Happy Holidays, Hsavinien!

[goe_mod]

This fic was written especially for hsavinen by your Secret Author!

Title: Untitled
Recipient: hsavinien
Characters/Pairings: Historical implied Aziraphale/Crowley
Rating: PG
Warnings: War imageries, destruction of books, abuse of alcohol, mention of sex work and nudity.

Summary: An angel and a demon cope with their situation in the lands of cedars. In the absence of god we make our own light.

Untitled



Ebla was still young when its mountain cedars were felled for timber. The mountain was not yet barren, but the ugly wounds in its vesture of deep green were still unsightly. The mountain and its forest would provide timber for millennia to come, yet each cut tree would linger for many human life spans.

The limestone hills, however, were becoming bare. White, exposed and then stripped away to adorn the royal palace.

“Have you heard?” Aziraphale was excited when he'd found Crowley sitting on one of the hills, absent-mindedly rubbing a piece of limestone against a common rock. “There is going to be a book storage in the new royal palace.”

“A library,” Crowley said, tossing the limestone piece down the hill, “You are going to like this, aren’t you?”

“I will love it.” Aziraphale was beaming, and almost literally. His halo was faintly visible in the light of dawn, like the rainbow from a small waterfall. “Imagine, tablets kept for thousands and thousands of years. I will definitely love it.”

From the hills, the gleam of the sword could be seen, its fire red and smoke black.

“Look what your gift of fire has done, Aziraphale. War is coming.”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Clay tablets won’t burn. They become baked. Come, the bar is going to have the early day sale soon.”

Crowley would not move. “The papyrus from Egypt will burn.”

“Letters.” Aziraphale walked off by himself, speaking louder as the distance stretched to make his point. “Not as important. Egypt will have their own library of books, which will not be burned.”

Crowley stood still atop the limestone hill, the dawn leaving a halo of red on his black hair. “Have you seen a book that does not crumble, rot or burn? It is as if saying a human won’t die.”

“Crawly, really?”

“Crowley.”

“You have an issue.”

“I have several issues.”

Eventually, Crowley followed Aziraphale to the bar, where the still fresh beer was topped with bread and the straws were fresh with hint of green in the yellow, fitting just right in the cracks of the bowls. Sweet gin made from juniper berries of Zabalam hills, fruit juice from Canaan, syrup and honey from local farms. They were running out of most, but by some miracle the jars were full when the angel and demon arrived, and the bar owner muttered a prayer of gratitude to Ninkasi.

The shepherds and farmers had already left, the miners and construction workers slept under the tables, most of the prostitutes were gone but one was sleeping on the bench with his posterior bare in the air. The bar workers had just wiped the unoccupied parts of the floor with water mixed with a little alcohol. Still, a hint of the pungency of vomit and urine and sheep lingered, which Crowley waved away. There were too many issues with humanity and he wondered, too often for anyone’s comfort, if those issues would ever stop.

After the sixth beer, Aziraphale held Crowley’s arm. After the seventh sweet gin, the angel started ranting about Gabriel. Again. And the whole demotion from Angel of Eastern Gate business. And more Gabriel. Gabriel Gabriel Gabriel. Yes, Gabriel was a lightweight. Yes, Gabriel was a bitch. Yes, Gabriel was a snob who wouldn’t dirty her toenail coming down here by herself and delegated pretty much any work that wouldn’t net her worship and awe points.

Crowley hoped that one day Aziraphale would shut up about this issue. He also knew enough of Aziraphale that he didn’t even need to hope, because Aziraphale would eventually get tired of the subject himself.

But unlike how Crowley had gotten over the temptation deal and begun to enjoy it, Aziraphale would never truly get over anything, Crowley feared.

After all, who did?

Humans didn’t either. Generations of humans, holding onto one grudge. Mari would not stop being at Ebla’s throat and Ebla wouldn’t stop either. Nagar got all caught in the middle but Nagar loved and devoted itself to Ebla; it would soon fall shielding Ebla from its folly.

“Your library is gonna fall, angel.” Crowley muttered to himself.


——


“The palace fell,” Aziraphale said gloomily. “The palace fell.”

“We saw that coming.”

“Let’s go somewhere else.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Canaan? Good place. Fertile soil. Has cedar just like here. And those trade routes. Most of them not so different. It would be like here but people speak a different language. They might even have temples like here.”

“Which kind? To body parts or to people who are hanging out with the wrong crowd?”

“To money and comfort, I assume. Do you really think they will have temples for… Upstairs? Your side is winning.”

“I wouldn’t call that winning.”

“Gubal sounds nice. Maybe they will have books. Are you coming? Let’s get out of here before War reaches here.”

“You are an angel. Aren’t you supposed to save some of those humans, at least?”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley as if he'd just said he was against gender turning rituals. “Really? Crowley? Those are not my people. I have no obligation.”

“Those are people. Alive. Short-lived. You were kind to Eve.”

Aziraphale said nothing. He chugged down nine more sweet gins and passed out; did not bother sobering up at all.

