Happy Holidays, Pollitt!

[goe_mod]

Title: Recorded for Posterity
Recipient: Pollitt
Rating: PG
Summary: Crowley has to tempt a shepherd - in breach of his agreement with Aziraphale, but that is a minor detail. It's really the horse that starts all the trouble.

"Demon Crawly! Demon Crawly!"

Crowley stopped walking and looked around. He was on a mud road in the middle of nowhere and there was nobody to be seen about. Nor was there a bush or rock large enough for a human to hide behind.

Then again, no human alive in this, the 13th, century knew him as Crawly and if they should recognise him as a demon ... Well, he'd probably already be inconveniently discorporated by now.

Not a human, then.

The angel Aziraphale would remember his old name, but had been using the new one consistently for three centuries now. Aziraphale also wouldn't be fool enough to shout out the word 'demon' loud enough for any chance passer-by to hear it.

Another angel then?

Crowley glanced up. It looked like more rain and there were some birds overhead. Their flight silhouettes definitely didn't match those of angels, though.

"Swallows," Crowley diagnosed. "It shalle be wintere, soon. Thime to seeke a nice citie."

Somewhere large and lively would be nice to spend the winter in. A place with plenty of good wine and entertainment. And possibly Crowley would change his profession. Rich nobleman ought to suit him much better than journeyman mason. Every time Crowley got into a city large and rich enough to afford a big construction project, he ended up being put under pressure to help build a cathedral or dome. It would be a grand job for the young craftsman he pretended to be, of course, but for Crowley it was much too dangerous. Holy crosses everywhere and sometimes the ground turned holy on you before it was even properly consecrated.

"Demon Crawly!"

The voice sounded quite impatient now.

Still puzzled as to where it could possibly be coming from Crowley glanced down and yelped at the sight of an ugly face peering up at him from the puddle at his feet.

"Lord Dagon!"

"All haile Satan!" Dagon proclaimed almost as loudly as he had been shouting for Demon Crawly.

"Shush!" Crowley made hastily. "Desiste from proclaiminge thee allegiance this loudelie!"

Dagon blinked.

"Whyfore?" he demanded.

"The humans might heare thee," Crowley explained. "They are most readye with the holie watere this centurie. And thee art already in watere. ... Why art thee spekinge frome a puddle?"

"There was no flame aboute," Dagon explained slightly huffily. "What art thee doinge here anyway? There are no souls here to tempte."

"I am goinge to tempte the humans in the nexte village," Crowley explained. "The humans arounde here live very far aparte and it takes much travellinge to reache them alle."

"Then why art thee not on thee demonice horse?" Dagon demanded.

"I doe not have a demonice horse," Crowley pointed out. "The last one wase not re-corporatede alonge with me aftere our last accidente."

The reason for this was probably that Crowley hadn't reminded the corporation office in Hell that he was supposed to have a demonic horse. He had been quite happy to slip out without one of the horrid beasts.

"Ah," said Dagon and waved his hand.

The puddle wobbled for a bit and then the huge black figure of the most monstrous demonic horse Crowley had ever seen popped out of the image of Dagon's face and stood over the puddle with its nostrils steaming.

"Er ... thank thee," Crowley said politely eyeing the creature cautiously. "That is moste gracious of thee. But thee shuoldst not have gone to such lengths. I am quite ..."

"Thee will need ite for this assignmente," Dagon informed him. "It is moste importante that thee doest it quicklie."

Crowley's heart sank. He had a very strong feeling that he was not going to like this assignment one bit. He was of course right.

Not that he ever liked his assignments. Hell was quite unimaginative and usually strove to make up for its lack of ideas by being extra brutal and disgusting.

On that level, this assignment was comparatively harmless, though. Crowley was to tempt a shepherd into lusting after another man's wife. Apparently the pious lifestyle of the man was highly contagious and the amount of good deeds done in his home region was embarrassing Hell.

Crowley couldn't see what was all that embarrassing about it. There was a huge monastery in that area, which happened to be the current home of a certain angel that all the goodness could be attributed to. That Crowley had been avoiding the area based on a rather vague agreement they had come to after the second barrel of wine the last time they had met was of course merely incidental.

