Chapter Text
Crowley stepped out onto the tournament field just as the second set of trumpets sounded off. Sir Uriel was already there, as Raphael had said, arms crossed and looking as serious as ever. He crossed the field to her in a casual swagger, unhurried but he wouldn't necessarily say he was entirely without worry. He just needed to exude an air of such, which he thought he did rather well. “Sir Uriel, you're here early.”
He barely earned a glance. “Or you're late.”
“Late? Nah. Not late until they're calling my name and sending people to go look for me. That would be late and not even fashionably.”
“There's nothing fashionable about tardiness.” As Aziraphale began his opening announcements, she laid a hand on the hilt of her sword. “I hope you slept well enough to not be a sore loser.”
“I know how to acknowledge a loss,” Crowley said but he was grinning. “I just hope you do as well.”
“I don't lose.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” He was still grinning, as it seemed to annoy her. “And I have no plans to lose today.”
Her eyes narrowed a fraction. “Plans change.”
“Yeah, they do, and I'm going to beat you and then I'm going to beat Sir Gabriel. Hadn't planned on beating Gabe but, as you said, plans change.”
“Showing off for your king, then? Hoping to become his latest conquest?”
Crowley's jaw clenched. He knew he couldn't expect the rumours to have stayed among the common citizens, but if she was going to go there… “I’d rather think I'll be the one conquering him.”
She sneered. “He won’t be king long enough for you to gain anything. Besides, it isn’t as if sharing his bed would make you special.”
No, Crowley knew he wasn't special, that there were plenty of others who'd caught Aziraphale's eye in the past. “Don’t need to be special. Fucking royalty is it's own reward.”
Her eyes rolled. “Pathetic,” she muttered, withdrawing her sword when Aziraphale told them they could begin on his countdown. “I’m sure pity sex will be delightful.”
“It sure would be. Almost as delightful as celebratory sex.” Crowley drew his own sword, twirling it with his fingers. “I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.”
“That’s disgusting,” she snapped, wasting no time in striking with a speed and a precision that had kept Raphael on his toes and would Crowley as well.
The suddenness of it almost threw Crowley off. Aziraphale had barely gotten the number out before he was having to lift his sword to block her swing. She didn't have the same brute force of Hastur or Ligur but she was accurate and quick. Crowley thought she would even be deadly in a real fight. He blocked two swings and just barely dodged another, a few of his long hairs sliced by Uriel's razor sharp sword.
She didn’t speak as others Crowley had fought. Her eyes stayed focused, her own dodges when Crowley tried offensive manoeuvres performed with the sort of seamlessness only consistent training could bring. Also unlike others Crowley had fought, she knew how to anticipate the unexpected and could move accordingly. The crowds were drowned out by the consistent clang of metal, swords meeting again and again as they made use of most of the field. Neither of them stayed in one place long, footwork almost the same but for Crowley’s impossibly good balance. It was the only thing that pinched Uriel’s expression, the knight positive more than once that he was about to overbalance and fall only to have his feet plant firmly on his next move. Be it a swing or a jab or a block. She would never admit he was good, however. Not aloud.
Meanwhile Crowley was thanking every bloody lucky star he had that his balance was so good. There were multiple instances where he was sure he would have toppled right over, either from having to twist about to avoid her blade or from tripping over his own feet. The earth and the ground, however, never allowed it to happen, it met the soles of his feet as it always did and kept him perfectly upright. The fact that she couldn't unbalance him seemed to annoy her with every traded blow. She wanted him to fall, to fail, and Crowley refused to give her the satisfaction. Sweat rolled down his neck and his arm grew heavier. He was using his left, the right not in as much pain but still not good enough for a fight, especially not for this one. He just needed to find an edge, an opening, something before he grew too tired to keep up with her.
One didn't seem to be coming, not at first, but her annoyance was making her just reckless enough that Crowley's blade was eventually able to slice against her breastplate. Though mostly metal, he managed to cut cleanly through one of the leather straps buckling it together. Not enough to make it fall, but enough to change the angle it sat on her body. Enough to make her uncomfortable. She leapt back, wanting the space to get her bearings and glare at him for the damage.
Crowley smirked, just a little, and flicked his blade. Giving her some space and himself some breathing room. “Careful, wouldn't want an equipment malfunction.”
“There won't be one. I take better care of my things than Sir Raphael, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Crowley repeated back, wiping sweat from his brow with his free hand. Uriel's armour falling off in the middle of combat would be a little bit of payback for Raphael…
There was a sheen of sweat across Uriel’s brow as well, but she struck out with the same precision she'd started with. She could and would fight until her last breath if she had to, and wasn't prepared to lose to a common sellsword.
Fighting to the last breath wasn't in Crowley's plans today and those plans weren't changing. He just needed to hold her off long enough to concentrate because, the problem was, they might have looked evenly matched to the casual onlooker, but Crowley knew they weren't. She was better. If he hadn't had his unnatural advantage… well, he was sure she would have beaten him already. So Crowley bided his time, waiting and watching and deflecting her blows as well as he could. He couldn't block all of them, was especially irked when he saw her sword too late and earned a very thin, very shallow slice across his cheekbone. It was the only thing that seemed to bring her any joy, the corner of her mouth quirking momentarily before it turned stoney again. Crowley hissed, closing one eye in instinct and glared through the other. All he needed was just a moment, a second.
It was a little like cheating, at least it felt that way. He didn't think she'd let him cut the strap on the other side but… he didn't need to cut it. Armour was heavy and they were moving enough that it had to be putting strain on the remaining strap keeping it up. Crowley’s remaining open eye narrowed, focused on the place he knew leather was riveted to metal. He just needed a whisper of intent, a little ripping, some extra pull. The breastplate falling forward and open as Sir Uriel rushed at him was probably more comical to him than to anyone else but it did exactly as he'd hoped. Uriel looked down, horrified, and gave Crowley the perfect opportunity to smack her sword from her hand.
