Chapter Text
Aziraphale placed a couple of books into a sturdy wooden crate, then reached for another pair. He paused and smiled at the worn leather volumes of Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur . Most of the shelf he was emptying contained various books about Camelot. All of them had to be crated for the upcoming move, but he couldn’t resist examining each volume.
Wessex had been a defining moment in his relationship with Crowley.
Initially, he’d been furious at the demon’s audacity when he suggested they come to an agreement and stay home. But after storming off, Aziraphale found himself remembering the times Crowley had helped him. What harm was there in hearing him out?
“What harm indeed?” Aziraphale smiled fondly and placed the books in the crate. He reached for the next volumes of Mallory's books. There were so many wonderful stories in them, though of course not what really happened.
Most myths and legends contained a kernel of truth which was often lost to history as they grew and changed with each retelling. Being on earth for over six thousand years, Aziraphale and Crowley had witnessed the evolution of many tales. Occasionally, they even played a role in the events that became legends; however, they took care that their identities were lost as the lore evolved.
Sir Aziraphale wasn’t so much as a footnote.
“Probably for the best.” He blushed as he remembered what transpired in his final weeks in Wessex.
***
Aziraphale held the coarse woolen cloak around himself tightly as he made his way to the castle. Ordinarily, the rough texture would have bothered him, but this morning he was too happy to let something so minor disturb him. Two days ago, he’d gone back to Crowley’s camp to discuss the possibility of the arrangement he’d proposed, and they had come to quite an arrangement indeed.
As tempting as it was to simply stay home as Crowley had initially suggested, Aziraphale couldn’t in good conscience agree. So, they negotiated over a bit of wine. In the end, they came up with a compromise, to stay out of each other’s way professionally and lend a hand when needed. Of course, when their paths would cross, they could socialize and catch up a bit.
Sealing the deal took longer than the negotiations. Both Heaven and Hell used contracts for agreements between them. However, the paperwork automatically went into the files in Heaven and the piles in Dagon’s office to be filed. A physical contract would attract unwanted attention from both sides.
Aziraphale had looked at Crowley and wriggled nervously on the low wooden chair. An agreement between them ought to be sealed somehow. Both of them tried to think of a solution, periodically shooting a furtive glance at the other. Suddenly, Crowley reached over from his seat and took Aziraphale’s hand.
Shocked, he froze and stared. Crowley’s fingers were cool to the touch as they brushed Aziraphale’s palm. His heart sped up and his eyes darted to meet the demon’s golden gaze.
“Why are you holding my hand?”
“I’m trying to shake it to seal our deal. They used to clasp forearms in Rome to formalize contracts, would you prefer that.”
“Doesn’t feel very official,” Aziraphale said as Crowley withdrew his hand. He felt oddly bereft as the touch ended.
“Sorry, I shouldn't have grabbed your hand like that.” Crowley stood up and poured more wine from the pitcher on the other side of his tent.
“Oh no!” Aziraphale exclaimed and moved to join him. “I just meant it didn’t feel like a conclusion to business. I liked it when you…”
“When I what?”
“I rather liked you touching me… that is… holding… I mean shaking my hand.”
“Did you now?”
Crowley’s voice was low, and his serpentine eyes moved over Aziraphale like a caress. It was hypnotic. Deep in his abdomen, something seemed to pull tightly. Aziraphale had never felt anything like it before.
“The Romans had another way of formalizing an arrangement, angel.”
“Oh?”
“A kiss.”
Aziraphale swallowed nervously. Kisses had been used for contracts by those who couldn’t write. They still were. A brief touch of their lips wouldn’t hurt, would it?
“Very well, we could try.”
Crowley leaned down and brushed his lips briefly against Aziraphale’s mouth. Chaste, appropriate, and over in a matter of seconds, he shouldn’t have been affected. And yet Aziraphale found his hands moving reflexively to rest on Crowley’s chest.
“Do you feel like our arrangement is official now?”
His breathing was ragged and the strange sensation in his abdomen had intensified. The feeling was new and odd, but far from unpleasant. Aziraphale licked his lips. He ought to leave and forget the feelings Crowley was creating in his corporation, but he couldn’t.
“Maybe if you tried it again, Crawley?”
