Chapter Text
Starrag fancied himself the best-looking kelpie of his drowning. With his sleek jet black coat and flowing mane (he took great care to keep it clean of the kelp strands that tended to tangle in it when left unattended), Starrag could easily pass for a purebred Arabian horse—and often did, when he needed for one of his schemes. Of course, that worked only as long as he kept his mouth shut and his yellow snake eyes glamoured, and resisted the urges to climb walls, chase rabbits, or engage in any other behaviors atypical for regular horses.
In contrast, Harstain presented as an unkempt dappled grey Garron with dirty white mane, tangled tail, and reversed hooves. Liglann would make for a passable iron-grey Eriskay pony if not for his glowing scarlet eyes and the mane of small black snakes. Beileag looked the least palatable of them all, appearing as a half-skeletal nag, with flies swarming around them on dry land or aquatic larvae underwater. Starrag could not imagine a human who would willingly approach, let alone mount, either of them.
Which, unfortunately, led to Starrag’s current predicament. Kelpies who couldn’t entice humans anywhere near them also couldn’t drown and devour them, and their species were really ill-suited for pursuit predation. His drowning, however, wouldn’t bother to adjust their presentations to human liking, to learn other tricks (Starrag was not sure what to think about stories of water spirits that lured their victims by singing, but certainly there must have been ways?) or even to consider a diet of things one didn’t need to hunt. Instead, they tried to delegate the hunting to Starrag.
The problem was, Starrag was not a particularly demonic kelpie. He didn’t have the stomach for luring and killing innocent humans, and tracking down the ones that were guilty of sufficiently vile crimes took time. He tried to get creative, he did: he patrolled rivers and bogs within hundreds of square miles for accidental drowning victims, hunted deer that looked ready to pass on, and even dug up a fresh grave once. Still, the other three kelpies had never been happy with him.
Get out of here and finally make some trouble, Beileag ordered summarily one day as they kicked Starrag out, and don’t come back until you learn to share.
He was not planning to.
“Ah, there you are, Aziraphale,” Gabriel’s voice boomed in the library, interrupting the apprentice’s reading. He still held onto the book, hoping that whatever his elder’s concern was, it would allow him to go back to his scholarly pursuits soon.
“G-Gabriel! Hello. May I help you with something?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I couldn’t help but notice that you spend most of your time up here, with your nose in a book,” Gabriel pronounced the word as if he found the very concept repulsive—quite a peculiar attitude in a mage, in the apprentice’s opinion. Wasn’t the whole point of studying arcane arts to deepen one’s knowledge, discover the secrets of the universe, and learn how to channel those to improve the world around you?
“Indeed, I have found the study of transfigurative powers of energy crystals—”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure that’s all fascinating. But it’s not a good look. We are the mages, we should make sure our positive influence is seen in the area.”
“Oh, the villagers are grateful for the irrigation scheme that-”
“So I was thinking,” Gabriel gave no indication of even noticing Aziraphale speaking. “Why don’t you go out for a bit, find yourself something useful to do, make sure you are seen out and about? Excellent idea, isn’t it?”
“I suppose…”
“I knew you’d like it! That’s the spirit. It will do you some good, too!” Gabriel punched Aziraphale’s shoulder in a manner that probably was supposed to be encouraging rather than painful but missed the mark, and then stared at the apprentice as if expecting him to leave right away.
Resigned, Aziraphale slipped the book he was reading into his bag and trudged out of the library, doing his best to respond to Gabriel’s less-than-infectious smile. Hopefully in a way that wouldn't show how unnerving he found it.
Aziraphale got only as far away from the manor as the nearest meadow. He would go to the village, of course, later in the day, once the residents finish their daily toil. Maybe in the evening, to stop by the alehouse and get some of Newt’s stew with a mug of Anathema’s excellent ale—after all, Gabriel’s orders were a great excuse to skip dinner with the rest of the mages. And right now, the sun shone brightly, a fallen tree trunk made for a decent seat, and the crystal lore beckoned…
The sun was noticeably lower in the sky when Aziraphale’s reading was disturbed by a creeping feeling that he was not alone in the meadow. When he raised his head, there was a dark shape several feet away from him—a horse, watching him with interest.
Now, Aziraphale spent his time in scholarly pursuits and didn’t know much about horses beyond their general usefulness in transportation and farmwork. The apprentice had never even been in a saddle, preferring to either walk or ride in a cart. But, ignorant as he was, the horse was clearly a magnificent beast: fine-boned, with a long arching neck and a finely chiseled head. Its glossy coat was ink-black, not a single white hair to be seen, and the lustrous mane fell nearly to its knees, brushed to perfection.