It was a stunning enough combination that she didn't clutch her sword tighter at the smack as she tended to do, distracted enough to instead yank her hand towards her body. She only realised what she’d done when her sword landed with a hard clang against her fallen armour. “No. That's not-”
“We have our winner!” Aziraphale announced, his sister seething as he rose. “Mr. Anthony Crowley now advances to the top two.”
Crowley flicked his sword, still breathing hard as he bowed to both the royal box and the cheering crowd. He cocked his head at the clearly enraged Uriel as he straightened. “Celebratory it is.”
She snatched her sword up, but sheathed it neatly. “You got very lucky.”
“I’m sure gonna be, yeah.”
Her eyes rolled as she grabbed her breastplate as well. “That’s enough. I don’t need to hear your advertising your own whorish behaviours.”
“You’re the one who brought it up in the first place,” Crowley reminded her as he sheathed his sword. “If you don't want to know, I'd suggest keeping your unwanted opinions to yourself next time.”
She turned away from him abruptly and stormed away, and Aziraphale made quick work of his next announcement to remind everyone of the next match time. For the time being, he had something to do besides wait on the tournament grounds. “Well, Michael, your guard’s lost to a sellsword. It would seem both of our guards are unlucky this year,” he mused when he could, turning towards her with a smile more placating than bursting with the actual delight he felt. The worry would be dealt with soon.
“Or perhaps your little favourite is a cheater,” she snipped.
“Now it’s very rude to call someone a cheater simply because you aren’t pleased with the results. I never accused Sir Uriel of any such thing.”
“She would never. She doesn’t need to.”
“Mm. But she does seem to need to keep better control over her equipment. Goodness, imagine what would happen if that was in the midst of a true battle.” It was a mimic of what she’d said to him after Raphael’s loss, the nearby knight far better at hiding his smugness than Aziraphale was hiding his joy. “Now I’ll be off until the next match. I need to tend to my horse.”
“Your mixed breed,” she groused, but he ignored that particular jab. He was used to it, so made his way down the steps with Raphael.
“That was far from an easy fight,” he said quietly.
“He is human, Majesty. No one’s unbeatable.”
“I know, which was just why I was worried over their fight in the first place. Particularly since he was already injured. Forced to use his non-dominant hand throughout an already challenging fight must’ve been quite the struggle.”
“You’ll have to ask him on your ride. I’ll be asking him later over drinks.”
“Oh?”
“I suggested we go for a pint, and he asked me to invite you. One of your usuals?”
“Yes. One near his inn. Near the water. It’ll be a wonderful time.”
“He probably won’t go upstairs with you,” Raphael cautioned.
“I know,” Aziraphale acknowledged, “but he might.” Smiling, he ducked under the flap when Raphael lifted it and glanced about. No competitors were there but Crowley, one of the medics dabbing a cloth to his cheek while he grimaced at her. “Hello, Crowley, miss. How are you, my dear?”
The grimace faded almost instantly, only to return with a hiss from another dab at his cheek. “Well, I'm pretty sure Sir Uriel is planning my murder, but I kicked her arse so not bad.”
“You did an excellent job, regardless of how anyone else feels.”
“She’s not an easy opponent by any means,” Raphael added. “She took to her training with a serious strictness that makes her deadlier than most.”
“Yeah, I could tell. She almost had me a few times.”
“We saw. His Majesty was on the edge of his seat.”
Cheeks pink at the undeniable fact, Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, well, it was a very intense match.”
“You’re tellin’ me.” Crowley smiled crookedly up at him despite the sting of the cut on his cheek. “I’m just lucky her armour fell apart. Not sure I would have won otherwise.”
“No? I thought you were holding your own well enough, despite a certain mishap.” Aziraphale stepped closer, the medic neatly stepping out of the way. He cupped Crowley’s chin, gently tipping it so he could see the thin wound. “Oh, good, this doesn’t look too terrible.”
Crowley swallowed and held more still for Aziraphale than he ever had for the poor healer. “No? Not gonna give me a rugged scar?”
He chuckled. “Are you wanting one of those on this lovely face of yours?”
Lovely face. Gods how he was regretting telling Aziraphale no. It wasn't fair that an alpha who smelled like the best kind of fire had to be the king and that Crowley had to be himself. “Don’t think it would make me more handsome?”
“It might, but would you really want Sir Uriel to be the reason you’re more handsome?”
Crowley's nose wrinkled. “Maybe not.”
“See? Scars should come with stories you like to tell.”
“One doesn't always have control over that, Majesty,” Raphael reminded him.
Aziraphale smiled. “I know, but there are some grand storytellers in the world.”
“Liars. In that case, they'd be liars.”
Crowley chuckled and turned his head, letting Aziraphale's hand fall away. “Come on, Raph, don't be like that. Everyone loves a good story.”
“I wonder what tale you’ll tell if this scars over.”
Aziraphale’s laugh bubbled out. “Oh, I’m sure it won’t have to be embellished overmuch.”
“Nah, probably not. I did beat the princess’s personal guard one on one. That's pretty impressive in and of itself.”
“You did indeed do that,” Aziraphale purred. “Michael’s furious.”
Crowley winced despite Aziraphale's clear delight. “Note to self, avoid Princess Michael at all costs unless you're between us.”
“Don’t worry, pet. I won’t allow her to threaten you.”
“Luckily for him.” Raphael shook his head. “It was a good fight, though. Very nice to see her downed due to her own equipment.”
