Chapter Text
There were days when Aziraphale could hardly believe it.
It wasn’t that Aziraphale was ungrateful; on the contrary, Aziraphale was thankful every single day that he was where he was, that he had been able to seize freedom for himself, and had been able to use that freedom to build a life alongside the being that had been his constant, his north star, his confidant and best friend for nearly 6000 years.
But there were times when Aziraphale would look back on everything that had led them to these moments -- all the twists and turns, all the close calls, and bickering, and so, so much companionship and love -- and marvel at the fact that everything had all worked in their favor, in the end. That he had survived everything, and now, he was free. There had been times when he’d hardly dared dream of even touching Crowley, let alone being Mated to him, and Aziraphale was eternally grateful that despite everything that had ever stood in their way -- including themselves and their seemingly endless inability pull their own heads out of their asses -- they had still made it.
It had been nearly a year since Crowley had Presented Aziraphale with their cottage in the South Downs, and they had completed the Blending of Feathers ritual that had bound them as Mates, finalizing their marriage in the traditions of heaven’s Old Ways. The sight of Crowley’s black feather nestled into the stark white of his own was something that never failed to send a flash of pride through the angel’s entire being, right down to the core of the True Form; equally, the sight of his own feather in Crowley’s wing always made Aziraphale feel slightly dizzy with glee, to know that Crowley had chosen him, and he had chosen him back.
Blended Feathers were eternal, and incredibly personal, because they were a bit of one’s self that had been handed over to the other, to be worn for all the days of their immortal lives, to declare to all to whom they had pledged themselves. Aziraphale had never allowed himself to hope he’d ever be anyone’s Intended, let alone anyone’s Mate , so he had thusly never allowed himself to even dream of carrying anyone’s Blended Feather in his wing, and Crowley had always seemed too out of his reach, for a myriad of reasons, the fact that they were an angel and demon notwithstanding.
And yet, here he was: a husband, a partner, a Mate, whatever term one wanted to associate with what he was to Crowley and what Crowley was to him, he didn’t care, just so long as it meant he was his.
In the Old Days, before the War, it had been the norm for angels to wear their wings out at all times, but after the War, it had become customary for angels to winch in their wings; this was especially true for field agents on earth. After all, it would hardly do for Aziraphale, who for all intents and purposes was nothing more than a bookseller, to go about walking down the streets of Ur or Rome or Soho with wings , for goodness sake!
Aziraphale was intensely proud and honored to be Crowley’s Mate, and he wished he could show off that feather to everyone, but as it stood, he was only able to do so in the privacy of their cottage, where wearing their wings out had become a regular thing, or whenever they went flying out over the chalk cliffs on nights when no one would see them.
There were so many ways that humans were like angels, at least in their mating rituals. Since they did not possess wings, humans had long since turned to other methods of physical representations of alliances and affection, with the most popular being rings; wedding rings in particular were the most common form of mating ritual, and represented the same thing that Blended Feathers did for angels: physical manifestations of affection, worn by each party, to symbolize to whom they belonged.
Aziraphale had worn a ring on his pinky finger since the dawn of time; it had been a symbol of rank, given to him upon his promotion to Guardian of the Eastern Gate, and had remained on his finger ever since. (Though the style and design had changed over the years to reflect not only Aziraphale’s tastes, but also the change in eras as well.)
Crowley, on the other hand, was not much of a ring wearer, at least, not these days. His jewelry preferences tended to vary, and change with the times, much like his clothes and hairstyles. Around the time of Christ, when he had largely presented as female, Crowley had preferred hair adornments, beaded belts, and wrist and anklet bangles. In Roman times, Crowley had favored a snake shaped arm band, worn around his bicep, along with the laurels made from hammered gold. During the last few decades, Crowley had greatly favored necklaces, with his metal, chainmail-like scarf being his favorite, but with a few chains here and there. Aziraphale did not think he was averse to rings, but had never really found one particularly to his liking.
So, Aziraphale knew that if he wanted to impress his Mate, if he were to choose a ring, it had to be perfect.
Crowley had courted Aziraphale in the Old Ways of Heaven, had done everything just right: he’d Presented Aziraphale with the perfect Nest, just for the two of them, and had been extremely thoughtful in all that had gone into it, including his courting Tokens. Aziraphale promised himself that he would do the same, in return, but this time, he wouldn’t do it the angel way; he’d do it the human way.