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Harlech Castle, Gwynedd
1409
Two people stood inside a small, unremarkable door, lit only by the light of a single lantern. One, holding the lantern, appeared at first glance to be rather elderly, his clothes unkempt, his face dirty. But, for the moment at least, he stood straight and strong, his bearing that of a prince not the pauper he appeared.
The other was dressed in the simple robe of a monk, his hood drawn up to conceal the pale blond hair underneath, which tended to draw attention even in the near blackness. He looked worried but resigned, as if they had been arguing for some time and he had clearly lost.
“Os ydych in siŵr?” he said eventually.
“Dwi'n siŵr. Ond byddai croeso i'ch bendith.” the other replied. The monk sighed, but performed the blessing as requested.
“Amen.” he recited, barely above a whisper.
“Amen,” echoed the old man. There didn’t seem to be anything left to say, so the priest opened the door and the old man slipped out, into the night, taking the lantern with him. The monk shut the door firmly behind him, left in complete darkness. He sighed.
“Let there be light,” he whispered, snapping his fingers. A single candle flared into life next to him and he took it with him, back into the depths of the castle.
***
At the bottom of the hill, a brief flare of light at the castle caught somebody’s attention. Most of the army was asleep, surrounding the castle as best they could despite its defensive position atop the hill. But this soldier felt he’d had enough sleep lately, and was frankly far too annoyed at having been sent to Wales of all places, without any particularly detailed instructions on what he was to do or why. Not that thy ‘why’ of his assignments was ever given to him – generally it was mostly just ‘to cause trouble’ or ‘because we said so’.
There didn’t seem to be much trouble to cause here though, the English were clearly on the verge of winning this siege and there didn’t seem to be a way to change that – nor had it been implied that he should. He was bored, he was wet (it was Wales after all), he was exceedingly fed up with being surrounded by soldiers with not much to do. He’d started a few fights, just for the fun of it, but he was beginning to consider just going home and hoping that the punishment wouldn’t be too great.
But now there was a light, up at the besieged castle, if only for a moment. And then he felt something else, and a small smile spread across his face.
The other side was here. One way or another, things were about to get more interesting.
The soldier set off through the sleeping ranks towards the castle, unnoticed by the guards. Maybe they weren’t watching for their own soldiers going closer to the castle, maybe they were half asleep and not paying enough attention. But it seemed almost like he didn’t want to be seen so he just...wasn’t.
***
Aziraphale, Angel of the Eastern Gate, stood atop a tower, watching as the lone figure of the Prince of Wales slipped past the sleeping army and vanished into the distance. He frowned as another figure came towards the castle, but as it came closer he recognised the swagger and smiled. He lowered his hood, exposing his white-blond hair, and leaned over the edge.
“Crowley!” he whispered, much too quietly to be heard on the ground. But the demon looked up anyway and mimed climbing a ladder. Aziraphale sighed and waved his hand, unravelling a rope ladder from nowhere. Crowley shimmied up it, and within a minute was standing next to Aziraphale. The angel ushered him away from the edge, a finger to his lips as he eyed the steps up to the tower.
“Fancy meeting you here, Aziraphale,” Crowley said, keeping his voice low. “What have you been up to?”
“That’s confidential!” Aziraphale replied primly. Crowley laughed.
“Alright, angel, s’not like I care. You do your thing, I’ll do mine. Same as always.”
“I suppose.” They stood in awkward silence for minute. “You’re with the English army, I assume?”
Crowley nodded easily. Aziraphale may still try to conceal Heaven’s doings from him, but Crowley had no such care for his own instructions.
“Yeah. Not really sure if I’m meant to be helping or hindering to be honest, Beelzebub woke me up from a nap and I wasn’t really listening. Although if you’re on the Welsh side, I suppose I should be helping the English.” Aziraphale shook his head.
“I don’t think it matters that much at this point. The Welsh will surrender in the morning, Glynd ŵr has escaped, it’s all over.” He looked over at Crowley, who was looking blank.
“The who with the what now?” Aziraphale rolled his eyes. He liked Crowley a lot, far more than he should, and more than he cared to admit even to himself. But sometimes he rather felt like hitting the demon over the head with a shoe.