Aziraphale’s smile brightened, turning wicked at the corners. “Poetic justice, perhaps.”
Or just her opponent being a vindictive little shit. Not that Crowley would admit to such. “Maybe she'll learn to be less of a self-righteous cunt.”
“Maybe,” Raphael said in a way that led no one to believe he meant it.
Aziraphale offered his hands to help Crowley up. “In any case, I’m ready to go if you are.”
“Yeah, suppose I am.” Crowley took the offered hands, never failing to note just how warm Aziraphale always seemed to be. He'd probably be perfect to curl up with on winter nights, a thought that warmed Crowley's face as he let Aziraphale help him up despite not really needing it.
“Would you like to meet my Rhew first? It’ll keep Bentley from having to wait too long.”
“Yeah, sure. Bentley's impatient anyway. Make her stand still for too long and she's liable to start biting.”
“So you keep saying.” Aziraphale tipped his head towards Raphael. “We’ll see you before the next match?”
“Please do. Unfortunately, too much time alone with Sir Gabriel is hazardous to his health.”
“Not to yours?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“Goodness, Raphael. He may a bit… much, but that’s no reason to threaten him.”
“Hardly a threat, Majesty. He isn’t around to hear it.”
Crowley shared a smile with Raphael. “Even if he heard it I don't think he'd understand.”
“You’re both rude,” Aziraphale scolded, but his lips twitched anyway. “Come along, my dear. You won’t have to worry about Rhew biting you, but… he may lick you.”
“He’s weird,” Raphael supplied.
“That’s fine. I like weird.” Crowley decided that if the entire castle and town already assumed he was sharing Aziraphale's bed, he might as well give them more to talk about and threaded his arm through Aziraphale's. “Am weird, even.”
“There’s nothing at all wrong with that,” Aziraphale purred, delighted to have him close. Willingly so, especially.
“Because you’re weird too, Majesty. Enjoy your outing.”
Crowley laughed and waved at him and let Aziraphale guide him from the tent. They were going to get looks, he knew they would, but he thought it might be worth it if Uriel saw them. “No one’s going to throw a fit over you sneaking off, will they?”
“No. While it isn’t… typical for me to leave the grounds entirely during the tournament, there’s no rule which says I must stay the entire time.”
“Good. I'd hate for an angel like His Majesty to get into trouble.”
Aziraphale giggled. “Are you not trouble?”
“Oh, I am most assuredly trouble.”
Aziraphale’s lashes fluttered. “Then I’m very interested in getting into trouble.”
Crowley coughed and probably would have choked had he been eating or drinking anything. “When all this nonsense is over, court me like a proper gentleman ought, and trouble might consider it.”
“Oh. I-” Aziraphale blinked at him, but surprised quickly shifted to a delighted smile. He wasn’t at all used to courting properly, but he’d like to. He enjoyed little rituals. “I shall.”
“I’ll hold you to it.” And when all this was over he could go away, have a heat in peace, listen to Agnes shout at him over putting it off as he intended to do, and come back with a more level head on his shoulders.
The royal stables were far more grand than the ones at Crowley’s inn, though Aziraphale did look about before drawing Crowley inside. The stable master was strict and on the frustrated side when it came to Aziraphale, and had been for the last five years especially. But it was well worth it, his smile brightening and his arm leaving Crowley’s grip when they approached the last stable on the left.
The preference within the royal stables had been Clydesdales for more generations than Aziraphale could realistically say, the proud, large horses quite the sight on any battlefield or any show. The breeding was, therefore, careful and selective and very particular. Every horse which had its very own stable was a very similar shade of brown with a bald face and, unseeable through the stable doors, also white around their feathered lower legs.
The face that eagerly nuzzled into Aziraphale’s palm was white… partially. It was where the similarities between him and the others ended, even his mane streaked with black and grey. Not quite as tall as the others, either, but endlessly friendly. “Our stable master won’t allow him to breed with anyone as he’s a mixed breed. An Appaloosa got into Rhew’s mother’s pen, and no one has ever figured out how. He was going to sell him off to farmers in a town just east of us, but I refused to allow it. I wanted him from the moment I saw his silly coat. It looks as if he’s been snowed on.”
Crowley laughed and held his hand out for Rhew to sniff and then lick with great enthusiasm. He was a little silly looking, the coat that Crowley could see a medium grey and dabbled with lighter grey and white. Some of it even looked like snowflakes. “He’s very handsome. And tall, good gods, I never knew the royal horses were so big.”
“Mmhm. Sixteen hands on average, but Rhew’s only fourteen. He just turned five, so newly a stallion besides.” Aziraphale stroked his neck, smiling like a proud father. “I was supposed to have a properly bred one, but when I saw him wobbling about with his unusual coat, I couldn’t let him go.”
“You’re adorable, and he's lucky to have you.”
“Thank you. I’ll fetch him a carrot.” Rhew’s ear flicked towards Aziraphale at the word, his hooves audibly shifting just behind the stall door. “Once you’ve fed him, he’ll be your dearest friend.”
“Oh? Is that right? You like carrots?” Crowley asked, gently scratching the massive animal's jaw. Rhew's ears flicked toward him momentarily but his gaze stayed on Aziraphale. “You’ve got his full, undivided attention, angel.”
“I know it, but I’m willing to share it with you.” Aziraphale didn’t have to go far, the feed in storage just out of Rhew’s reach. It had to be after one or two (or a half-dozen) instances wherein he’d claimed everything in his reach. He returned with a carrot, dark eyes locked onto him, but he offered it to Crowley and earned an unhappy whinny for it. “Oh, be patient, you enormous infant. You’ll have it.”