The demon wrapped one hand around his waist pulling him close and threaded the fingers of the other through Aziraphale’s curls. Thin lips hovered over Aziraphale’s plump pout and Crowley growled, “Crowley. My name is Crowley, Aziraphale.”
Dizzily, he repeated, “Crowley.”
The space between their mouths disappeared as Crowley kissed him. This time wasn’t chaste or appropriate. Crowley’s tongue slid into his mouth and explored. When the kiss ended, Aziraphale whimpered.
“All official now?”
He shook his head. “Maybe if we tried it another time?”
“Sober up. And then ask me again.”
Aziraphale hadn’t had very much wine, but he obliged. Normally, it was unpleasant to remove wine from his corporation, but he scarcely registered it this time. His body thrummed deliciously from their kiss still.
“Could we try it another time?”
Crowley swore under his breath then kissed Aziraphale once more. One kiss followed another until they ended up on the large makeshift bed that filled half the tent. Time blurred as the clothes disappeared and they sealed the arrangement in the most intimate of ways.
This morning, they’d reluctantly parted company. Crowley gave Aziraphale a hooded cloak from one of his men so he could sneak back into the castle undetected. It wouldn’t do for Sir Aziraphale to draw unwanted attention. Knights would tease each other when they came back to the castle after a night out. He’d unwillingly listened to many of their amorous exploits and he didn’t want to be fodder for gossip.
Aziraphale had no regrets about the intimate direction his relationship with Crowley had taken, but he felt very private about it. Suppressed emotions had been unleashed and he couldn’t bear the idea of the knights mocking him and making his interlude with him into something tawdry.
He smiled to himself as he drew closer to the castle. The touch of soreness between his legs from Crowley being inside him was a whispered reminder with each step. They couldn’t be together often, but they had shared something special and it couldn’t be denied. Aziraphale had given himself to Crowley and revelled in the beauty of it.
The path grew wider and smoother as Aziraphale left the forest behind and entered the village. With each step, the castle loomed closer. None of the villagers paid any heed to him, the cloak helped him to blend in seamlessly. He took a deep breath as he reached the castle.
On the bridge, a pair of knights lounged against the rail. Sir Percival and Sir Lamorak, Aziraphale recognized the brothers at a distance from their silk brocade tunics. Deep in conversation, they weren’t paying attention to the merchants as they came and went from the castle. Hopefully, he could evade their notice.
He ducked his head even deeper into the hood of his borrowed cloak. A couple of merchants had stopped with their carts near the men, so he pretended to look at their wares. The merchants were discussing grain prices and weren’t paying any attention to his presence, so Aziraphale was able to slip behind their carts. From his hiding spot, he could see the knights were still distracted. Aziraphale was about to seize the opportunity of slipping past them when he heard his name.
“... but he’s so nice. Everyone likes him.”
Aziraphale smiled. He understood why Heaven had wanted him to promote peace in Wessex, but he’d never felt like he fit in with the Knights of the Round Table. They were good men united for a good cause, and he liked most of them. Lancelot set his teeth on edge, but he suspected it was the way the knight reminded him of Gabriel, smiling but the smile never quite reaching his eyes. It felt good to hear Sir Percival saying the other knights liked him.
“Being likable doesn’t make him an effective knight,” Sir Lamorak said with a huff.
“True.” Percival nodded and picked a piece of lint off his sleeve. “I don’t believe he’s ever gone on a quest with any of us.”
“He never participates in the tournaments. Indeed, brother, I’ve never seen him take part in any training.”
“Not training per se, but I have seen him raise a sword and wield it in the armory. His technique was flawless.”
“But Percival, flawless technique in the armory isn’t the same as doing battle,” Lamorak pointed out.
No, raising a sword in the armory was nothing like doing battle, thank Heaven. Angels and the fallen clashing on the battlefield, seeing former angels writhing in agony their souls dying before him, and watching their comrades extract retribution from the Heavenly choirs. Aziraphale had swung his sword with care, wounding but not killing; but it still haunted him.
“Maybe if I talked to him?”
“We have enough on our hands trying to hold our place at the table with Lancelot constantly bending Arthur’s ear.”
