence in the Silver City, with no responsibility beyond praising the Creator. He was not intended to cope with demons. Evil was not something he was used to. And Duma saw and silently comforted, silent and distant as he always was. Until one day.
}o{
Remiel could bear it no longer. Why were there so many humans in Hell? How could the world a place his Father had made, filled with beings modeled in His own likeness be so evil, cruel and hateful? They had people of all types tortured in the Pit. Remiel had always felt that to see the worst were the children. They were so young. They should have had neither the time nor need nor circumstance to do evil. How were they, at least, not innocent? Was nothing sacred? Was nothing dear? That day he'd seen so many children, laboring, and crying and begging. He wished his existence would end. He could hardly bear himself. He felt tainted by the demons and their hatred. The pleasure they took in the children's tears disgusted him. Nothing should be able to enjoy the torture of a child, not even a demon. And yet, a voice whispered within his mind, your presence as a guardian here is what keeps Hell, what allows their suffering to continue. If Hell had been left empty as the Dream king wished they would be free.
When Duma saw his tears that day the other angel just knew, somehow. He knew and so he – slowly, gently, lovingly – took Remiel into his arms. Encasing the weeping angel in an embrace.
And that was the beginning.
From then on the amount of physical contact between the two increased. They were often touching, hugging, caressing, and kissing. At first Remiel did not find anything strange in their behavior, Duma did not speak so comforted Remiel using other methods. As time passed Remiel began to notice unnecessary touches, Duma did not need to kiss him every day. Nor twice each day when that began. But Remiel did not understand why Duma was always there, using touches to tease, comfort, and please. At least not at first. Then he looked within himself. And he realized several things, the first of which was that he responded to Duma, he returned the touches and he prompted more. Then he searched himself deeper, wondering why. Finally, Remiel realized what he felt for Duma, it was love. While the emotion was not alien to angels who loved all of God's creations, the power with which he felt it was. Remiel's love of Duma was as powerful as his love of his maker if not stronger. And that should not be so. The Father should always be held highest in an angel's heart.
For a moment Remiel feared, then he remembered he was in Hell; things were hard pressed to worsen. Maybe this was the sin he was here for. Maybe God had foreseen this sin and sent him here proactively. Then Remiel sneered, realizing at last that it did not matter. Wherever the Lord was it was not Hell. Hell was filled only with sinners, demons, himself and Duma. Duma whom he loved. Duma who made life bearable. Duma, the last holiness in his life. And, as he now knew, the only thing he needed to live.
That evening when Duma kissed him Remiel spoke three words, "I love you." And Duma smiled teasingly as though he had known all along. And maybe he had, one never knew with the silent angel.
My first story of 2013. Beta-ed by The idiot with no name.