Crowley laughed again and broke the carrot in half, much like Aziraphale had done Bentley's apple the night before. He offered his half to Rhew, earning happy tail flicks as the massive horse ate with enthusiasm. “Be nice to him, angel, he was just hungry.”
“He always is. Another reason our stable master detests him. He tends to eat anything and everything he can get his teeth on.” Aziraphale’s smile warmed as he stroked the spotted neck. “I love this menace.”
Crowley could tell. It took effort to actually speak with animals but he could naturally see their bond, the trust Rhew had in Aziraphale. “I think he knows.”
“I hope so.” Aziraphale turned his soft smile on Crowley. “Now I’ll get him ready to go. I’m not sure how Bentley is, but you’re able to come into his stall with me if you’d like. He’s never kicked anyone,” though Aziraphale knew he wanted to kick one specific person as the dislike was far from one-sided, “but I’d still avoid his hind quarters.”
“As one should do with any horse you're not familiar with. Though Bentley has kicked me a few times just because she wanted to.”
“That’s very good to know. I won’t be joining you when you saddle her up,” Aziraphale laughed, unlatching the stall. As the door slid open, Rhew’s ears lifted high and his hooves danced a little, but he stayed where he was. And his gaze didn’t leave the carrot half still in Crowley’s hand.
“Just don't stand behind her.” Crowley patted Rhew’s neck and let him have the other carrot half while Aziraphale went around to his side. “Though she warmed up to you faster than she ever has anyone else.”
“Which I’m very pleased with. Technically, he’s a destrier. We’ve gone out in full armour a few times, especially around the tournament. I’ll likely bring him tomorrow fully dressed for the final day. He isn’t usually fond of the chanfron as he doesn’t like things near his eyes.”
“Aww, poor thing.” Bentley had never had anything more fancy on her than a saddle and bridal. “This’ll be a nice treat for him, then.”
“Oh, yes.” He laid the saddle pad over Rhew’s back, the horse turning his head to try seeing what it was he was doing, and Aziraphale smiled. “Stop staring, silly thing. It’ll just be the saddle and bridle today for you as well.”
“No barebacking for His Majesty, I see.”
“No. Neither of us are very comfortable with it.” Aziraphale stroked his neck on the way to his saddle, the leather decorated with actual colour. Branded into it were symbols of his royalty and family history. “But he'll tolerate it if need be.”
It was much fancier and nicer than the one he had. Crowley's fingers itched to touch but kept on petting Rhew’s neck instead. “I learned bareback. Had to save up to buy a saddle myself.”
Aziraphale had never once had to save up for anything. “I learned that way as well. Mother insisted I master it before I was allowed a saddle. Rhew responds differently to it than most horses. Almost as if he's offended by the lack of proper clothes.”
Crowley chuckled. “Why do I get the feeling you'd be the same way?”
“One must dress for the occasion.”
“You and your fancy pants horse.”
“He’s well-loved,” Aziraphale replied, tightening the saddle until Rhew’s ears said it was enough. Then he reached for the bridle. “And he knows it. What do you think of him?”
“I think he's pampered, spoiled, and very sweet.” Crowley smiled at the way Rhew’s ears flicked. He might not have been trying to specifically speak with the horse, but animals often knew the general gist of what he said anyway. “He’s also very well trained.”
“I would say all of that is entirely true.” Aziraphale rubbed his snout once the bridle was in place, then his ears when Rhew lowered his head enough. “He’s also very mischievous when it comes to the things he wants. I think he’ll like your Bentley, and I hope she's willing to give him a chance.”
“She very well might. Although Bentley’s particular, and I can never tell when she's going to decide she likes someone or not.”
“Thankfully, Rhew likes nearly everyone.” A very wet tongue swiped up his cheek and he stepped back with a laugh. “I said nearly. I know who your dislikes include.”
Crowley's eyebrows lifted curiously. “Oohh? Care to share?”
“The stable master, for one. He's also, ah, bucked my sister more than once. Twice directly into mud after convincing her it was safe to relax her grip of his reins.”
Crowley threw his head back and cackled, patting Rhew’s neck fondly. “Amazing! Great, yeah, I think he'll get along with Bentley after all.”
“We can hope.” He'd also bitten his uncle once, but many horses in this stable had. It didn't seem particularly specific to Rhew. “Here. If you'll kindly lead him out, I'll get some food for the pair of them together. It's best that Rhew not know what's being brought.”
“Yeah, alright, I can do that.” Crowley took the hanging reigns. “Come on, Rhew, let's go for a walk.” Whether Rhew understood him or was just eager to follow, Crowley didn't know, but Crowley led him through the stable and out to the yard. But, instead of just waiting for Aziraphale, he led the horse in wide circles, letting him stretch his legs. “Yeah, I bet that feels good after being cooped up in the stable, hm?”
He nickered in response, bending his nose to sniff at Crowley's hair. It wasn't quite the colour of carrots or apples, but very close to both and he did smell distinctly earthy.
Crowley laughed and gently nudged Rhew’s mouth away from his hair. He knew from experience with Bentley that it would end in disaster. “None of that, now. Aziraphale's bringing food with us.”
He did like that and knew Aziraphale’s name as well as his own. Nearly as well as the word food, for that matter. He snorted and pranced his hooves, feathered legs fluttering.
He was even more of a handsome beast when he was out and about, black grey and white mane catching the sun. He might not have been ‘properly’ breed but Crowley had never cared much about that anyway. “Yes, I know, just be patient. And don't be a pest when you meet Bentley. She won't put up with it.”
“As she shouldn't,” Aziraphale agreed as he approached, soon fixing the bags he carried to Rhew’s saddle. “She's a fine lady.”
“She’s a menace.”