“It just seems unkind, Lamorak,” Percival sighed.
“I’m far more kind than some of the others. Tor and Mordred suggested arranging an accident to eliminate him during the festival next month.”
Aziraphale gasped aloud. Fortunately, an argument between the merchants broke out and the knights didn’t hear him. Tor and Mordred were both unpleasant and prone to violence, so he wasn’t overly surprised they’d plot against him. However, hearing it was scheduled in such a short time was a shock.
“No, I’m quite resolved, Percival. In a fortnight, when Lancelot returns with the King, we speak to him regarding Sir Aziraphale.”
Having heard more than enough, Aziraphale made his way past them and into the castle. He headed to his room, removed the cloak, and sat on his bed. There had to be a way to fix things. Aziraphale had helped countless times and had saved the village from marauders, but he’d done so with wit and miracles. How could he gain the respect of the other knights?
Percival was generally kind and had sounded inclined to give him a chance. Lamorak was less kindly disposed towards him, but he was honest. If Aziraphale could prove himself to the two of them, they would reveal Tor and Mordred’s plot to the others.
Aziraphale needed to do something, not merely heroic, but legendary. No tournaments, training, or treasure quest would do. It was imperative that Sir Aziraphale be seen performing the most epic feat ever seen in Camelot, rivaling Lancelot himself.
If he was going to succeed, he’d need help.
He needed the Black Knight.
***
Crowley had been pleasantly surprised when one of his men said Sir Aziraphale was in his tent waiting to speak to him. Although their paths crossed frequently since they’d met in Eden, frequency was a relative term when you were thousands of years old. A century between meetings wasn’t very long, so having Aziraphale return within a day was an unprecedented delight.
He entered the tent to find Aziraphale sitting on a chair staring at his pale blue tunic and rubbing his thumb on the golden braid adorning the sleeve. “Sir Aziraphale.”
“I’ve come to talk about the arrangement.”
“Come to talk about the arrangement,” Crowley repeated. A smile curved his lips. He moved closer to Aziraphale and drew him up into his arms. “I knew you’d be just as insatiable with sex as you are with food.”
Aziraphale placed his hands on Crowley’s upper arms lightly pushing him back. “I’m not insatiable. I merely have a… a… healthy appetite. And that’s not what I'm here for.”
Crowley released his grip on Aziraphale, strode to a table where he had a silver pitcher of wine, and poured himself a drink. “Want some?”
“No.”
“Alright, then tell me what brings you here besides your healthy appetite?”
“I need to invoke the arrangement.”
“Already?” Crowley draped himself over a chair and took a sip of wine. “Do go on.”
“Yesterday I overheard a couple of knights talking about me. Apparently, I’m well liked.”
“You’re an angel, goes with the territory, doesn’t it?”
“Unfortunately, being liked hasn’t kept the knights from noticing that I don’t go on quests or take part in tournaments,” Aziraphale sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s cheeks flush pink as he sat where they had coupled the day before. When he’d proposed the arrangement, he never expected they would end up sealing the arrangement in bed. But then, hadn’t there always been an inexorable pull between them?
He could still remember the soft scent of Aziraphale amongst the molten aroma of the stars exploding around them as he shielded him. When he Fell, Crowley had clung to memories of Aziraphale’s downy curls and nervous smile. And then there was the wretched urge he felt to protect him.
Demons weren’t supposed to care about others, but Crowley cared about Aziraphale, even against his own interest. Oh, he wasn’t about to try and get his halo back; however, he was going to help him.
“Right.” Crowley took a sip of his wine. “What’s the plan then?”
“I need to be seen doing something heroic. That’s where you come in. Or rather the Black Knight does.”
“Can’t. Sorry, there’s a lot of stuff I lined up for my people using the Black Knight persona.”
“Oh.”
Crowley felt guilty seeing Aziraphale’s crestfallen expression. He wasn’t sure what he loathed more, seeing the angel hurt or how much it bothered him seeing him hurting. First and foremost, demons were supposed to look out for themselves.
“Hell is expecting a lot from me on this one, I’m afraid. But I won’t let you deal with this one alone. Tell me who’s behind this.”
“Sir Lamorak is the one who seems to be behind this.”