He would have to seek out the angel to agree some means to make up for the breech of contract after he executed the temptation. How ... unfortunate.

Crowley kept his mind on planning what he would say to the angel as he stepped up to his new horse, took the reins in his hand, put his left foot in the stirrup, pushed off and ... before he could swing his other leg over the back the horse emitted a puff of hellfire and took off at a gallop.

At first Crowley merely screamed and clung on to the saddle, but that only seemed to spur the horse on, but after a while the demon's brain calmed far enough to assess the situation. Demonic horses did not tire easily. Screaming was not something one ought to do to slow down a horse. The best way to stop them, especially when not in the saddle - or at least not in the proper position in it - was to pull on the reins.

He did still have hold of the reins, but they were flapping about loosely and in order to pull on them, he'd have to let go of the saddle with that hand. Crowley loosened his grip slightly, but just then the horse made another huge leap and it felt as if he were about to be flung up, the saddle slipping out of his grip ... Crowley screamed and hung on more tightly.

His hands and arms soon began to hurt. They would give out much sooner than the stamina of the horse. Human arms just weren't made for what he was doing, while horse legs were perfect running tools. If only Crowley were in his snake form he could curl his body around the horse and squeeze in perfect accordance with snake nature.

Changing into his snake form and clinging to the horse would be easy enough, but the moment he no longer had hands he'd lose the reins. He probably could squeeze the horse to discorporation, but he wouldn't be able to control him.

It took some stretching and a few painful slaps of the fluttering reins into his face to get the reins in his mouth, but then the transformation was accomplished easily enough.

With his body slung three times around the horse's middle, Crowley finally felt securely anchored to the beast. He drew his head backwards and ... realised too late that he wasn't grasping the reins in the middle. The right rein being significantly shorter, he merely succeeded in pulling the horse's head to the right. The horse obediently altered his course in that direction.

Crowley almost blessed, but remembered just in time that it would only lead to him dropping the reins and losing all hope of stopping or steering the horrid beast. Instead he started stretching his neck out to the right until he finally felt the left rein straighten out as well. The shift of Crowley's weight to the right led to further adjustments of direction, which might have been an interesting discovery, if only Crowley had had any mental capacity free to spare for it. As it was, he merely decided that it made no difference what direction the horse was running away with him on.

Unfortunately that conclusion was wrong. Just as Crowley finally managed to draw his neck back at the right angle to create an equal pull on both sides of the demonic horse's mouth, the ground suddenly fell away under the hellish creature's front hooves and horse and rider tumbled down a steep incline head over heels. ... Or would that be fangs over hooves? Crowley's fangs certainly were the highest part of the two of them in the heartbeat before the fall. He was never quite sure where any of his parts were, let alone those of the horse, at any given point in time until some moments after they'd come to rest at the bottom afterwards.

"Do ye neede assistance, Mylord? Oh my! Are ye an elephante?"

Crowley realised that they had stopped moving, blinked his nicticating membranes to get the dust out of his eyes, hissed to clear his nostrils and mouth and raised his head.

The reins gave him a sudden jolt as they pulled taut once again and the world spun. Crowley spit out the reins and shook his head.

"Are ye quite sure? Ye look juste like what the pedlare said the merchante tolde hime the sailore said an elephante looks like."

He was still wound around the horse, who was on his side, legs twitching and steam coming from his nostrils in fast distressed, or maybe angry, puffs. Somehow Crowley's tail-tip had become entangled in the horse's mane and now Crowley's neck and head were raised above the tangle. Three children in dirty peasants' clothes were standing only just out of reach of the hooves regarding them with wide eyes.

"I am the Serpente of Edene," Crowley explained.

"Oooh!" said the children, apparently deeply impressed.

"Ye can talke!" the youngest child realised.

"Doest ye neede helpe, Sir Serpente?" a girl inquired.

"Desiste!" the oldest boy exclaimed pulling her back. "One must nevere helpe a demone!"

"One muste helpe everyone who needs helpe," the girl argued. "The prieste sayes so!"

