Chapter Text
Crowley never made a secret about it: he had hated the 14th century. Why? Well, nobody knows exactly, he had always been quite evasive on the question. Only God - and Crowley, of course - know the truth; I will tell you about it. So let’s get back a long, long time ago; during the 3rd century.
I am not supposed to have a favourite historical period, it wouldn’t be fair. And if I had one, it wouldn’t be Antiquity. I dislike all the eras equally, just as Aziraphale loves them. However, even the Angel of the Eastern Gate found things he didn’t like over all these years: illiteracy, of course, rudeness, fast-food - no, that’s not surprising, I know - and the plane; My, Aziraphale would never climb in a plane, not for anything in the world, nor in Eden! Flying? Without his wings? In a pressurized tin can with a bunch of anxious humans? Thanks, but no, thanks! Oh, it would have been possible to make the Angel board in an airplane, he would willingly do it if, in exchange, he could be sure there would be no more pain, injustice, inequity. He would even smile to the flight attendant. But Aziraphale knew very well his humble principality in a plane wouldn’t achieve any of this, the device would only be sure not to crash (and it would be great already, but this is not the question). A long time before the Angel had had to formulate an inner judgment about flying tin can, he had had to face human’s cruelty. Planes weren’t that bad, at last.
As I said, Aziraphale loves all the eras of the History; he always finds a something good, something extraordinary. Something loveable, something to be proud of. This is why he himself was very proud of having been Valentine of Rome’s close friend. At that time, the Emperor was trying to prevent men to get married: he needed them to go to the war and they would be more willing to if they weren’t tied to somebody. More importantly, they would be more efficient, less frightened to die if they knew nobody was waiting for them back at home. But, at the same time, Valentine of Rome was secretly marrying all the Christians who wanted to. And Aziraphale simply had adored the idea that love was stronger than war; he had helped the priest. What a true heartbreaking disappointment it had been when the Angel, just back from a brief trip to Greece, had discovered the brave man had been jailed and then beheaded. He couldn’t do anything for the poor Valentine here, but Aziraphale would make sure he was in Heaven, he would do his very best for his story to never be forgotten. When Aziraphale prays, he doesn’t hope for someone to answer him; he doesn’t ask for things, no, he does a true advocacy work so whoever might listen to him on the other side will be convinced the Angel is right and want to do something about it. In all honesty, I think that, even if Aziraphale hadn’t had prayed my all-listening ears off about Valentine’s values, he would have become a saint anyway. But later; during the 14th century.
Crowley had despised 14th century. For several reasons. First of all: it had been impossible for him to get his hand on the Angel for quite a long time. Their encounter under Arthur’s reign hadn’t been so much friendly, and Crowley had hardly seen Aziraphale since. In all honesty, the Demon thought the Angel probably was at Philip the Bold’s court; but he wasn’t sure. Anyway, he couldn’t find a good excuse to go there himself. Usual Angels and Demons had both loved the Middle Ages; the first because everything was about God, and pleasing God, and fearing God and, when Crowley said I had f*cked up good monkeys by giving them anxiety, he was only halfway true, it seemed they also were fanatics and hypocritical. That’s why Demons also loved this era, tempting humans to do horrible things in my name was utterly useless, they already did it themselves very well. So, yeah, Crowley had claimed he had instigated the first Crusade and whispered to Edward II of England: “Hey! You could be king of France if you wanted to, you know?”. It was enough and even maybe a bit too much; after all, he didn’t want Aziraphale to believe he was… Well, a Demon. Usual Angels and Demons had loved the Middle Ages, Crowley had hated them. Aziraphale had really loved Arthur’s ideas, Gregorian chants and the cultural aspects of the court of Burgundy and disapproved almost everything else. Since the Demon couldn’t find a way to join Burgundy without sowing - or pretend to sow - misery behind him, he had had an idea for Aziraphale to come to him. It was a very good idea, I have to say, but not enough for degenerate monkey not to screw up.
Back during Antiquity - and a lovely evening at the baths - the Angel had talked to him about a Valentine guy who had fought war by love or something equally sappy. The thing was Crowley remembered very well how much Aziraphale had loved this man (an excellent reason for the Demon to despise him, already; but what wouldn’t he do for his Angel, I ask you?) and how hard he had hoped for the fellow to be canonised. After a quick check in a sanctoral [1] to be sure Aziraphale’s wish had been granted (Crowley would have made it happen, otherwise), the Demon got to work. Saint John has his fires, Saint Patrick his carousals and Saint James his shells; Saint Valentine would get something as well.