“I can make him disappear,” Crowley offered.
“No! He’s right, I don’t participate as the other knights do. And he’s only trying to keep them from killing… well discorporating me.”
Crowley dropped his wine as he moved from the chair to the bed. He grabbed Aziraphale. “Who’s trying to hurt you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Aziraphale. Tell me.”
“I overheard Sir Lamorak telling Percival that a couple of knights have ill intentions towards me during the festival next month. Their identities don’t matter. What I need is to impress Sir Lamorak before Lancelot’s return.”
“Impress him and he protects you.”
“More or less. But my plan hinged on defeating the Black Knight.”
Crowley loosened his grip on Aziraphale’s arms and pulled him into a gentle embrace. As brilliant as Aziraphale was, he was also far too optimistic and trusting. It was hard to present enough reality to the angel to keep him from harm without crushing his spirit.
“So, you want to win a battle that leaves the entire round table awestruck for a few months?”
“Oh, not just a few months. I need something that they’ll tell stories about for the next hundred years.”
“Could miracle some dinosaur bones up from the earth and tell them you slayed a dragon,” Crowley suggested. “I doubt taking a few would ruin the Almighty’s joke.”
“Oh yes,” Aziraphale replied in a sarcastic tone and drew back from him. “I’ll just toss a couple of Ceratosaurus ribs on the table and claim I slayed a dragon.”
“Was thinking of a Pliosaur skull, but yeah, I guess they wouldn’t buy it. The only way they’d buy you slaying a dragon would be if they saw it happen.”
Aziraphale looked at him, Crowley could practically feel the wheels turning.
“Angel? What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”
“They wouldn’t believe I battled a monstrous serpent unless they saw it happen.”
“Dragons aren’t real.”
“But you are.”
“My true form,” Crowley sighed. He hadn’t assumed his true form since the Fall. Large and serpentine, reminiscent of the water dragon art in China. It also included fiery rings of stars and a multitude of wings that even Gabriel envied.
“I’m sorry, Crowley, I shouldn’t have brought that up.”
Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and rubbed his angelic cheek on it. There was slight dampness, Crowley registered.
“No crying,” he scolded gently and kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “It was all a long time ago. Not sure exactly what my true form is anymore, but I daresay I can convince a few humans they’re seeing a dragon. Just no fiery swords.”
Aziraphale sniffled and then laughed. “You know perfectly well I gave it away, wily old serpent. And we would only pretend to fight and then...”
“And then you would be a hero, Sir Aziraphale.”
He stammered, “I don’t want to be… but Gabriel will be angry if I…”
“Relax, angel. I’ll do it.”
“You will?”
Crowley brushed his lips over Aziraphale’s mouth, to reassure him. Perhaps to reassure them both.
Turning into the Serpent of Eden had been an exploratory, albeit unconscious, step towards seeing the remnants of his true form after the Fall. There had been a few drunken occasions when he’d glimpsed into the abyss of the other plane at the shadow of his natural state. Part of him was curious and part of him wanted to close the door on that part of himself for eternity. However, for Aziraphale, he would summon his true form once more.
***
Aziraphale stood on the bank of the river near the castle. A caravan of traveling merchants along with a theatrical troupe had come to the village. They’d set up a bazaar by the water and some of the entertainers performed to attract attention for the merchants. The Knights of the Round Table had come out to officially ensure order was kept and unofficially watch some of the pretty girls who were dancing and tossing coins to them.
Occasionally he would allow himself a brief glance at the water, but Aziraphale tried to feign interest in a man who was juggling daggers. He hoped the man wouldn’t injure himself and discreetly blessed him.
The church bell rang signaling the hour. Aziraphale checked his sword discreetly. Crowley would be arriving soon and he needed to be ready to make his move. He needed to be the first knight to spring into action.
Their entire plan hinged on him jumping on Crowley’s back with his sword raised and shouting so the other knights would see him, but not have time to join in the attack. Humans wouldn't be able to harm Crowley in his true form, but it was imperative they believed Aziraphale slayed the dragon.
He’d worn his least favorite tunic since it was likely to get dirty and damaged. Ruining even his best tunic would be worth it if he could keep his place until Gabriel deemed his mission finished.