“So is Rhew, but he's still a fine gentleman.” Aziraphale patted his neck. “Would you like to ride him?”
“Nah, I'm good. I'm sure I'll have plenty of chances on the road.”
Aziraphale’s lips twitched. “So you would prefer to walk to the inn?”
Crowley crossed his arms. “You asked if I wanted to ride, not if I wanted to ride with you.”
“I’m very sorry for not being more specific. Would you care to ride him with me to the inn? Teasing you aside, I am also perfectly alright with walking.”
In lieu of answering him Crowley hefted himself onto Rhew’s back and held a hand down to Aziraphale. “Come on, I’ll even let you ride in front.”
Laughing, Aziraphale took his hand. It took some adjusting to fit comfortably with the narrow saddle, but Rhew waited patiently through it. Aziraphale took the reins. “Hold on,” he encouraged. “I won't send him into a full gallop, but I'd still prefer you not fall.”
Crowley had never, not once, fallen off a horse or in general. Not unless he'd wanted to. His hands still found Aziraphale's waist, front pressed to the alpha’s back. This close it was easier to smell him, smokey and herby and sweet. Crowley was tempted to nose at his throat and resisted only because it would so easily give himself away. “Don’t worry, angel. I won't fall.”
“Good.” A gentle nudge had Rhew walking forward, his flicking tail and bouncing ears sign enough of his delight to be out and about. It was safer to focus on him than the way Crowley felt against him. So close yet somehow not nearly close enough. To think, he was actually going to allow Aziraphale to court him. They'd already begun, in his opinion, and this outing was just an important part of it. Scandalous still, considering neither of them were chaperoned, but Aziraphale preferred a private courting to one that could be judged. Or one where either of them were pressured to be less than they were.
There was enough of that sort of pressure for Aziraphale’s tucked away abilities. He didn't want to have to hide away anything else which was integral to himself as a person.
They both hid the important things, though at the moment Crowley was mostly trying to keep himself from being a bit of a creep. He liked Aziraphale, probably too much for who they both were. No matter how sweet or adorable or interested Aziraphale seemed, Crowley knew it would only ever be a casual fling - if that. It was fine to flirt and tease but if he ever got found out as an omega… it would ruin his chances of being a knight and whatever else he might be, he wasn't some royal’s playtoy.
Crowley didn't necessarily disparage that sort of thing and riling Sir Uriel up had been fun, but the looks and whispers that followed them to the inn rankled. Another notch on the king's bedpost, a lover to join the ranks of many others. And Crowley wanted so much more for himself than that.
He dismounted before Aziraphale had a chance to when they arrived at his inn's stables, sliding off Rhew’s back with the ease and fluidity of someone who'd ridden most of their life and fled inside before he could think about pulling Aziraphale along with him and pushing him down into a pile of hay.
Aziraphale had been hoping for the opportunity to heft him down himself, but supposed it was for the best. It would've been odd - being the one between a horse head and a person - to be the first down. The absence did make his back feel cold, though. An odd sensation he wasn't at all used to. Cold was avoidable, ignorable, fleeting. He couldn't ever remember feeling the chill of winter.
The chill of his absence reminded him of the same feeling he'd gotten after dancing at the masquerade, tucked away with a mysterious man who'd tasted of a tomorrow. He'd been impossible to find and guilt did tend to nip at him after he and Crowley parted, but when he was with Crowley, nothing else seemed to matter.
He wanted to know if Crowley tasted of tomorrows. He felt like it, and the idea of courting lit him up in ways he hadn't felt in years. But was that because Crowley had come along at the lowest point of Aziraphale’s life or was it because he was Crowley? That wasn't something he knew how to answer yet, but he was willing to do the work to find out.
He smiled when Crowley returned from the inn’s stables. A future with him could be very nice indeed. “Best behaviour now, Rhew. You need to make a good impression.”
He was guiding Bentley by her reins, a hand on her side. Her ears flicked in interest at the new activities after being stabled so long, though her attention was pulled immediately to the stallion and rider. Crowley laid a hand on her side as they approached. “Be good, Bentley. Or you're going right back inside.”
Aziraphale laughed, but looped the reins an extra time around his hand. “Don’t threaten her. That’s rude.”
“Have you really spent this much time with me and not realised I am rude?”
“I’m of the opinion that your rudeness is merely one facet of many.”
“One of many,” Crowley agreed. He walked Bentley up to Rhew and let them sniff each other out, keeping a close eye on her ears. “That’s right. He's a friend. No biting.”
“Don’t lick her,” Aziraphale warned. “You don’t know her well enough yet.”
Rhew snorted in response to that, but kept his tongue behind his bridle’s bit and butted his snout against her smaller one instead.
Crowley watched her and her flicking ears intently for any sign of annoyance - or fear, Rhew was quite a bit bigger than her, after all - but it seemed he needn't have worried. Bentley huffed at the larger horse and turned her head away to nibble Crowley's sleeve, seemingly uninterested after all.
“No, you're not getting another treat right now. We're eating later.” But at least she wasn't trying to bite poor Rhew, that was the important part.
Aziraphale chuckled. “Soon. They’ll both be happier for it, I think.”
“Yeah, probably.” Content that Bentley was going to behave, Crowley pulled himself up into her saddle and gave her neck a pat. “I think she'll also be happier to be in some wide open space she can run in.”
“She’ll have that. And I hope you enjoy the views the trails afford.” Aziraphale gave the reins a tug and Rhew’s sides a nudge, urging him away from the stables. “Having to look down at you is new.”
Crowley chuckled and steered Bentley to follow them. “You’re not that much taller than me like this.”
“It’s still a different angle.” Aziraphale guided Rhew so they could walk side by side. Rhew seemed as interested in all the goings on as Aziraphale tended to be, but his distraction never took them off course. “You’re just as lovely.”
