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The mists rolling over the moor created strange shapes. Here were apparent oceans of white gathered in the bosom of green grey hills. There were dancing maids, swirling and resplendent until a rider drew too close and they faded like phantoms into smoke. Hither were there faerie creatures spying in the bracken. And yon there was a proud white stallion grazing in the heather, a single horn emerging from its noble head.
Everyone of any learning knew these visions in the most were nothing more than the fancies of the dull minds of the poor and ill-informed. That didn't stop numerous lords from sending hunting parties out into the mists to hunt the beast and return it as a trophy to the mighty and power of their masters. These parties always returned empty handed.
Reason could never quash flames fanned by rumor, though, and before long, minstrels sang of unicorns, wild and untamed, dancing in the bracken and the heather.
Crowley hated those songs and all the rumors besides. He had seen the last two unicorns millennia ago. One on the ark, and the other running into the distance, doomed to drown. So in a fit of pique, he caused all of the strings on the singing minstrel’s lute to snap with a discordant twang as he stomped out of the pub he’d slept that night in.
He wasn't in town long. He was out still spreading foment, and one of the minor lords he wanted to rustle up against Arthur lived here, far north of Camelot, closer to the old Roman wall than to Londinium, or whatever it was called these days.
One quick ride across the moor, and he would meet with the Lord and tempt him with all the skill and guile he’d built up over these last five millennia, and then he would ride back south in search of warmer climates. He had a steed, a great black monstrosity of a horse with flashing hooves and flaming eyes and the tendency to exhale smoke from its broad nostrils. Crowley hated it. Hated riding it – hard on the buttocks, horses – hated smelling it, hated the malice that dropped from it like so much sweat. But Hell didn't brook its agents doing anything less than the most cliche thing imaginable, so he was stuck with it.
He mounted it and made his way out of town with a reserved sigh. His black armor rustled with every trotting step the animal took. He hated the armor too. It was heavy and hot, awkward to move in and made him feel like a sardine in a tin can (even though tin cans wouldn't be invented for several hundred more years).
He wasn't fooled by the mist. The oceans were just places where the heavy fog collected. The wispy dancers and chattering fae were just the flicker of plants as animals passed or breezes blew, nothing supernatural at all.
He rode long into the day. The sun rose high enough and hot enough that it ought to burn away the mist, but somehow the fog remained, even seemed to grow thicker. Crowley frowned behind his visor as he realized this. It deepened when he heard the rustle of something out in the rushes.
He slowed his horse and looked around. Something was wrong. Peculiar. This was not a place he’d ever been to before, but he had been given clear directions. He should be close to the Lord's manor.
Suddenly, his horse snorted and grunted, shifting and stomping. Crowley grabbed the reins and squeezed his thighs to try and steady the creature, but with an anguished cry, it reared back, ebony hooves cracking like lightning against the misty air, and threw Crowley from its back.
He crashed into the soggy ground and felt the wind get knocked out of him. Dazed and gasping, he had gotten lucky; he could have been discorporated if he’d landed badly. But it took him a long time to convince his chest to breathe again, and when he finally forced air into his screaming, burning lungs and shoved himself more upright, his horse was gone. Only the very distant sound of its shrieking neigh could be heard in the distance.
Crowley groaned, half in anger and half in pain, as he shakily hoisted himself back to his feet.
There again, the sound. A rustle. An animal? Crowley drew his sword, not interested in being discorporated today.
The air was still, so he could hardly explain why he saw what he saw. Emerging from the bracken, a pointed horn, and then a head, and then a body. Like a horse, but somehow far more delicate. Like a memory or a dream.
Crowley stared in awe, at first convinced it was a dream. But then it approached, white and grey fur nearly melding with the mists.
It was real.
A unicorn.
How?
The flood had wiped them all out, all save the one. And every other creature on the Ark had aged and begat and aged and died…
They were supposed to be extinct, weren't they?
Crowley raised his visor and held up a gauntleted hand, the black metal stark and sharp against the grey white air.
A warm nose nuzzled against his fingertips, warm breath huffing from its nostrils. Real. Alive.
He reached up with his other hand to scritch at the creature's forelock, but when he grazed against the horn, a shocking jolt of energy zapped through him. He cried out and fell into the soggy soil.
Holy energy.
