A/N: This story is dedicated to the fact that not bloody once do Remiel and Duma appear in 'Mansions of Silence' or 'Exodus' and I feel mightily deprived of two of my favorite bit players. All these references are of course directed at the FICTIONAL characters of these names. Not reflecting or having anything to do with the real angels of the same names. Said characters are property of Mr. Carey and co and I am not making any money out of this.
The Tower of Rule
"Duma..."
Remiel shivered and grasped the balcony's hand-rail. Palms separated from fingers, which wanted to curl in like his toes. Skin stretched tight over celestial bones, nerves, the thousands of tiny electrical impulses beating a path up and down his flesh. Behind him, the angel of silence divided feathers, brought them back together again. Skillfully stroked along thin layers of down with expert and ghost-light hands. Trailed fingertips up again, to where form married wings, and pressed into the muscle at just the right places.
"...I, I only wanted to say..." A hand brushed the sensitive joint of one wing, next to the skin, and Remiel faltered. How unsurprising that in this, as in all things Duma could destroy his resolve. And where did the fault lie? If Remiel found all of the tutelary spirit's little glances and gestures so…so distracting! Well, who was to blame?
It was a rhetorical question. Duma was culpable for everything that had gone wrong since they had gotten here. That was what the deep embittered vein of thought in Remiel's soul whispered; and that Duma wore innocence, like a mortal woman wore scent, so easily and only a disguise. Oh Father please forgive us, for he knows exactly what he does...
Except that: in the Silver City angels groomed each other's wings all the time. Up there where it was filled with light and the Holy and one could easily lend the trust to let another touch you so intimately. There you could find that profound, pure love. Love of the Name. Pure always as chastity. Immaculate and white.
It hadn't taken long for Remiel to forget the shallow backstabbing politics of Heaven. You spent much of your time ignoring their existence anyway. Nothing could be as simple as a pure and perfect paradise.
Remiel chose to forget. He was doing as God commanded. He would not think to doubt the great design, or the inviolability of the Silver City. For Remiel chose to sanctify this torture too, being ripped away from it all. He was Heaven's agent in this place, a martyr to a higher cause.
Yes, but try as I might to bring a little illumination to this place, he thought, inviting anger to save him from less welcome emotions, with no help from Duma and his indolence. The fault does lie with him.
"You could speak for me. Ah, just once." Remiel said, closing his eyes. "I'd never tell."
He could almost see Duma shaking his head, that sad, insipid, mocking little smile as an accompaniment no doubt. A finger traced a short path across his back. An Angelic glyph. 'No'.
"Well, obviously not. I really don't know why I bothered asking. After all, you put such great importance in carrying out the tasks our Lord sets for you."
Over at the western edge of the horizon, at the point where even immortal vision starts to fade, a black cloud bloomed. A whirling dervish of twisted and jittering creatures taking wing, lolloping through the acrid sky. The angels in the towers both stopped and watched. After a moment Remiel sighed.
"We have responsibilities. Look it's all ours…ours Duma. I can't do this on my own."
…
"You're right. I know I said I could, but I'm just not, not…"
…
"I'm only here because of you."
Metal groaned for a fraction of a second and then shattered into brittle pieces. Remiel gasped and looked down at the broken railing. Then let the fragments fall from his hand, watching their graceless descent. A scatter of crimson following them down.
Duma tried to take his hand but Remiel pulled it away and turned from the balcony. He hunched his shoulders and stalked towards the chaise behind him. He was painfully aware that sitting in it would only be a distasteful imitation of the way Duma spent his days in idleness. Lying there…draped languidly. Carelessly posing. Like anyone was watching, Remiel thought sullenly, like we couldn't look away if we wanted to.
"It doesn't matter. You should not have to pretend you care."
He couldn't see Duma but could practically taste the waves of reproach that were coming off him. Remiel shook his head angrily.
"But you don't Duma. You would rather stand at Lucifer's side. Oh your precious Samael."
Duma's hand came down on his shoulder and Remiel didn't bother to shrug it off, he even allowed the angel of silence to turn him round so they faced each other. But Remiel would not look to see Duma's expression, because he was afraid, because he knew that inevitably it would prove the truth of what he was saying.
"Would you have even blinked if Lucifer had killed me? He wouldn't have thought twice about it if the whim had come upon him. It was my assassination as much as Amenadiel's after all. And you helped him."
Remiel shook a little and tried hard to stop the tears he felt sure would surmount him soon. "The Morningstar is without mercy or forgiveness and is master of his own false sense of justice. I bear culpability. You knew that. He could have struck me out of existence so easily. Is that what you wanted?"
Remiel could sense the motion in the air as Duma shook his head.
"Oh," He said softly, with finality. "It's so much simple then all that isn't it? You just loved him, once, far more then you will ever love me."
And at that point Remiel did start to cry. Weeping with the same amount of harsh, cold, hopeless frustration as he had when God had demanded that they leave his grace forever and come to rule here over Hell. Except they didn't rule. And he was ignored, ridiculed, humiliated. He was alone, completely.
Duma brushed the tears away from his companions face. Such a simple gesture, it might have conveyed tenderness and compassion and sympathy better then any words. But it wasn't enough. Remiel looked up, and saw the pity in Duma's eyes.
"You can pass judgment on me can't you?" He forced the words out bitterly between tears. "You're the paragon of moral superiority…I hate you."
The words felt false and sour in his mouth. But it was his own Gregorian chant. "I hate you. I hate you."
Repeating them until his words were muffled as Duma pulled him closer gently and held him there. Comforting him. Kissing his forehead innocently and stroking his hair. The embrace tight, reassuring.
"I hate you Duma." He whispered, resting his head on the other angel's shoulder.
"Don't ever leave me."