Chapter Text
Aziraphale awoke coughing and sputtering but that hadn’t been what had woken him up.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale wheezed out when he saw his knight leaning over his bed. “What’s going on?”
“Fire,” Crowley answered shortly. “Take this and put it over your mouth.”
Aziraphale did as he was told, taking the handkerchief Crowley held out and using it to breathe through. Then Aziraphale got out of bed and followed the knight down the stairs and out of the castle. The smoke was thicker downstairs, but beyond an orange glow, they didn’t encounter the fire itself.
Crowley led him to a spot in the woods where, although Aziraphale could still smell the smoke, they could breathe normally.
“Is it another attack?” Aziraphale asked as soon as he’d taken his first breath of clear air.
Crowley nodded grimly, but there was another layer to his sober expression. Was it…anger?
“Did they find the dragon that did it? Injure it or something?”
A shake of the head this time, expression not changing.
Aziraphale frowned. “Is something wrong, my dear?”
Crowley finally glanced sidelong at Aziraphale when he’d heard the endearment but made no other move.
“These attacks are devastating but we’ll find a solution I’m sure of it. One of these days, we’ll slay the dragon.” For some odd reason this elicited a wince from the knight and Aziraphale added in a softer voice, “Please speak to me.”
Aziraphale finally caught Crowley’s eye, causing the knight to finally turn his head in the prince’s direction. Crowley closed his eyes and sighed.
“The prophecy,” Crowley finally said, “mentions a dragon taking the throne, and these attacks are becoming more frequent.” A pause. “I feel the prophecy draws near and I don’t like what that means for your safety.”
Aziraphale looked away. “Crowley—”
“Don’t tell me you’ll be fine when I know what the prophecy says,” Crowley interrupted. “The thought of losing you because some dragon has a loss for power—”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said again putting his hand on the knight’s shoulder, “I was going to say thank you. For saving me again.”
They locked eyes, and Crowley finally gave Aziraphale a small smile. “Of course, your Highness.”
“This is the third attack in the past week alone, your Majesty. They’re becoming more frequent. The prophecy draws near.”
Aziraphale, from his seat on the side of the court, watched his father, King Michael, run a hand over his face at Duke Gabriel’s words. Has he not been sleeping well? Aziraphale was concerned at the sudden realization that his father looked haggard. Being a king took its toll, of course, but the king had always kept a pristine appearance—especially in court. Now, he had bags drooping under his eyes, it seemed as if he didn’t shave and his posture wasn’t as proper as it should have been.
“I am aware, Duke Gabriel,” King Michael said with a sigh. “However, the prophecy is not quite clear on how we stop the attacks. It’s as if we’re supposed to give up the throne willingly.”
“You know that’s not true, sir,” Duke Gabriel said, with a sidelong glance at Aziraphale, who averted his gaze.
The prophecy they were referring to had been written hundreds of years ago, but the timeline of its effects started with Aziraphale’s birth. It was in an archaic language and it was a very long and complicated mess, but the general idea was known by all. At some point during Michael’s reign a member of the Fairy realm would take the throne. The prophesy implied it to be a dragon and was now being confirmed with the constant dragon attacks on the kingdom. The prophecy went on to say, however, that although the dragon would take the throne, the son of Michael would unite the Engelite bloodline and the Fairy realm for the first time in centuries. Essentially, all would not be lost—if Aziraphale could get it together.
“Aziraphale has trained since birth for his purpose in life,” Michael said gruffly, causing Gabriel to snap back to attention. “If the prophecy deems him worthy, then he is worthy. Things are simply…looking bleak at the moment.”
Aziraphale knew his father was talking in general in the last sentence, but he couldn’t help but feel like it was directed at him. Unlike the other kingdoms of the world, the Engelite bloodline didn’t pass from firstborn to firstborn. In order to become a true Engelite ruler, a prince or princess had to prove their worth by completing a quest, showing themselves in battle, or otherwise proving themselves to be worthy of the title of king. Aziraphale happened to be the firstborn—and the only born, as his mother had died in childbirth, leaving him to bear the title of King or leave the land without a ruler. But it was clear that his strengths weren’t in battle. More inclined to read and generally keep to himself, Aziraphale was—to put it mildly—utterly disastrous at sword fighting. He wasn’t meant for battle, he was meant for libraries and warm cups of ale and a good book on a nice—
Aziraphale was brought out of his bitter thoughts by Crowley, who must have sensed Aziraphale’s mood and put a hand on the prince’s knee. The knight otherwise kept perfectly still, always at attention, always on guard. Aziraphale felt the corner of his lips tug upwards a little and put his hand on top of Crowley’s, giving it a quick squeeze before turning his attention back to the court.