“Owain Glyn d ŵr? Prince of Wales? He’s been leading a rebellion against English rule for the last several years?” Crowley shook his head. “Really Crowley, do you pay any attention to the rest of the world?”
“Not as such. Besides, I told you I was taking a nap.”
“For how long?” Aziraphale asked, exasperated.
“Erm... what year is it?” Aziraphale resisted the urge to take his shoe off.
“1409.”
“Is that all? I was aiming for a longer sleep, after that last fucker of a century.” Aziraphale winced at the profanity.
“Well, sloth is a sin I suppose, I shouldn’t expect you to avoid it.” Crowley barked a laugh that made Aziraphale jump and look around to check nobody had heard. “Shh!”
“I’m sorry!” Crowley whispered. “But... you know gluttony is a sin as well, don’t you?” Aziraphale glared at him.
“As is greed,” he shot back. “I’ve seen you, like a magpie, always getting the shiniest things.”
“Is that envy I hear, angel?”
Aziraphale sputtered. “How dare you!”
“Ooh, and wrath now. Looks like you’re winning this race,” Crowley smirked.
“ Proud of yourself, are you?” Aziraphale was standing directly in front of Crowley now, their voices slowly raising. But they fell silent, the last of the seven sins lying unmentioned between them. The silence stretched on but was broken by footsteps. One of the Welsh guards was approaching.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Aziraphale whispered angrily, before stalking off to talk to the guard, leaving Crowley standing alone.
***
Crowley watched Aziraphale argue with the guard in hushed tones. He wasn’t sure exactly what Aziraphale’s place was here, but it was obviously more important than his clothing would make it seem, as he did appear to have some authority over the soldier.
“Na, mae’n iawn!” the angel insisted, raising his voice loud enough to be heard. “Mae o’n fy helpu i.” Crowley didn’t catch the next few words, apart from a loud “Sais,” from the guard, but then Aziraphale raised his voice again.
“Wrth gwrs, mae’n iawn gyda’r tywysog. Bydd popeth yn iawn, dwi’n addo.” Apparently he’d managed to convince the guard, and with a final exchange of “Nos da,” he retreated to his post.
Aziraphale walked back to Crowley.
“What was all that about?” Crowley asked.
“You speak every language in the world.”
“Yes, but eavesdropping is rude.” Aziraphale gave him a look. “And you were whispering.”
“He thought you were an English spy.”
“Technically not incorrect.” Crowley pointed out. Aziraphale sighed.
“Yes, well. I told him you were spying on the English for us, and that it was all approved by the prince... Lord knows what he’ll think in the morning when they find out he’s gone.”
They settled into companiable silence for a while, looking at the night sky.
“So, you smuggled this prince out then?” Crowley asked after a while. Aziraphale apparently decided that it was no longer confidential – or that he trusted Crowley not to tell.
“Yes. Though I’m still surprised it worked, the English army are usually somewhat more alert than that.” Crowley shifted his feet guiltily.
“ Possibly my fault? I didn’t want them to see me coming up here, so I may have just made them... not notice anything unusual.” They both considered that for a moment.
“So ... was his escape Heaven’s plan or Hell’s?” Aziraphale asked eventually. Crowley shrugged.
“Who knows? I don’t think they do, half the time. Maybe it was just... us.” Aziraphale looked at him.
“Well, it is ineffable, I suppose,” he replied. Crowley decided not to argue.
***
They stood atop the tower, chatting idly, until the sky began to lighten, and the army below began to stir.
“I’d better go. Try and find out what’s going on down there so I can claim responsibility if somebody asks,” Crowley said reluctantly. Aziraphale nodded.
“Quite. Well, it was... a diverting night. I’m sure we’ll meet again soon?” Crowley looked like he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just nodded and climbed back over the edge of the tower and down the ladder, letting it disappear when he reached the ground.
Aziraphale watched as Crowley disappeared into the ranks of the army.
“Cadw’n diogel, cariad,” he whispered to the empty air.
Then he turned and went back into the castle, to prepare for the end of the rebellion.