Crowley did not drink for the rest of the night. He thought of the body of Abel in the field. He thought of figures of unarmed Lulal buried beneath the gates. He thought of thousands of bodies on the battlefield. He thought of women and men and people who were both and neither gender, all dressed in the same garment of frail useless so-called armours, some of them too young and some of them too old, charging forward to kill their own kin; of the aftermath where pierced and crushed bodies littered and sometimes were piled up, of the buzzing of flies and songs of lamentation too sweet for this pain.

The face of Aziraphale on his lap was dry. Not a single tear on the face of the angel sent to earth to guide humanity.

The face of Crowley was wet.

But serpents cannot cry.


——


“I thought we were going to Gubal. This is Ugarit.”

Aziraphale smiled, his arms loaded with tablets. “This is just as good, you are gonna see.”


——


In a small attic room, Aziraphale placed the tablets and cylinders on shelves, the shelves themselves placed on thick wool carpets.

They will get smashed when War reaches, Crowley wanted to say, but then he saw the sunlight filtering through the translucent cylinders and cast stars on the bare dark walls, Aziraphale kneeling on the carpet, the angel’s eyes alight with a love that was not there in Eden.

Crowley recognized that love. He'd seen it appear in the eyes of Adam and Eve after the apple, after they'd seen just how far the horizon stretched, and how the gate to their old home was barred and blocked. Somewhere between nostalgia and despair, a being clinging onto a handful of mementos and lighting their heart with a fire of love warm enough to get them through the moment, if not the rest of their life.

We make our own Eden now, Crowley thought, and realized that Aziraphale had not realized this, for any angel who understood this would be fallen.

With a piece of limestone, Crowley drew rays of light on Aziraphale’s dark skin.

When the blackened clouds heavy with storm arrived, the white light stayed.

Comments

[hsavinien]

Thank you for a story of Aziraphale and Crowley in lands I don't know! I love seeing how they're still working on becoming themselves and working out their relationships with each other and humanity.

[pseudogeek]

I wish I made this fic more detailed. Mari, Ebla and Nagar were such fascinating nations with interesting cultures. When people talk about the cradle of civilization or ancient Mesopotamia people think of Assyria and Babylon and Sumer and Akkad, but the north of that region, borders reaching towards Anatolia, is so often unsung of nowadays.

I love seeing characters gradually change while keeping the core. Crowley always worried out of kindness for other people, he was always high in empathy and compassion. Aziraphale was full of love but relatively low in compassion (still much more than any angel upstairs), not too sure about empathy because he sure likes to hide that, and Aziraphale has always liked to use denial and distraction as coping mechanism. I continued from the novel's prologue by following Crowley's worry and melancholy and Aziraphale's love and denial.

[hsavinien]

Very cool.

[autisticaziraphale]

Oh, this is lovely. These early days are beautifully sketched out, and have some nice correspondences and parallels with the book. Also, the ending is so beautiful. I really enjoyed reading this!

[pseudogeek]

Thank you for noticing the parallels! What marked the end of Eden in the novel, marks the beginning of a new Eden in this fanfic, accentuated by creation of light out of chalk, like the beginning of Creation. It all looked more or less clear in my head but I hope I communicated/delivered it well.

[lunasong365]

Not a single tear on the face of the angel sent to earth to guide humanity.

The face of Crowley was wet.

But serpents cannot cry.

Oh, this is nice. I love how you incorporated this ancient setting into their developing relationship.

[pseudogeek]

Thank you! The relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale is, like any realistic relationship, a strange mix of healthy and unhealthy. But they are complementary, and it goes both ways, it goes from both of them being bundles of worries and then evolved into Aziraphale hardening into someone Crowley can lean on and Crowley does the worry for Aziraphale when the latter can longer allow himself to.

Here they are both still working on it though.

[lvslie]

Oh, a lovely story, poignant and very in-character ❤️

[pseudogeek]

Thank you! I do try very hard to make them as in-character as possible. I identify more or less with Crowley so he is easier, somewhat, but Aziraphale I kind of... Ahhhhhhhh

[notaspacealien]

I really like the way this is written!!! Very poetic!!!

[pseudogeek]

Thank you! I love reading poetic proses so I tend to write like that, it's usually a hit or miss but glad it was hit at least for some!

[alumi]

This was really... something. You've really shown how both our favourite angel and demon are still "young" (comparatively speaking), and raw, and just starting to figure things out. How questioning can be a gift. And how humanity is already rubbing off on angel and demon both. This is possibly one of the stories with the highest messgae/meaning-to-wordcount ratios I've ever seen (which is not really a thing, it's just som silly thought on my mind because I can find no appropriate word for the feeling it leaves me with.).

[pseudogeek]

Wow, thank you, your comment really resonated because I'm pretty mindful of content/word ratio so I'm glad someone picked up the result. When it comes to fiction at least, I'm a big fan of sentences where things left unsaid speak louder than the things being said.

[maniacalmole]

"“You have an issue.”

“I have several issues.”"

Um holy shit that whole last section was amazing

[(Anonymous)]

Beautiful writing and ending!