Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there lived a king named Shadwell, who did alright for himself as far as kingdoms went, but he had no heir to inherit his throne. Then one day, a child was born, a tiny squalling red-haired infant who so enchanted Shadwell that the aging king named it his successor and set in fashion the idea of adopting wards. He held a grand feast for the child, in attendance of which was the widow Madam Tracy, of a similar situation and in possession of a ward herself, a young pale-curled child about the infant’s age. The babies seemed transfixed by each other, which gave Madam Tracy a wonderful idea: in hopes of joining their kingdoms, which would be a terribly profitable venture in her mind, Shadwell and his heir should come every summer to her home and the children should be allowed to spend time together, in the hopes of them forming an attachment and marrying of their own accord.
“Aren’t they sweet, Mr. S?” Madam Tracy cooed as one of Shadwell’s infant’s hands happened to catch her own infant’s hand and they locked together instinctively, tiny chubby fingers grasping what was in reach. “And imagine what a grand wedding we could throw them if it works!”
Shadwell didn’t know about love; he personally thought the only connection the children had was one of shared lack of object permanence and thus forgetting the other existed until they happened to realize what was in their immediate line of sight again, but in his curmudgeonly old heart he thought the idea of the wee bairn being well-cared for after he inevitably died sounded nice.
Unbeknownst to all was a second plot at work, that of the sorcerer Beelzebub. Babies and the betrothing thereof were of little consequence to them. Beelzebub was already planning on taking Shadwell’s kingdom by force, and had a very efficient twelve-step program in mind to get the kingdom whipped into shape once the coup was complete, but unfortunately for them and their diagrams, the plot was discovered and Beelzebub’s powers were plunged into darkness and ruin. There was a general call for Beelzebub’s death, but Shadwell, still preoccupied with thoughts of tiny chubby baby legs in need of cooing over waiting at home, decided banishment was good enough.
“You’re going to run thiszz kingdom into the ground,” Beelzebub said, less a threat and more of a statement of fact in their own mind. “And when you do, I’ll be there to take everything you ever dared to care about. Everything you own, everything you love—it’ll all be mine.”
That said, Beelzebub vanished into the thick forest that separated Shadwell’s kingdom from Tracy’s and was forgotten about in short order, for all hopes were turning towards that not-too-distant summer when the principle players in the kingdoms’ very own local fairy tale would meet.
.
Madam Regent Tracy held her sniffling ward Aziraphale by the hand as they waited on the castle steps to receive their new guests.
“But, Mother,” Aziraphale whimpered, “please may I go back to my books?”
“I know you’re nervous, darling, but this is a big opportunity to make a new friend,” Madam Tracy said gently, soothing her thumb over Aziraphale’s tiny dimpled hand. “Oh, look, do you see their horses? They’re coming!”
Aziraphale looked where Madam Tracy was pointing, and soon enough the horses of King Shadwell and the guard captain came trotting into view. Aziraphale was at least entertained by the horses, even if he was frightened of them coming too close. King Shadwell was looking well, and riding in front of him in the saddle was a small red-haired child about the same age as Aziraphale, who looked rather green even from a distance.
“There we go, Crowley,” Shadwell said as he reined in the horse, and for a moment Madam Tracy thought he’d named the horse the same as the child, but he patted the young heir on the head as he slid off the horse, then lifted the child down after him. “Nice to see ye, jezebel,” Shadwell said conversationally, and Madam Tracy giggled despite herself. “That the young master, then?”
“Welcome to our fair kingdom, Mr. S,” Madam Tracy winked, spreading her skirts in a more formal curtsy than need be for such a dear friend, but appearances in front of the children were important. “Say hello, Aziraphale, these are our new friends, King Shadwell and little Prince Anthony.”
“M’ not little,” the child said stoutly from where they were hiding behind Shadwell’s legs. “And ‘m not Anthony, ’m Crowley!”
“My apologies, Prince Crowley,” Madam Tracy corrected herself.
“Princess,” Crowley corrected again.
“Princess Crowley,” Madam Tracy said, and pushed Aziraphale forward. “Go on, darling, say hello to your new friend.”
Aziraphale took a few halting steps forward, clearly intimidated by Shadwell’s height, and Shadwell helped by scooting Crowley out from behind him and giving them a little shove. The children eyed each other warily, and finally Crowley made a clumsy attempt at a bow, which Aziraphale returned.
“Pleased to meet you, Princess,” Aziraphale said, and turned and ran back to Madam Tracy as Crowley went to return the sentiment. Madam Tracy frowned at him and pointed him back the other way, and Princess Crowley’s face scrunched as they tapped their foot and waited for Aziraphale to come back.
“Pleased to meet you too, Prince,” Crowley said, and after an awkward moment, Aziraphale snatched up Crowley’s hand, quickly pressed a kiss on the back of it, and then ran towards Madam Tracy—in fact, blowing past her entirely and running into the castle.
“Aziraphale!” Madam Tracy cried, and before she followed, she made an apologetic curtsy. “Ever so sorry, loves, he’s not the best with strangers—Aziraphale, get back here this instant—”
Had Madam Tracy remained, she would have seen the poor attempt to avoid laughing by Shadwell and the thunderous expression on Princess Crowley’s little face as they tugged on their long copper braids.
Once disastrous introductions were finally done with, Aziraphale sequestered himself in the library, which had always been a safe haven before, and snuggled in his chair with a table full of books. He would have been more than happy to have been undisturbed until he was a hundred years old, but—
“Hey.” A small hand nudged Aziraphale’s shoulder, and he sighed loudly. “Hey. Zir’phale.”
“Yes?” Aziraphale said, turning to look at his new nuisance. Big yellow eyes blinked up at him under unruly red curls escaping their braids and over a determined little pout, and if Aziraphale were an adult this would have been adorable, but he wasn’t an adult, so there.
“How come your name’s Zir’phale?” Crowley lisped.
“I don’t know, it’s just my name.” Aziraphale thought some more. “It’s after an angel, I think.”
“A angel!” the Princess’ eyes lit up. “Angel’s easier to say. I’ll call you angel!”
“But my name’s not angel,” Aziraphale protested.
“’s just a nickname,” Crowley informed him.
“Well, it’s not my name,” Aziraphale scowled, and returned to his book. There was a loud, impatient sigh from over his shoulder, and then both small hands shook his arm.
“Come on, angel, let’s go exploring!”
“No!” Aziraphale shouted, shaking Princess Crowley off so hard they fell back. They squeaked as their backside hit the floor, and they looked up at him with furious yellow eyes filling fast with tears and a trembling lip. Aziraphale thought he should help them up and say sorry, but before he could, Princess Crowley stood, dashed their fist over their eyes, and stomped away.
Aziraphale felt bad about this, but he more or less forgot about it as he got back to his books—that is, until a large, wet frog jumped into the middle of his pages. Aziraphale shrieked, and then hollered further when a large, wet handful of mud slapped against the side of his face.
“Ha!” Princess Crowley shouted, sticking out their tongue at him. Aziraphale was faced with no recourse but to scrape the mud off his face, fight back tears, and throw it back at them.
It was hard to say who won that particular fight, since they were both covered in mud by the end of it and the frog had disappeared somewhere, but as summer continued and Crowley continued to be constantly underfoot and in Aziraphale’s way, one thing was certain for both of them: this arrangement was no fun at all, and they were certain whoever had thought it up was an idiot.
Still, it was just the first meeting. Madam Tracy and King Shadwell parted with a promise of next year and hoped for a better outcome once both children had done some growing.