"I doe not neede helpe!" Crowley declared indignantly, loosened his curls and tried to slither out from under and around the horse.

Unfortunately he couldn't. The demonic horse was too heavy and the ground too hard ... and Crowley's body already slightly squashed.

The wriggling inspired the horse to make an attempt to get up, though. His legs flailed, his body rocked squashing Crowley some more and the children shrieked and fled which did something to restore Crowley's sense of dignity at least.

It took two more painfully squashing attempts before the horse managed to get back onto his hooves and Crowley limply fell to the ground beneath him hissing blessings.

The demonic horse ignored those and calmly started to nibble on the grass.

Crowley miracled himself healed, changed back into his favourite shape, and, determinedly keeping his back to the horse, told himself that it had galloped off and was impossible to catch up to. At least that was what he was going to tell Hell, if they ever asked him what had become of the monstrous mount. He would find the pious shepherd on foot, even if it took him several weeks.

Aziraphale loved the scriptorium. The library, too, was a small paradise, of course, but well ... Perhaps after having seen that of Alexandria and sampled many a private collection in Ancient Rome, the local collection did seem somewhat one-sided. Almost all the books here were of a religious nature.

Not that Aziraphale disapproved of texts celebrating The Lord, of course! It was a very worthy task to collect them and educate people in religious ways. Though he did wish there weren't quite so many inaccuracies and outright mistakes in most of them. Some of the things said in these books had already misled pious men to do the very opposite of what The Lord truly wanted.

As an angel, Azriaphale of course had no problem telling truth from ... misapprehension, but he also couldn't learn much that was actually new to him from these books. Thus quite often, there just didn't seem to be any point in going to the library. The scriptorium, however, was a place of wonder and beauty. Here he could watch and participate in the creation of new books. It was a terribly slow process, of course, and the texts were nothing new, but they were copied with so much love and so beautifully and then the new books would go on to other monasteries where people were still unfamiliar with the texts and they would be educated. The scriptorium, therefore, was one of the most important places for the spread of education and understanding of the message of The Lord. How could any angel not love it?

"There!" Brother Anselmus declared with deep satisfaction. "I have finished another page."

Aziraphale, like every other monk in the scriptorium, carefully put his quill down and rushed over to Brother Anselmus' desk to admire the new artwork. Brother Anselmus had a special gift for drawing, and the beautiful illuminations with which he illustrated his texts were always a source of delight to everybody. They were so colourful and ... well, they weren't all that realistic, but Aziraphale could always tell what they were meant to be, and that was really the whole point of drawings, wasn't it?

This time however ...

"Is thate an elephante?" he inquired cautiously pointing at the strange creature in the bottom right corner of the page.

It didn't actually look like an elephant, of course. If Aziraphale had expressed his honest thoughts, he would have said: 'Is thise a fate three hornede demonice horse with a snake for its taile lying on its backe?' However, since that couldn't possibly be what it was meant to be, that wouldn't have been very polite, and Aziraphale had some experience in these matters. Asking whether something was an elephant was a safe choice, because most likely nobody in this monastery had ever seen one. Nobody but Aziraphale that was, but there was no need to admit to that. They had only ever heard and read descriptions which were quite impossible to understand, if you had never seen a trunk. It was therefore quite possible that this was Brother Anselmus' idea of what a sleeping elephant might look like, and if it wasn't, well, then people would only assume that it resembled Aziraphale's interpretation of the descriptions. Unless the drawing was something Aziraphale was expected to know very well, and that was highly unlikely. The question was therefore not going to offend anyone.

"An elephante?" Brother Anselmus asked apparently quite surprised. "That is the Serpente of Edene!"

"The Serpente of Edene?" Aziraphale gasped and tried to find any resemblance to Crowley in the picture.

There was the snake tail of course, but Crowley in snake shape didn't have either horns or hooves. He had no limbs at all, in fact, which was really the norm for snakes, and surely Brother Anselmus ought to remember that The Lord had condemned the Serpent of Eden and all other snakes to crawl on their bellies after the Eden incident. Not that Crowley had had legs before that.

