Chapter Text
The curtains of the carriage were pulled close. The light inside was dim and dust particles were dancing in the spouts that fell through the narrows slits. The interior was, much like the outside, a very fancy affair, with plushy cushions and silk upholstered walls with ornamental patterns. All was arranged to accommodate the passenger, one Aziraphale Easterngate, prince to the crown and second in the line of succession to the throne.
The curtains were drawn close, not because Aziraphale didn’t like the sight of the landscape moving past the window, or the fresh smells that accompanied his trip. Actually he had enjoyed the alternation from the monotonous grey of the castle walls so far. It was the time of year when the cornfields looked almost golden in the setting sun and the moist green of the grass would stand in perfect contrast to the deep blue of the sky.
No, Aziraphale had pulled them shut, because his vehicle was currently moving through Tadfield forest, a region known for its brute gang of bandits and regular ambushes. Not that these looked any less beautiful, quite the contrary actually. Tadfield forest was the kind of forest that seemed always green no matter the time of year. Old tree trunks covered in thick ivy lined the ways and stretched their majestic branches towards the sun. The light down on the forest ground was warm and tinged green from the forest canopy. Naturally Aziraphale had seen all this before the carriage had entered the shadows of the trees. But then he had quickly shut all of it out in favour of keeping a clearer mind. He was now worrying his bottom lip, flinching with every unevenness the carriage bumped over.
It hadn’t been his decision to make this journey. It never was. If it had been up to him, he would have stayed in the safety of the castle walls, buried deep in his family’s considerable library, snuggled up next to the fire with a good book. Unfortunately his older brother, Gabriel, the representative king, had different plans for him.
Although Aziraphale had always been in the shadow of his older siblings, although he would probably never be entrusted with any position of power, his brother still insisted of sending him on regular errands to other kingdoms. He said it was to deepen their connections. Aziraphale thought it was probably that he wanted to get rid of him. Other times he collected taxes with their sheriff Sandalphon on the way. Those were the most horrible trips in his opinion. Sandalphon really was a terrible companion, always a slick smile on his lips and he seemed to be bathing in the misery of the citizens. Aziraphale had to supress a shiver.
If it had been for him the whole tax situation would have gone very differently anyway. He always though that a prober king was ought to represent his people. That he had to fight for peace and wealth in their name, to secure a prosper future. But of course he wasn’t the person in charge of these decisions and Gabriel insisted that it was best for the folk to be guided with a strong hand and that the, in Aziraphale’s opinion, inhuman taxes were necessary to secure their position amongst the other kingdoms. Aziraphale had by now learned to avoid the topic, since it would always end him up with a few very sour looks and some unpleasant comments from Gabriel.
Gabriel had taken over his position from their mother. Their father had died pretty young, so it had been up to her to rule the kingdom, and, as far as Aziraphale could remember, she had been a very distant but fair ruler. Aziraphale was only a boy when one day he was told that his mother had failed to revert from one of her negotiations in an oversea country. It seemed so far that the other passengers had shared her fate and now she and the rest of the crew would soon be announced dead and Gabriel would take her position for good. Not that Aziraphale really cared about that. He didn’t want to be in his brother’s shoes, meeting all these ridiculous expectations and making impossibly difficult decisions. It was hard enough for him to keep up with his siblings, not thinking about actually carrying responsibility for a whole kingdom on his shoulders.
But he did miss his mother sometimes. He would remember her smile, the way she used to read him bedtimes stories when he was younger and pressed her lips to the crown of his head. And sometimes he wondered if the way Gabriel was handling things with her kingdom, was really the way she would have wanted it to be. He sighed. There was no way of finding out. He would have to arrange himself with the situation, no matter how much he despised the poverty, he saw out on the streets, he had been passing in these last couple days.
Aziraphale was startled by another bump in the road. Well not much of a road, more of a muddy path really. He couldn’t warp his head around why Gabriel had insisted he’d travel through these parts of the woods. He had to know the dangers that were apparently lurking in the shadows of these old trees. And then letting him carry the kingdoms treasury of all things! He didn’t even need that bloody thing where he was supposed to go. But the constant pressure of the wooden box on his legs reminded him of the danger it brought with it. It was like Gabriel was asking someone to take the money from him. And probably getting Aziraphale killed in the process.
Aziraphale gripped the box tighter. No, he wouldn’t drive himself crazy over this. He would stay strong, he wouldn’t disappoint his brother, not again. He wouldn’t be the mockery of the castle for another month. He was the prince. He could do this.