Apparently, they’d moved on from Aziraphale’s incompetence towards the funding for the repairs of the recent attacks, rebuilding with the attacks in mind, and other various clean-up duties that had already been discussed the other hundred times there was an attack. Aziraphale simply couldn’t pay attention. He was a little distracted by Crowley’s hand, which hadn’t moved throughout the rest of the court session.
“Your Highness,” Crowley sighed from the doorway he was leaning against, “you are aware training started an hour ago?”
Aziraphale looked up from his book in surprise. “Oh, I was just thinking about the prophecy, how I’m supposed to unite the realms of fairy and man.”
Crowley visibly tensed, as he did with every mention of the prophecy, but he’d never given an answer why, so Aziraphale had stopped asking years ago.
“I realized,” Aziraphale continued, “I’ve never even seen a fairy before, so how am I supposed to unite our realm with something I know nothing about? So I’ve been reading about fairies.”
“Find anything then?” Crowley asked, his voice sounding strained.
Aziraphale shook his head sadly. “Well, nothing except that it seems that the faries love our realm dearly and its no wonder they were so angry at my family for forbidding them from it.”
“Right,” Crowley said, pushing himself off the wall and sauntering towards Aziraphale. He slammed the book Aziraphale was reading shut but before Aziraphale could protest, he said, “It seems to me like you’d get more useful things from training than reading.”
Aziraphale couldn’t answer. He’d wanted to, of course—after all, what was more useful than knowledge?—but those golden eyes were inches from his own and Aziraphale couldn’t think. Well, he couldn’t think of anything except how utterly beautiful Crowley was. Aziraphale just wanted to—
But Crowley was pulling away, turning to walk out of the library. Aziraphale closed his eyes and let out a shaky breath before gathering himself and following the knight.
The training session went poorly, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary. Aziraphale was the worst fighter Crowley had ever encountered, which, on another day, might have been endearing. They’d just survived yet another dragon attack, however, and Crowley was losing patience with his prince.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped as Aziraphale failed—for the third time that session—to parry one of Crowley’s attacks. “Are you even trying?”
Aziraphale cradled his hand where Crowley had hit it when he’d knocked Aziraphale’s wooden sword out of his grip. “I—”
“Because it seems to me,” Crowley seethed, “that you spent all of last week reading instead of practicing the techniques I gave you. Am I wrong?”
Aziraphale bit his lip and looked down at the ground in shame. Crowley had to fight to not let go of his anger at the sight.
“We had a dragon attack yesterday and the day before that and two days before that one. Would you like to tell me who everyone is relying on to end these attacks?”
“Me,” Aziraphale answered pitifully.
“No, not you,” Crowley corrected angrily. “They are relying on a prince worthy of defeating this dragon—a prince worthy enough to take the crown and become their king. You are neither of those things, and you never will be if you continue to neglect your duties.”
Aziraphale’s eyes went round with shock at Crowley’s words, and again Crowley had to fight not to give in and apologize immediately. Instead he picked up Aziraphale’s practice sword and said, “We’ll resume lessons when you start putting effort in them again.”
Without letting Aziraphale respond, Crowley turned on his heel and stalked out of the training area.
Moments later, Crowley found himself in his quarters downing a bottle of fine wine he’d stashed under his bed. He’d meant to share it with Aziraphale one quiet night, but he figured Aziraphale probably wouldn’t want to talk to him for a while and Crowley couldn’t blame him. Still, he knew he hadn’t exactly been out of line. The prophecy drew near and Aziraphale couldn’t battle a kitten let alone a dragon. Years ago, this wouldn’t have bothered Crowley—after all he was meant to protect Aziraphale—but the prince would have to prove himself as a defender of his kingdom soon, and Crowley was beginning to feel as though that would never happen.