The unicorn looked down at him, black eyes wide and curious, and he stared up at it with confused yellow ones.
He had pet unicorns before. They were docile creatures, rather like horses or goats, long before the flood. They liked apples and carrots and trying to eat Crowley's hair. They weren't any more blessed than any other creature on this Earth.
Or they hadn't been.
The creature huffed and bobbed its head. When Crowley didn't respond, it did it again.
Crowley pushed himself to his feet. “Do… do you want something?”
The unicorn tossed its head.
If Crowley wasn't going mad, he was sure the creature was suggesting he gets on its back. He licked his lips and looked out into the surrounding mist. No prying eyes, neither Heavenly nor Hellish, could pierce the fog.
He placed both hands on the animal’s flank, murmuring softly to check and check again that the unicorn wasn't about to spook and gore him with that horn. Then he hefted himself up, swinging a long leg over and squeezing tight with his thighs. It had been ages since he’d ridden without a saddle, and, worrying that his black armor would hurt the beast, dismissed it with a careless miracle, affecting instead fine black wool with red silken details, buttons of onyx, rings of silver inlaid with ruby stones.
Almost as soon as he was settled, the unicorn took off at a gallop, its cloven hooves tearing across the moor with speed to put that black hellbeast to shame. Still, the mist and the fog hid the way; he only knew how fast he was going from how the air stung at his skin and tossed his hair and the beast’s mane. But the speed was exhilarating, enlivening, and a thrill of wonder and curiosity shot through him.
Soon shadowy trees loomed in the mist, and the light of the sun grew dim as leafy canopies stretched overhead. This was far from where he’d been, far perhaps from where he had been going. The unicorn slowed, moving carefully over roots and underbrush along a thin path Crowley could barely see. Insects chirped and birds tittered unseen. The air felt cooler, more refreshing.
Finally the mists gave way to verdant green, to moss and fern and leaf. An ancient forest with time in all its boughs. Time and secrets. This place was sacred, but not because any humans had made it their own. He felt the frisson of holy energy suffusing this place, the air. A covetous angel had laid claim to this place, hoarding it like humans do treasure. It made his feathers twitch on the plane beyond this one as little zaps of energy danced through every vane– antithesis, and yet… familiar.
The unicorn came to a clearing where lay a fallen tree, the bark worn smooth from where someone had sat. A ring of stones and ash were the signs that someone had made a fire pit here. Tufts of white down peeked through the leaves of bushes, evidence of recently groomed wings. This was an angel’s secret place. The scent on the wind and a half empty bottle of wine tucked in the hollow of a tree revealed that the angel in question was Aziraphale.
Of course. It was always Aziraphale.
He slid off the unicorn’s back and patted at its flank. “Why did you bring me here?” he asked it.
He felt the off-key whine in the back of his teeth of a Heavenly miracle, and heard the rushing of hurried footsteps in the underbrush.
He turned. Aziraphale was running up, anxious eyes wide and worried until they saw Crowley.
His lips, petal soft and pink, parted in surprise.
He too was dressed in lordly fashion, as befit a noble knight of the Table Round, in gleaming white and gold, a silver sword brash at his hip. Pure and ethereal as the mist that Crowley had left, as a dream given flesh.
Crowley was afraid to speak. Afraid to crack the air with his voice and shatter the strange fantasy he’d found himself in. This was, after all, like the scene of a lay, two fine lords meeting in a wild wood, a unicorn at hand, for reasons unknown.
Aziraphale pushed past the last bush and placed his own hand on the unicorn’s other side. “I don't suppose I could convince you that this is just a horse,” he said, voice barely more than a whisper.
Crowley stifled a snort of laughter and shook his head. “I know a unicorn when I see one.” He spoke so quietly, a secret held between them. “Is it the same one?”
Aziraphale looked cautiously up to the canopy above, then back to Crowley’s eyes and nodded. “I moved it here,” he admitted, “during the flood. I kept meaning to bring it back, but after the waters receded, Gabriel and the others demanded an inventory from Noah.” He hung his head. “A pair of green alligators and long-necked geese, humped backed camels and chimpanzees, cats, rats and elephants, but… but not unicorns.” He patted the creature's main, its fine hairs slipping over his fingers like silk.