“Hello. Are you lost?” Aziraphale asked softly, trying not to spook the animal, and stood up, shoving the book into his bag with uncharacteristic lack of care. The horse was too well-groomed to be feral, so there must be an owner somewhere nearby. It was too fine for a common workhorse—he could not imagine it hitched to a plow or pulling a cart—but it might well be some lord’s prized steed.
“Do you need help finding your way home?” Aziraphale slowly walked towards the horse, trying not to make any sudden movements. Oddly enough, the horse didn’t show the slightest sign of fear, its ears tilted forward in a show of curiosity. It allowed the apprentice close enough to get a look at its eyes—they were rich yellow, the colour of polished amber in the sunlight, and shone with intelligence.
“Good girl… Er, good boy,” Aziraphale amended after a furtive glance at its hindquarters. The stallion snorted, as if making fun of his embarrassment.
Now that he was within reach from the animal, Aziraphale was faced with a new dilemma. The dark beauty was not wearing a bridle, a halter, or any sort of gear that would allow the man to lead him towards the village. He regretted not grabbing any snacks on his way out; treats made befriending animals a lot easier, and he might’ve convinced the horse to follow him with promises of more.
While Aziraphale dithered, the stallion took the matter into his hooves. He circled the apprentice, inspecting the human from different angles. Then, clearly having arrived at some conclusion, he snorted and stopped in front of the man, facing sideways.
“Are you… offering me a ride?” Aziraphale asked tentatively. The stallion tossed his head with an eye roll, as if to say “Obviously”, and stood still again. Aziraphale gave him a cautious pat on the neck and, emboldened by the lack of negative reaction, mounted.
Or, rather, tried to mount. Getting on a horse without a saddle and stirrups turned out to be more of a challenge than Aziraphale could have imagined. The animal’s flanks were smooth and slippery, as if covered with wet scales. In the end, Aziraphale had to stand on the tree trunk he had been using as a seat to hoist himself up. The stallion watched the proceedings with condescending amusement but followed him to his stepping stool willingly enough.
Once on the horseback, Aziraphale found himself settled securely enough. He was not sure how to direct the horse to move, though.
“Do you want to go home now? Or take us to your master?” he amended, considering that the owner might be just passing through these lands, and the horse’s home might be far away.
The stallion gave him a sidelong glance; Aziraphale was finally close enough to see that the amber of the iris was slit by a vertical pupil, like that of a cat or a snake. Then, the beast’s lips curved in what looked suspiciously like a smirk, and he took off.
The next minutes were a blur. When Aziraphale tried to recall the ride afterward, there were only flashes—a jump over a fallen tree, a sharp turn when a thicket of brambles blocked their path, a glimpse of bright flowers in a small clearing—and the sensation of flight, terrifying and exhilarating in equal measures.
Finally, the stallion broke out from the woods onto a meadow and almost flew over the grass, now undeterred by obstacles. A wide expanse of water glimmered ahead, a river or even a small lake. The stallion seemed to be headed straight for it, and the man cast around for any spells that could be of use if they both ended up in the water. Levitation? Walking on air? Something for underwater breathing or even no-breathing at all? If only he had finished his studies and gotten his mage title, he might have had some trick up his sleeves, but Aziraphale couldn’t think of anything at all.
As they reached the bank—it was a river after all, clear and with a swift current—the stallion took an impressive leap and launched them into the air without hesitation. For one breathless moment, they soared, and Aziraphale dared to hope that they would clear the water and land on the other side. Then, they plunged into the river with a huge splash.
Well, Aziraphale plunged into the river with a huge splash. Black hooves touched the surface without a ripple, and the horse dissolved under the rider like a piece of sugar in hot tea. (Aziraphale had tried it back in the city, back before Gabriel decided to branch out from the Guild and he had no choice but to follow.)
Astonished by the disappearance of his steed, Aziraphale floundered, ready to fight for his life despite not knowing how to swim, when he discovered that the water was quite shallow. Once his feet found the bottom and he stood up, the water reached his thighs—deep enough to cushion his landing once the stallion melted away (and to thoroughly soak him in the process), but too shallow to put him in any real danger.
Aziraphale trudged out of the water and up the gentle slope of the river bank. He looked around to get his bearings, and to his surprise recognised the landscape. The horse must have looped through the nearby woods and wetlands and ended right next to where they started, for the meadow was familiar. There was the fallen tree where he spent the afternoon reading…
“Oh, the book! I forgot all about the book,” Aziraphale wailed, frantically looking around. “It will all be-”
His bag was sitting on the bank, perfectly dry, and the book was sticking out, not a drop of water on it.
Well, that was a thing.