He probably said that to all his lovers but it still made Crowley flush. “And which do you think is the better angle?”
“I think they’re equally as fascinating. I do see you from a higher vantage point during your tournament bouts as well, you know. There, you’re so focused even when I can see that you’re speaking. I always wonder what it is you’re saying to your opponents, especially when you smirk. Walking beside you is very nice because I’m able to see the angle of your jaw, the way your hair escapes and curls about your shoulders. Sometimes I think I can even see your eyes, but your glasses are very thorough. This one, I get to see the way you control your mare. You didn’t don spurs, so you trust her to heed you without hurting her. I admire that. I’m also terribly fascinated by the fact that you manage to slouch even in a saddle. Your back is liquid.”
By the end of Aziraphale's little monologue Crowley felt like he'd just had his face a little too close to a roaring campfire. It was a lot to take in all at once, a lot to listen to about himself. People didn't usually pay so much attention to him, not like that. “‘Course I don't use spurs,” Crowley grumbled because it was the only thing he felt like he could reply to. He definitely wasn't going to mention his eyes. “Never have. Don’t need to hurt Bentley like that; she knows what to do.”
“As with most tools, there's a right and a wrong way to use them. But I'm impressed by the lack nonetheless. It shows how well you've trained her.”
It had been less training and more using magic to speak to her and develop a bond. They understood one another. Crowley shrugged at him and slouched further. “I’ve just never really seen a need for them.”
“Nor have I. Not with any of the horses I've been on.” He patted Rhew’s neck, smiling at his happy sounds. “I won't let anyone ride him wearing them.”
“Good. You shouldn't.” Crowley gave Bentley’s reins a gentle pull when she attempted to stray towards a side street, the curious thing, and she corrected with no hesitation. “I know it's not… typical… but I've never been fond of using pain as a motivator. For animals or people.”
“Nor have I. I don't find fear very effective, and I believe respect can come from other avenues.”
Crowley snorted. “If you have to use fear to make someone or something respect you, you're not very worthy of it in the first place.”
“Agreed.” Aziraphale nodded his head towards an upcoming break between buildings. “We’ll make a left here. We're leaving the city proper.”
“Oh, good, I was starting to feel cooped up.”
“In a city as large as this? How do you feel in small villages?”
“Villages aren't surrounded by massive stone walls, they don't have buildings as big as these.” Crowley tilted his head back and stared up at the blue sky. “There’s so many less people. I don't think I've ever bumped into so many people as I have since coming here.”
“Ah. I don't think I would be able to handle anywhere smaller. I may have thrown caution to the wind and run off by now.”
Crowley laughed and tilted his head to look up at him. “You say that like I didn't run off every few months, only to come back before night really fell.”
“Goodness, you were a troublemaker.” And Aziraphale was all the more fond of him for it. “Did your grandmother worry?”
Crowley blinked for a moment before realising. “Nah, Agnes always knew I'd come home. Even when I got older and was gone longer and longer, she always seemed to know when I'd come back and have a meal ready.”
“Then she trusts you as much as she loves you.” Aziraphale envied that.
“Yeah, I guess so.” Sometimes he wished she'd gone after him, looked for him, tried to make him stay. His parents hadn't wanted to keep him and, despite how he knew she cared, Agnes hadn't tried to. “It made leaving when I became an adult pretty easy, so I guess that was alright.”
“Yes, I think I understand that. You've been able to gain quite a bit of independence that way. And so many life experiences. I'm sure I've hardly heard a smidge of them.” Aziraphale encouraged Rhew to turn, the exits nearly empty with so many visiting for the tournament or taking advantage of few fights to explore the city proper.
“I have so many stories I could tell. Most of ‘em probably aren't that interesting, though. I've played it safe for the most part.”
“That says to me you're wiser than your reckless nature would lead one to believe,” Aziraphale mused. “Perhaps you'll share a tale or two with me today.”
He'd have to think of one that didn't involve magic or find a way to edit it out while still being believable. “I will, if you'd like.”
“I would. I adore hearing tales from travellers.”
“Then I’ll think of something and tell you a little story while we're out.”
“Wonderful,” Aziraphale purred, slowing to a stop as they reached one of the gates. He had to whistle for the guard’s attention, which amused rather than irritated. “Hello, Sir! Kindly open the gates, would you?”
“Yes, Your High- Majesty! Your Majesty. Right away, Your Majesty,” he stuttered, flustered as he hurried to the wheel that would raise the bars.
Aziraphale shook his head. “They don't expect anyone to be leaving this time of year.”
Crowley chuckled as the portcullis gate was slowly raised. “I would expect not. Who wants to leave when you have everything you could want already here?”
“Along with the additional entertainment,” Aziraphale agreed, but felt a buzz of excitement as he was finally able to encourage Rhew beyond the city walls. It was the same thing he felt each and every time he was outside of the gates, a tugging to explore. To see what the world was really made of beyond the confines of where he’d been raised. He did want to leave, despite having everything he could want at his fingertips. Some things just couldn’t be bought and this was one of them. He sent Crowley a bright smile, the only warning before he nudged Rhew into a much faster gallop than what was allowed within the city. The limits were different outside.
Crowley only gaped after him for a moment before he was flicking Bentley's reins and urging her to chase after them. The cobblestone road of the city gradually fading into dirt of the farming roads that spread out from Berwick like spiderwebs. Buildings became shorter and smaller and more spread out. Crowley recognised the road from when he'd arrived and, for the first time since then, actually felt free.
“I’m sure you’ve been on seaside cliffs before, but have you ever been on the ones near Berwick?” Aziraphale asked.