"But what fore?" asked Brother Remigius. "This texte does not have anythinge to doe with the Serpente of Edene. He was not at the birthe of Christe."

Actually he had been, Aziraphale knew. They both had, though neither of them in an official capacity. They had just been curious to see the Son of The Lord as a newborn baby. Still, since it hadn't been official, Crowley really shouldn't be depicted in an illumination on a page about the birth of Christ. It wasn't done.

And was it right and just to depict a demon at such a holy event and not also include an angel? Surely if Crowley was on that page, no matter how unrecognisably drawn, Aziraphale ought to be there as well?

"I juste wantede to drawe him while I still had his descriptione fresh in my minde," Brother Anselmus explained.

"His descriptione?" Aziraphale inquired, intrigued and somehow oddly upset. Could it be that Crowley's description was in a book in the library and Aziraphale had never read it? There were no descriptions of either of them. He'd always been sure of that. Neither of them was actually that big a number in Heaven or Hell. "Where did thee reade thate?"

"I hearde it," Brother Anselmus replied. "Frome a farmere who broughte us some graine. The Serpente of Edene had appearede to his childrene and he was concernede that it mighte bode ill for one of theme. He had beene very reluctante to leave theme, but he wantede my advice."

"It shoulde not doe theme any greate harme," Aziraphale said unthinkingly.

The others stared at him.

"Well, unlesse they tooke any foode he gave theme?" Aziraphale amended hastily. "He isse not known to doe any other greate mischieve."

"They did not," Brother Anselmus confirmed. "The oldest was wise enough to telle theme to flee. I tolde the farmere to have theme blessed and exorcisede at the village churche. They shoulde be safe after that, I deeme."

They should indeed, Aziraphale thought. Though they would probably be much safer without the exorcism. Sometimes people died of those and Aziraphale didn't think that Crowley would do anything to a child that might kill them. He probably hadn't done anything at all, in fact, since if the farm was close enough to the monastery to deliver grain to it, they must have been in an area which they had agreed to be under Aziraphale's protection. Crowley wasn't likely to break his word on that. He had kept it so far, at least.

There was of course the possibility that it had been some other demon. The picture didn't look like Crowley. Still, the blessing ought to undo any serious damage that might have been done.

"They shoulde," he confirmed. "But do telle me if thee hearest any more of the mattere. I ... am most interestede."

Somehow the illumination bothered him a lot more than the possible danger to the children, though. The thought of it just wouldn't let him alone over the following day.

For one thing there was the question whether or not it really had been Crowley that had appeared to the children. It seemed unlikely since Aziraphale and he had an agreement and Crowley usually kept their agreements. It wasn't so much a matter of honesty with the demon, of course. Aziraphale had no illusions about that. It was a matter of practicality. As long as Aziraphale trusted Crowley's word he wouldn't come to check up on him, and the demon was free to do his job without constantly having to evade the angel. It made both their jobs easier.

It was however only just possible that Crowley had not intended any harm. If he had just been passing through and frightened the children as a simple prank, Crowley would most likely not have considered it a breach of their agreement. In fact, the sight of a demon often frightened humans into more virtuous behaviour. Crowley might well have counted on that and thought that his fun was actually supporting Aziraphale's side and therefore quite permissible. Their agreement had never been intended to limit Crowley's or Aziraphale's movements. Crowley was perfectly free to pass through or even stay in Aziraphale's territory. He had merely promised not to do any work there.

On the other hand Crowley did have temptation quotas to fill and enjoyed his little deeds of malice. Over the many centuries they had known each other Aziraphale had noticed that the demon disliked being surrounded by truly intense evil and misery, but too much goodness wasn't comfortable for him either. He tended to make his home in places where humans were living in peace and comfort and could be tempted into committing small and mostly pleasurable sins. Surely he would only come here if he couldn't avoid it.

Had another demon pretended to be Crowley then? That too seemed unlikely at first glance. Except for his temptation of Eve none of Crowley's deeds were widely known among humans. If you were an unknown demon intending to frighten humans by using an infamous name, wouldn't you be much better advised to claim to be Baal or Beelzebub? Why claim to be Crowley who was only one little step more well known than you?