A splashing sound drew his attention to the river. The crowd began to murmur and point at the water. Fish were leaping into the air and disturbing the surface in a rapid movement. Moving in an escape wave, the water foamed around them as they raced away.
“What’s gotten into them?” Sir Percival asked.
“Escaping a predator, perhaps?” Sir Lamorak suggested and returned his attention to one of the dancers with a very large bust and a very small shirt.
Although the knights weren’t overly concerned, some of the villagers looked worried. Aziraphale moved closer to the water and further from the knights. He had no doubt Crowley’s true form had sent the fish fleeing.
A lone cry erupted from the far end of the village and soon became a chorus of screams. Confusion ensued as villagers ran in every direction and the knight started to race about to see what was going on.
Sir Lamorak called out a few feet away, “What in God’s name is that?!”
“A dragon!” Someone exclaimed in reply from the growing crowd.
Aziraphale watched along with the others as Crowley came into view. Time felt as though it was frozen, though it was only mere seconds.
While humans cried out in fear, Aziraphale was enraptured as he watched Crowley. He was seeing his true form for the first time since the Fall. Well, not quite his entire form. To avoid celestial or infernal attention, Crowley had omitted his multitude of wings and the rings of fiery stars that surrounded him. However, he was still utterly splendid!
Gleaming black scales glistened in the sunlight. His serpentine body stretched well over a hundred feet and glided effortlessly through the river toward the castle. His head had long soft spikes in a mix of deep crimson and soot. A series of long curved horns reminiscent of polished onyx formed a crown-like halo above his head.
Occasionally as he leapt out of the water, Aziraphale saw short clawed arms, the talons shiny and golden. His underbelly was mostly concealed by the river, but Aziraphale caught glimpses of ebony and scarlet scales.
An irrational wave of jealousy washed over him. The humans were too terrified to register that they were looking at a piece of the divine. But he didn’t like that they were seeing it.
Crowley lashed his tail back and forth periodically, splashing the villagers, and as he neared the cluster of knights, he sent a wave of water that knocked some of them over. He slowed slightly as he neared Aziraphale.
“Take care of the villagers,” Aziraphale called out to the knights.
He raised his sword and then prepared to jump onto Crowley’s back. The scales were slippery from the water and Aziraphale might have slipped if Crowley hadn’t slipped his tail around his waist. Fortunately, the knights thought he’d been captured and they burst out in a chorus of distress.
“He’s got Sir Aziraphale!”
“Have your squires saddle your horses and get your armor on!”
The sound disappeared within a couple of minutes as Crowley swam rapidly. When he came to a stop, he used his tail to put Aziraphale on the shore.
“Right, let’s get you muddied up a bit and I’ll change back,” Crowley instructed and slithered onto land.
Aziraphale stared at his eyes, they were large and luminous above where he stood. Even before the Fall, Crowley’s eyes had been honeyed and golden when in his true form. He had a soft spot for the angel he’d been, but it paled next to his love for the demon he was.
“Sir Aziraphale!”
He turned to see Sir Percival in the distance running with his sword in hand. Beside him, Crowley swore.
“Raise your sword at me and swing it before he gets too close. I’ll miracle some blood on it and in the river. If he thinks you wounded me and ran me off, maybe it will be enough.”
Aziraphale turned to Crowley and did as he said. His sword didn’t make contact, but from a distance, it would fool Percival. Crowley roared an unholy roar that made the ground shake, then dove into the water and swam away.
Azure blue liquid covered Aziraphale’s sword and trailed in the current. He’d told Crowley some of the knights thought dragons had blue blood and he’d remembered. Aziraphale fought the urge to smile. Crowley always remembered small details when it came to their conversations.
“Sir Aziraphale! Are you hurt?”
“I’m quite alright,” he reassured him. It was aggravating that he'd nearly ruined their plan, but Aziraphale appreciated Sir Percival’s honor and kindness.
“Such a ferocious creature.”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t get to slay him.”
“It was quite brave of you. The other will be here shortly and they will help us look for the beast.”
Aziraphale nodded. The knights could look all they wanted, Crowley was undoubtedly already back in human form and headed deep into the forest. Time would tell if their plan had succeeded or if they would have to try again.