“I haven't, no. Is that where we're going?”
“Yes, they’re where my favourite trail ends at.”
“Sounds good to me.” It had been a while since he'd been to such a place. “I’m curious as to why it's your favourite.”
“If you see it the way I do, you’ll understand,” Aziraphale replied, flicking his reins to urge Rhew faster. Faster and away from the paths Crowley recognised. He could smell the sea in the air, feel the wind whipping around him, see the trees as they approached. He’d never felt drawn to the water, air, or earth as he had flame, but he wasn’t entirely unaware of them either. He loved places where he could feel all four rushing through him, though the flame was all internal as they entered the swell of trees. It was obviously well-travelled, the branches arching like a canopy above them, letting the sun in flickers and flutters. It was cooler in the woods than outside, the birdsong and chittering of smaller wildlife more prevalent.
Crowley tilted his head back as they entered the little woods, breathing in the earth and the trees. This was where he was most at home, this was where he was most free. Everything around them sang, called out him. Knew that if he slipped from his horse that, even through his boots, he'd be able to feel the plant growth beneath his feet. Crowley smiled up at the light filtering between the leaves, not bothering to guide Bentley, she knew not to wander off the trail. “This is nice, I was kind of missing forests and trees.”
“Oh, yes. We’ve taken a few from another nearby forest for buildings over the years, but this one is off-limits.” Aziraphale smiled at him. “What do you know about Aelfric’s companions?”
“A little bit. I know he had a mage and a knight.” And the mage had, supposedly, ‘betrayed’ him in some way, though Agnes had always glossed over that even when Crowley had pressed.
“Mmhm. Some say when they were young... Well, it's said that it was the mage who shaped the trees and forged this path. Unfortunately, it was the fear of curses which ensured these trees couldn't be taken down. But...” Aziraphale’s hands fidgeted on the reins, a little nervous to say but he had to know if Crowley would be offended by this or not. He had to know how quiet he'd need to be on this journey if Crowley did indeed go with him. “I don't believe they're cursed in any way. I think they shouldn't be torn down because they're beautiful and the path is as well.”
Crowley frowned a little, the tale feeling something like familiar. He could almost hear Agnes’ voice in his head but couldn't remember the words. “Nah, not cursed,” he murmured. Cursed places could be felt, they exuded a particular aura of malice. “This trail’s well worn, it wouldn't be so travelled if it was cursed.”
“Would you call me mad if I said it felt... loved?”
“Loved?” He wasn't sure about that but there was power here. Someone had cared enough about this place to infuse it with magic, that much he could feel. He could possibly tell more if he had the time and focus to pick apart the residue that was left behind, the feeling of it a gentle prickle against the back of his neck. To someone who didn't know what they were looking for or feeling, it could possibly feel like love. “Nah. You're not mad. It feels… like other places I've been. Places where magic has seeped into the surroundings and changed it.”
“Such as that lake with the glowing fish?”
“Yeah. Locals claim a mage enchanted the fish to glow like that a long time ago. It has a… feeling about. Peaceful-like.”
Aziraphale nodded. “So you’re not one of those persons who believe such things should be, ah, eradicated?”
Crowley tensed, fists tightening on the reins hard enough to leave his knuckles white. “Don’t really see a point in destroying things that aren't hurting anyone.”
“No,” Aziraphale sighed, quietly relieved. It could be alright to journey with him, to reveal more as time went. “Neither do I. Thank you for your honesty, my dear.”
The tension Crowley had held suddenly released with a quiet breath. He'd said as little as he possibly could while still being truthful and even that could get him in big trouble in some places. Hell, it could have gotten him in big trouble right here. “I’m just glad I'm not being promptly marched to the gallows.”
Aziraphale winced. “Goodness, no. Unless you’ve gone out murdering innocent people for nothing more than your own enjoyment, I see no reason whatsoever for such barbaric actions.”
Crowley gave a soft chuckle. “It was a joke, angel. Though maybe a bad one.”
If his uncle hadn’t recently expressed just that sort of sentiment, perhaps he would’ve recognised it as such. “Regardless, such a thing hasn’t happened in Berwick since my parents had their coronation and it’s a tradition I’m quite happy to continue.”
Dark glasses hid the way Crowley glanced at him. It wasn't the sort of sentiment he expected, not from someone whose job it was to hand down the laws. It made him wonder how Aziraphale would react to finding out there was a mage right under his nose, if he would be frightened or curious, angry or delighted. He nearly did, just to see the reaction, but couldn't bring himself to. “‘S good. Kind, even. The world needs more kindness in it.”
“Well, thank you. I’m glad you approve. I much prefer that over the alternative.” Aziraphale smiled. “After how quickly you earned my attention, I’d hate for you to lose it equally as fast.”
Crowley chuckled and shook his head. “Gods forbid that.”
“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale encouraged Rhew to get a little closer. “Now I’ve always thought forests were wonderful places to hear a good tale. We may not be in a proper forest, exactly, but we can certainly make do. And I am very eager to learn one of your stories.”
“Aright, alright.” He could do that, considering the conversation they just had, Crowley thought he might have something Aziraphale would like to share. “So, as you know, sellsword. Though I usually consider myself more of a… general problem solver. A lot of that can be dealing with rabid animals, sometimes chasing off unsavoury people who want to cause issues, I've even assisted in barn raising and general construction. Basically if a job needs doing I'll do my best to get it done. And then, sometimes, very rarely, creatures from the deep wilderness get a little too close to a human settlement. It really, really, doesn't happen very often but a few years ago I was travelling through a village that was having issues with a griffon.”
“Gosh,” Aziraphale replied, eyes rounding. “A griffon. Really?”