Aziraphale almost discounted the possibility entirely, but then remembered Crowley's obvious fear of his superiors. The higher ranking demons clearly didn't deal nicely with their subordinates and who knew what Baal or Beelzebub would do to one they learned had impersonated them. Crowley was not in the habit of disembowelling or dismembering anyone. Most likely he'd just throw a hissy fit, play some pranks on them and then move on. That might make him a more desirable target for impersonation in the eyes of a timid low-ranking demon.

Or it could have been a higher ranking demon doing something he might get in trouble for, and therefore using the name of a lower ranking demon likely to be on Earth to divert suspicion from himself. That was a rather worrying thought. In that case Aziraphale probably ought to investigate and put a stop to whatever the demonic activity was before any innocent humans or Crowley came to harm. It was a pity that he didn't have Crowley's current address. Then all he'd have to do was inform Crowley and leave it to him to investigate, or explain.

It wasn't until the vesper service that an even more troubling possibility occurred to the angel. Brother Anastasius was conducting the service that day and he had an unfortunate tendency to deliver it at a very slow drone that had lulled more than one novice to sleep in the past. Luckily for Aziraphale, good was ever vigilant and he therefore never slept, but his thoughts had a tendency to wander away from Brother Anastasius' words. Today the worthy brother had started out on a sermon about the evil machinations of Hell and it prompted Aziraphale's thoughts to wander in the direction of machinations that could lead to demons being depicted in pious texts.

Could the demonic appearance possibly have been intended to get that illumination of Crowley made? Was that going to pervert the book and spread evil to whatever monastery it was to be sent to? Would it increase Crowley's power or fame or resistance to holy weapons?

If so Aziraphale had to do something to counteract it right away. Destroying the precious page that Brother Anselmus had worked so long and hard to create was unthinkable, of course, and indeed never even occurred to him. Instead he remembered his initial feeling that, if Crowley got to be in a book, so should he. It made perfect sense. That was the way it was in the texts as well, after all. A text that told of the Serpent of Eden also mentioned the Angel of the Eastern Gate. Aziraphale's mission therefore had to be to get himself portrayed on the next page Brother Anselmus copied.

It shouldn't be difficult to achieve. Aziraphale only had to do exactly what Crowley, or the demon impersonating Crowley had done: Make a spectacular appearance and announce that he was the Angel of the Eastern Gate. Brother Anselmus would hear the description and want to draw it as soon as possible while it was still fresh in his mind.

To speed things up and make sure that his picture looked more realistic than Crowley's Aziraphale decided to appear to Brother Anselmus himself. He was already here at the monastery anyway, and it would be a waste of time to invent an excuse to travel and make his appearance to some poor hard-working farmer that must have better things to do with his time than spread tales of miraculous appearances.

Thus Aziraphale made sure to slip out a little early after the service and be standing ready in the dark and empty courtyard when his fellow monks came out. As usual, they stood together talking outside for a while and then wandered off in small groups. Luck favoured Aziraphale's plan. Brother Anselmus was one of the last to leave today and only two others were with him, Brother Benedict and Brother Ambrosius. They were even still discussing the illumination of the Serpent of Eden when Aziraphale stepped out of the dark corner he had been lurking in, now in his original angelic shape as a many-eyed cherub.

He made his halo appear to draw the brothers' attention, and spread his mighty wings wide.

It only then occurred to him then that perhaps he ought to have groomed his wings first and made his appearance tomorrow, but it was too late now, and hopefully the sudden blinding light after the darkness would hide their exact state from weak human eyes. Just to be sure they weren't too clearly visible, he fluttered them and rose into the air before the three astonished monks.

"What is thise?" Brother Ambrosius gasped.

"It isse the ghoste of Brothere Servilius!" Brother Benedict exclaimed. "I tolde thee his deathe was no accidente!"

"What?" Aziraphale yelped, quite offended. Surely his beautiful angelic body looked nothing like fat old Brother Servilius! "No, I ..."