Of course, if the prophecy had anything to say about it, Aziraphale was meant to lose his throne to a dragon. Well, it didn’t say it like that exactly but everyone got the gist. How else would a dragon take the throne except through killing the Engelite bloodline? Crowley shuddered at the thought of Aziraphale dying like that, and he got up from his bed drunkenly. Aziraphale dying like that—well, Crowley couldn’t stomach it. He needed to get away from these thoughts.
There was another aspect of the prophecy Crowley couldn’t stomach, though—the dragon itself.
Before King Michael’s reign, there was a war between the fairy and the human realms. The humans somehow managed to come out on the other side victorious, leaving the fairies to be banished from human lands forever. Sometime later, the fairies had a sort of civil war, as the dragons, restless and angry at the humans, began to dissent. They were in turn banished from the fairy realm—with magic creating an impenetrable barrier. Hoping to seek refuge in the human realm, they sought the king. To their misfortune, the king still held scars from the war and banned the dragons again—this time, on the penalty of death. Trapped in the deadly human realms, dragons fled to the most remote places they could think of, but to no avail. They were all of them hunted down and slaughtered before Michael had taken the throne.
All, that is, except one.
The survivor of the dragons could at present be seen walking the king’s garden in a drunken stumble. Crowley, having been born of both dragon and shapeshifter, was hidden by his parents in the slaughter under the guise of a human baby. He was found and brought to an orphanage, where they quickly discovered his talent with the sword and Crowley quickly discovered his true nature. Having been raised on the tales that spoke of hatred for fairies and death towards dragons, Crowley quickly learned to hide his powers from the others. It wasn’t easy, as the dragon side of him was easily triggered by anger, frustration, and other strong emotions.
Still, at age ten, Crowley had already become not only a master of the sword but a master of his powers. It was announced that the king’s son—also age ten—would now be in need of a personal knight and someone with whom he could train, and Crowley jumped at the opportunity. He battled with much older knights and swordsmen for the opportunity and his skill had not gone unnoticed. Michael, thinking a boy Aziraphale’s age would be a fine tutor, gladly accepted Crowley into the castle, sparking a close friendship between the prince and his knight.
Fifteen years later, Crowley was facing a prophecy that stated clearly that a dragon would kill the prince and take the throne or be killed in the process. As the only dragon-born left alive, Crowley was left with the reality that he would kill his best friend or die trying.
“Bloody hell,” Crowley growled as claws suddenly erupted from his fingers.
Crowley quickened his pace and tried to get himself to calm down. After all, there had to be a second dragon right? Crowley wasn’t the one attacking these villages. He’d been there to defend them after all. So maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.
It didn’t help.
Sharp teeth began to erupt from Crowley’s mouth now. For the first time in a long time, Crowley was losing control of his form. Because regardless of who exactly it was meant to kill the prince, the prince still died in the end. And he was more than just a prince to Crowley.
From the first day that Crowley’s heart warmed at the sight of Aziraphale, Crowley knew it was wrong, that anything more than a friendship could never happen between the two of them. That was when Crowley was fourteen, and while his mind kept everything shut away, his heart sang every second it was near the prince, saw the prince, and even thought of the prince. Crowley’s angel.
“Crowley?” The knight almost thought he’d imagined the soft voice behind him.
“Go away, Aziraphale,” Crowley growled, as growling was the closest he could get to human speech patterns mid-change. Meanwhile, Crowley was desperately praying to whoever was listening that he could revert back to his human form before Aziraphale noticed.
Aziraphale for his part just sighed and said, “Look, you have every right to be angry with me. I came here to apologize. Anyone else would have lost their patience years ago but you’ve been so kind to me.”
Aziraphale paused, either gathering his thoughts or waiting for a reply, but Crowley could no longer speak clearly through the enlarged teeth.
“Anyway,” Aziraphale continued in an even softer voice, “I’m sorry and I just wanted to thank you, my dear, for all you’ve done.”
Crowley wasn’t sure if it was his effort finally paying off or simply hearing the term of endearment, but his claws and teeth rather suddenly retracted. But it was too late—Aziraphale had already turned and left. Besides, what could Crowley say to that?
Still, as Crowley drifted off to sleep, the words “my dear” in that softest of tones echoed through Crowley’s head.