“Yep,” Crowley said with a little pop at the end. “Honestly I didn't believe them at first because, I mean, those things never come near humans if they can help it. They’re too smart. But I told ‘em I'd see what I could do. The place was terrified, apparently the thing had been swooping over and even picked someone up. They survived!” He clarified at Aziraphale's horrified expression. “Just scared out of their minds and had a broken leg. Could have been much worse.”
“Oh, yes. What on earth was the poor thing doing? Was it lost?”
“Not… exactly. Took me a while but I tracked it back to its nest one morning when it was out hunting. At first I thought it might have been a male, considering it was being a bit aggressive. Imagine my shock when I realised I was very wrong when I found three very fresh eggs.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale cooed. He'd only ever read about griffons, had never seen one or even imagined seeing one. Well, that wasn't true. He'd imagined it plenty of times, but it wasn't something he'd truly believed possible. “How sweet.”
“Sweet, yeah, I guess. She was attacking the village because the idiot built her nest too close to it and started feeling threatened.”
“Yes, yes, very poor planning on her part. But eggs. Just a protective mother doing her best.”
“Yeah, well, I couldn't just let her rampage all over, so… I did the only thing I thought I could do. Made something of a sling from a blanket I'd been planning on getting rid of anyway, packed the eggs safely into it, got on Bentley here and rode like hells.” He didn't say how he used magic to utterly destroy the nest, ensuring the griffon would never return to it. “The mother hadn't been gone very long and they've got an excellent sense of smell, so we rode as fast and as hard as we could. Dunno how far exactly we went into the forest, wasn't keeping track, just wanted to lure her as far away from humans as possible.”
“Oh, my goodness, Crowley. You stole her eggs? She could've killed you.”
“What else was I supposed to do? Wasn't gonna fight her; that'd be a bloody suicide mission by myself, and… well…” Crowley looked down at where he was holding Bentley’s reins. “That would've left the eggs without a parent.”
“Which would've been terrible,” Aziraphale agreed, smile softening. He was precious. Every day, he seemed to show Aziraphale more of the softness he seemed determined to hide. Failing miserably, but clearly trying. “What did you do next?”
“Like I said, rode Bentley as far into the forest as we could possibly go. Got pretty far before mama realised her eggs had been nabbed and came after me. When I heard her angry call I stopped, set the eggs down against a tree, didn't even bother taking them out of the sling, and rode even harder. I heard mum crashing through the trees like an angry screeching boulder and was half terrified she'd fly right past the eggs and get my arse. I was really lucky she didn't, so… when we didn't hear her anymore, I turned Bentley around and went back to the village. Obviously didn't take the same way back but it was close enough. Stayed there for about two weeks, just to make sure she didn't come back.”
“Hopefully she made use of your sling and got her babies somewhere safe and sound.”
“Hopefully. I wasn't suicidal enough to go check.”
“Then we'll assume, since you're alive and she didn't punish the village, that she hatched three healthy children.” Aziraphale wanted to reach out and touch his hair or take his hand, whichever he'd allow, but his hands stayed safely on his reins. “It was a very clever solution, darling.”
Darling. Crowley flushed and shrugged. “Wasn’t like she was being malicious or anything. It wasn't really her fault, she's just an animal. A huge, fuck-off scary animal but an animal nonetheless.”
“Which is exactly why most people wouldn't have taken the time you did. You didn't try to hunt her down or harm her little ones. You found a different answer.” He wanted to pull Crowley off that horse and kiss him so badly, it ached. “I find that far more admirable a feat.”
“I just try not to hurt things that are just doing their own thing. People being arseholes to other people is fair game, however.”
Aziraphale’s lips twitched. That wasn't helping his desire to draw Crowley close in the slightest, his scent warm with fondness. “Quite. I enjoy your perspective. Was the village grateful to you?”
“Not… exactly.” Crowley’s thumbs rubbed the thin leather in his hands. “They wanted me to kill it. Were kinda mad I didn't come back with its head. They were glad it was gone, for sure, but I did only get paid half of what they offered originally.”
Aziraphale’s nose scrunched. “Ah. That’s a terrible way to treat you. You accomplished what you needed to, so deserved to be paid.”
“Yeeaahh, but it wasn't what they wanted.”
“So… you deliberately forfeited the opportunity to be paid in full?”
“No! Not really!” Crowley said crossly. “I was hoping they'd be fine with it so long as the griffon was gone and not coming back. I mean, that's as good as dead, yeah? But nooooo. I agreed to kill it and didn't. They only paid me half because at least it was gone.”
He’d still taken that chance. He’d still done both more and less than he'd been hired to do. He'd risked his life and, in doing so, had not only allowed the griffin to live, but had ensured that a new generation had a chance to live as well. “Imagine how cross they may have been had you told them you'd technically allowed four griffins to live.”
“What they don't know can't hurt them.”
“Or your coin purse.”
“Gods. They probably wouldn't have paid me at all if I'd’ve told ‘em about the eggs.”
“What were you owed? Do you recall?”
Crowley shook his head. “Nah, it was a few years ago now and I wasn't that pressed about it. I might have started out expecting money and glory but… really I just liked knowing I helped people.”
“People and creatures, apparently.”
“Shut up,” Crowley grumbled, flushing again. “Just did what I felt was right.” At least he tried to.
If he hadn't been so embarrassed by it, Aziraphale would've assumed Crowley had told him the story in a bid to impress him. Instead, it was more evidence that he was sweet. “I rather like your morals, then.”
Morals… Would he be so keen to say so if he ever found out just how much Crowley had lied to him? Maybe… maybe he just wouldn't tell Aziraphale anything after all. Better that way. He wouldn't have to worry about disappointing an alpha that he actually liked.