Unfortunately in his surprise and confusion over the mistake, he forgot to pay attention to what he was doing with his wings. For any other angel that would not have been a problem. They normally flew quite without thinking about it. Aziraphale, however, hadn't had occasion to actually use his wings since the Flood and was quite out of practise. In addition, while he had been a cherub when he had been placed at the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, he was technically a principality these days and thus, even at the Flood, had only manifested the appropriate two wings.

He might still have been fine if he had merely been flying normally. Hovering in place this close to the ground was a lot more difficult, though, and required more than the regular flight rhythm. Having four large wings was technically helpful when you had to keep minute control of your position like that, but practically it meant that there was very little margin for error in their movements.

Thus, just as Aziraphale was about to make the grand announcement of his identity, a wrong movement brought his upper right wing forward just a moment, too soon. It scraped over his lower right wing, bending the feathers out of place and disrupting the proper flow of the air around him. Aziraphale began to drop and automatically beat his wings hard to gain height.

Unfortunately, he reflexively beat his upper right wing forward and the lower right wing backward, bending the feathers of the upper right wing even further. Some passed over the other wing and suddenly the wings were stuck together. The attempt to draw them apart resulted in a sharp tearing pain and Aziraphale dropped sideways to the ground.

He yelped and stumbled, but managed to land on his feet, despite his wings still being stuck and very much in the way now.

"I am the Angele of the Eastern Gate!" he announced somewhat less grandly and more sulkily than he had planned.

His three fellow monks stared at him expectantly.

"Er ..." made Aziraphale. He hadn't thought of a pretext for his appearance. "Couldst thee helpe me untangele my wings?"

That bought him a few minutes during which the three humans helpfully, but rather clumsily, sorted out the feathers of his right wings. Only a few, it appeared, had actually been torn out, but quite a number was broken and the rest was sticking out every which way as well.

"There," Brother Anselmus finally announced. "That isse the beste we can doe. Willt though be abele to flye like thise?"

"Oh yes," Aziraphale assured him hastily, though he doubted it very much. "I wille."

In truth he wasn't even sure that a well-practised flier could have managed it with all the holes in the upper right wing now. It certainly would have been a clumsy, unbalanced flight. He couldn't possibly say no and be invited to stay at the monastery until he recovered, though. Somebody was sure to notice that either he or Brother Aziraphale were never to be found when the other was around.

"So, what isse thee missione on Earthe, then?" Brother Benedict inquired.

"I ... er ... oh ... Oh! ... Ah, yes! I wase to tell thee that it isse all very welle to copie alle the holie texts, but thee muste not forgette the othere books as welle. They too are ... er ... to the everlastinge glorie of the Lorde."

It probably wasn't the best speech Aziraphale had ever made, but he was quite relieved to have come up with something reasonably important to tell the humans and hastily took his departure pretending to take off and fly around the nearest corner, but actually just turning off his halo and re-assuming the shape of Brother Aziraphale.

"So that isse the Angele of the Easterne Gate?" he heard Brother Ambrosius say. "What an oafe!"

"He wase somethinge of a disappointmente," Brother Anselmus agreed.

"Are ye disapointede?" Brother Benedict asked a little more softly and pensively. "I doe not knowe, that I doe not like hime the bettere for beinge a little clumsie."

Aziraphale decided that that was the best he could hope to hear about himself tonight and hastily made his way to his cell to spend the night in prayers as was his usual custom.

Unfortunately the appearance of the clumsy Angel of the Eastern Gate, his looks, and the feel of his really rather messy feathers were the talk of the entire community for the next week. It was horribly embarrassing to poor Aziraphale, who had to pretend an eager interest in it. He found no support for his vehement insistence that Brother Anselmus must have been exaggerating when he had claimed that the celestial messenger's wings had felt much rougher and dirtier than those of the scruffy old goose that nobody had wanted to eat last Christmas.

Somehow Aziraphale's relationship with Brother Anselmus wasn't quite the same after that discussion, and the angel found himself spending a lot less time talking with his fellow monks when he was in the scriptorium. It made his work progress more quickly, but left him feeling a little awkward about joining them to look when Brother Anselmus finished his next page.