“A miracle to keep an animal alive for that long has got to be more than a principality has access to,” Crowley breathed, awestruck. “How? You can't tell me they didn't know.”
Aziraphale's cheeks pinkened. “The first rainbow,” he confessed, dropping his voice even softer. “It was Her promise, but it wasn't going to stick around forever. So as the sun began to set and all the humans started unloading the ark, I… I took it.” He peeked up through lowered lashes. “It was one of her more beautiful creations. It just seemed wrong to let it die because of Noah’s carelessness. And I…” he looked down, “I suppose you could say I felt a kinship with the poor creature. I knew what it was to be alone.”
Crowley reached over the unicorn's back and dared to slide his hand over Aziraphale's. The angel gasped. So did Crowley. Aziraphale's skin was so soft, so warm and supple.
The faint touch took Crowley's breath away. “Something we have in common.”
Aziraphale's cheeks grew warmer, his golden lashes fluttering. He could have moved his hand. He didn't.
“Something we have in common,” he echoed, soft and trembling.
Crowley pulled Aziraphale's hand up over the unicorn to his lips. Aziraphale watched, enraptured, as if he weren't sure if he was dreaming. The unicorn stepped out from between them, and Crowley gently tugged on Aziraphale's hand, pulling him closer.
“You’ve kept this place a secret for a long time,” Crowley murmured in the shrinking space between them.
Aziraphale's other hand shot out and pressed against Crowley’s chest, forcing a gap between them. Weary, worried. But he didn't push away. His breathing deepened, his eyes fell Crowley's lips, his fingers gently curled around Crowley’s. Perhaps, Crowley thought, he didn't want to push away.
It made him bold.
“And I won't tell, either,” Crowley said, coating his voice in velvet. “You know I won't. I know you too well.”
“I know you,” Aziraphale breathed, another echo, an agreement, “too. Well.”
“You don't have to be alone.” The words were a blasphemy. A prayer. “We don't have to be alone. We can be together.”
Aziraphale shivered as he looked deeply into Crowley’s eyes. Then his gaze fell once again to Crowley’s lips, and he leaned forward.
No mortal food nor Heavenly ambrosia was as sweet as Aziraphale's kiss: tender, trembling, trusting. At first a chaste sip, a timid taste. But then, Aziraphale’s tongue flicked out and traced the seam of Crowley's lips.
The sound that slipped from the angel made every meal they ever shared seem like meager dust in comparison, his earnest moans of pleasure then mere hums meant only to be polite. Instead this sound was one reserved for rapture.
The gap between them vanished, and Crowley found his fingers wound in golden curls, broad hands caressing his face and clinging around his waist. And his lips…
Aziraphale wasn't starving; there was no desperation in his kiss. Instead, Aziraphale sampled him with the delight of one who had subsisted only on manna in the desert and now found himself in a land of milk and honey. He nibbled. He licked. He lapped. He sipped. Crowley’s knees gave out as he was so thoroughly savored.
Aziraphale's hand around his waist caught him and steadied him, but the shock of it made Aziraphale gasp and freeze. His lips were red and wet, and Crowley tried to capture them back, but Aziraphale turned his head.
“We can't.”
Crowley felt his fingers tighten in Aziraphale's hair, clinging to his angel for dear life. “Angel, please,” he hissed, pleading, “they won't know. They won't know.” He peppered kisses against Aziraphale's cheek and ear, earning another flutter of golden lashes. Despite his resistance, Aziraphale leaned into each fleeting kiss, breath shaking, resolve crumbling. “Five thousand years,” every word punctuated with another kiss, a wicked scrape of teeth or sinful flick of tongue, “Mr. I-Gave-It-Away, Mr. They're-His-New-Children. Five thousand years I’ve known you and never said a word. Not a word.” He turned Aziraphale’s head in his hands and seized his lips, and Aziraphale melted into it.
“I can trust you,” he breathed as their lips parted. It wasn't a question.
Aziraphale gently pushed against Crowley’s chest, but held tight to his waist, silently lowering them both to the ground, securely keeping Crowley from another (albeit insignificant) fall. He arranged it so that Crowley was laid out along the mossy ground, red hair splayed wildly across the ground. Crowley could only look up, gazing up on Aziraphale's beautiful face like it was the sun.
“Always, angel. Always.”