Aziraphale tried to keep these things in mind as the coach drove deeper into the unfamiliar terrain.
O00O
The breeze picked up a bit and the green leaves around them rustled. Somewhere a bird was singing. It was quite, like it usually was, but there was also the faint sound of clacking of hooves audible.
A man and a boy were crouching high up in a tree, watching the muddy path beneath, that was winding itself between the trunks of the old trees. To most people this might have seemed strange. But not once you saw the concentration on their faces, the bow that was slung around the man’s back and the short dagger that rested in the boy’s hand.
Finally a coach could be seen, being dragged painfully slowly by two exhausted looking horses. The curtains to the inside were pulled shut, but even like this it was recognizable that the owner of the vehicle had to be very wealthy. The solid wood was crested with beautiful fine ornaments and the horses were of very noble breed and beautiful figure. It seemed out of place in the simplicity of the forest, from time to time jolting over bigger stones in the ground.
“When do we strike?”
The man’s name was Crowley. Yes, the Crowley, mind you. The famous thief, residing in Tadfield forest, stealing from the rich and giving to the poor. The hero of the common people. He had fiery red hair and the looks of a man, who had been living outside the law for too many years. His eyes were narrowed as they tried to keep up with the progress of the coach.
Simultaneously he was also very much regretting his decision to allow the boy, whose name was Adam, to come on this raid with him. The boy had been nagging him all week, saying that now that he had turned eleven, he surely had to be old enough to accompany him to his work. And it had been driving Crowley mad, until he had finally given in. He cursed himself for his softness, now that Adam was actually sitting next to him and wasn’t even able to keep his mouth shut.
“At the perfect moment,” Crowley hissed, “and now shut it.” He carefully pulled the bow from his back and chucked an arrow to the string. His breath was coming flat, all his concentration on the task at hand. The sounds of the forest and even Adam’s constant shifting faded into the background as he watched the procession of the coach.
It passed another tree and when it emerged on the other side, Crowley took a last stuttering breath. Then he let go.
The arrow zipped through the air with deathly accuracy until it finally hit the wood right next to the driver’s head. The driver set up straight, his eyes wide in fear as he franticly searched for the owner of the arrow. Crowley sprang to his feet, hovering awe-inspiringly over them. “Stay right where you are, if you care to stay alive!” His voice boomed through the emptiness of the forest.
The driver nodded furiously and pulled his hands above his head where Crowley could see them. He was trembling. Crowley wondered for a brief second why a coach such nice as this didn’t have any soldiers with it. After all the woods were knows to be dangerous. He wouldn’t complain though. It would only make the job easier.
“Right, let’s go,” he whispered towards Adam. The boy nodded, pulled the hood over his head and together they jumped down from the tree.
“W-w-what do you want?” the driver asked, fear in his voice, when they approached him. Crowley had another arrow in his bow and was aiming it at the driver’s chest, although he was only intending to use it, if he tried to pull something funny. There were those stupid people, who tried to play the hero, although he didn’t really seem the type. Most of them had to learn that Crowley’s shooting was faster than them.
“Give us all your valuables and we can get this over with peacefully,” Crowley explained in a low growling voice. He liked the way it seemed to make people even more uncomfortable. The way they tried to wiggle their way out of the claws of panic around their chest.
“Please there is no need for violence,” said a voice, that had up until now been unheard. All heads turned towards the door of the carriage. In the opening stood a young man, presumably the owner of the thing. He wasn’t exactly what Crowley had been expecting. He looked a lot less posh, his clothes not gold embroidered, no gallant leather shoes. Instead he was dressed in a well-worn, cream coloured coat that reached to his heals. Under that his chubby belly was embraced by a faded waistcoat over a plain white shirt. His head was surrounded by soft, white curls. He looked like someone who had once been wealthy, but was now only clinging to the last remains of his erstwhile fortune.
Crowley cursed mentally. Of bloody course this whole operation had to go pear shaped. He should have been expecting it from the first moment on. A coach this nice with no guards? Very unlikely. He should have known better.
The man straightened his bowtie. He was even wearing a bowtie! He looked more like a bookseller than anything else. Only thing he was missing was a pile of books in his arms and splashes of ink on his sleeves. “I think we can all come to an arrangement here.”
He turned around and picked up something from, what Crowley presumed, was the settee next to him. As he turned back he held a small wooden box in his hands. The conspicuous lock made Crowley intake a sharp breath. It was golden, just like the fittings that covered the rims of the lid. A very prominent emblem was burned into the wood. “I think you’ll find this an appropriate compensation for your…efforts.”
In retrospect Crowley should have seen what was going on. It was actually quite obvious. The constant inconspicuous looks the aristocratic bastard was throwing towards the driver. His nervous fiddling with the box. But Crowley was too caught in his awe. He knew this box, knew these carvings. He had seen it several times, when that douchebag of a sheriff had unleashed his terrors on the people of the town. It was the royal register, the fucking royal register! Maybe fate had finally decided to be on his side for once. He gave the fuzzy person in front of him another look over. Maybe he wasn’t even aristocratic but just a simple accountant?
Oh, this wasn’t so bad after all. Not bad at all. He was already imaging all the things he could get the kids from this. A proper meal, maybe a new pair of socks for Adam. An eyepatch for Pepper, because she always enjoyed playing pirates so much. Oh, and of course the people in town would be so delighted. This had to be worth at least a year of their savings.
It all happened very fast. It was a quick nod of the head, then the person in front of him lounged into action. He threw himself at Crowley with more force than Crowley had thought possible, judging by his appearance. “Run!” he yelled in direction of the driver.
Crowley was taken completely by surprise. He managed to jump out of the way, but barely. He let out a very manly shriek.
The driver had in that time jumped from his higher position and was heading for the woods on the opposite side of the street. If he could reach them, Crowley knew targeting him would be a proper pain in the ass. That was, if he would manage to at all. Too many trunks in his way. He quickly aimed his bow at the fugitive. Even in this hasty state, Crowley was an exceptional archer. His arrow drilled into the side of the man’s shoe. Not close enough to his leg to actually hurt him, but with enough force to pin the shoe to the ground. The man fell face flat into the dirt as his left leg suddenly wouldn’t cooperate anymore. But it wouldn’t hold him back for very long. He was already desperately tugging at the wooden shaft, trying to get the arrowhead out of the dirt.
Crowley tried to chuck another arrow. He concentrated, aimed, but then something was shoved against him. He let go of the arrow in surprised and it missed its target by several feet.
The accountant and Adam had been struggling right next to him, Adam obviously in disadvantage of his height and age. Crowley’s heart swelled with pride as he thought of Adam trying to defend him, them working in a perfect team. But then he became aware of the danger the boy was putting himself in. The man had pushed Adam into Crowley to make him misplay his shot. Adam took a moment to pull himself together, then he launched again.
Meanwhile the driver had managed to pull free. He stumbled to his feet and hurried towards the trees. He was already dangerously close. Crowley cursed and fumbled with another arrow, quickly running after him. He couldn’t lose him.
Behind him the man had managed to slam Adam into the wall of the coach, Adam struggling against the tight grip on his shoulders. Crowley looked at the driver, who was floundering away through the undergrowth with only one shoe. Then he looked back at Adam, who was desperately trying to duck out under the man’s arms. He cursed his life, the universe, god, or whoever might be responsible for all this bloody disaster. Then he made a decision, lowered his bow and ran towards the ongoing struggle.
But as it turned out he was too late. With the iron grip pressing him to the wood, Adam wasn’t able to escape, not even able to properly lift his arms and defend himself. So all that he could do was watch in horror as the man painfully slowly lifted his arm and finally tore the hood from Adam’s face.
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Crowley stopped dead in his tracks, his heart failing to beat for a second. Adam and the guy looked each other in the eyes, frozen in the motion. “A-a-a boy?” the man whispered in disbelief. His grip on Adam loosened, his eyes clouded in confusion.
Crowley was the first one to break out of his trance. He instead decided to panic. Shit shit shit. Why did this always have to go so terribly wrong? He knew he should have left Adam at home. The boy was still way too young. Damn him and his stupid puppy eyes. Now they were deep in fucking trouble. How would Crowley be able to keep him safe if a bloody accounted of the king had seen his stupid face? Soon there would be soldiers all over the land looking for him.
For a few seconds everything seemed to move in slow motion. The forest lay in silence, like even the plants and animals were spellbound by the situation. Then Crowley’s brain stopped working completely. With a few fast steps he made it over to the still motionless couple and smashed the heavy wood of his bow over the guy’s head. He stumbled, knocked his head on the door of the coach and slummed to the ground unconscious.
Adam looked down on the motionless figure with wide eyes. He looked okay, apart from his ruffled clothes and a few scratches on his face. His opponent however still lied unmoving to their feet. His clothes were sprawled out in the dirt, his white curls covered with leaves and dust.
“Shit,” Adam mumbled and Crowley had to agree with him. Shit, indeed.