He did have to see the result of his efforts, though, and therefore after a little hesitation he did walk over, the last to join the group of admirers. Thus quite naturally having ended up standing in the second row he peered at the page over Brother Benedict's shoulder.

There was a burning unicorn in the lower right corner, which was where Aziraphale had, for some unaccountable reason, been expecting his own picture. Mother Mary and baby Jesus were at the top of the page, of course, and then there were a sea monster and all manner of plants and birds, but no angel.

For a moment Aziraphale felt disappointed, but then he decided that it was a relief. Apparently even Brother Anselmus was beginning to forget the awkward incident of the clumsy angel.

Thus Aziraphale had no big expectations at all when a few days later Brother Benedict presented another finished page of his text about the apocalypse. Brother Benedict wasn't nearly as good an artist as Brother Anselmus, so nobody's expectations were particularly high in that respect, but it was only polite to have a look and say something appreciative about his efforts. So Aziraphale walked over, put on a delighted expression and looked.

"But," said Brother Anselmus. "Whatfore didst thee give Pestilience three wings?"

"That isse not Pestilence!" Brother Benedict protested. "That isse the Angele of the Easterne Gate. And those are four wings."

Aziraphale's smile froze. Indeed right there at the top of the page lay a winged figure covered in dots that didn't resemble eyes in the least. At a close look it could be distinguished that the closest mass of untidy feathers actually consisted of two entangled wings.

"But Brother Benedict," the angel protested. "What isse the Angele of the Easterne Gate doinge at the apocalypse? This isse not a texte about Edene. It isse no wondere if people will thinke, that it isse Pestilence. At leaste he isse supposed to be there."

"All the angels will be there for the final battle," Brother Benedict said a little sulkily. "And I like hime the beste of all angels."

How could one argue with that and not hurt the poor monk's feelings further? Aziraphale hastily agreed that it was an excellent depiction of the Angel of the Eastern Gate and added that angels were after all a much more appropriate decoration for a religious text than apocalyptic horsemen.

He kept to himself for the rest of the day, though, and was rather relieved when he was informed that a guest had arrived and wished to see him. This would hopefully give him a reason to stay away from any further conversation about the Angel of the Eastern Gate incident and with any luck also provide him with a new topic to introduce into future conversations.

To his surprise the visitor turned out to be Crowley.

"Why, what art thee doing here?" he asked the demon quite flustered at the thought of all the holiness found around monasteries. "I thought ..."

"That I was apprenticed in the citie," Crowley obligingly gave him his clue. "But I am a journeymane now and I was journeyinge nearbye and thought I muste look up my olde friende Aziraphale. I can not staye longe, but there are things I muste telle thee."

It wasn't easy to find a place to talk entirely in private in when one had a guest that aroused everybody's curiosity, but eventually they managed to slip away into a particularly dusty corner of the wine cellar. Since angels and demons didn't need to breathe and didn't get their clothes dirty if they expected them to remain clean, the dust was no problem, however, and the wine was an added bonus. Aziraphale only needed to miracle up a bench and table, as well as two cups, and they were quite comfortable.

"I owe thee an apologie," Crowley announced once they had gotten through all the necessary preliminary remarks about the quality of the wine and length of time since their last meeting.

"So it was thee after alle," Aziraphale stated. "I do hope it was only intended as a pranke?"

"Pranke?" Crowley said quite surprised. "Why no, I was actinge on directe orders. I was to tempte yon shepherede into luste."

"Shepherede?" Aziraphale couldn't remember any shepherds being involved in the Serpent of Eden apparition. Hadn't it been all about some farmer's children?

"Yes, luste aftere anothere man's wife," Crowley said emptying his cup in one go and holding it out for more. "That isse whate they tolde me. So I come to this village and what do you thinke? The shepherde isse all of twelve years olde and woulde not knowe what to doe with a wife if she were his owne. And he wase not interestede in doinge anythinge ontowarde with a sheepe eithere. I eventually got him to curse once, but it was harde worke I tell thee. Still he wase in thee area of protectione and I muste therefore offere thee restitutione."

"But then," Aziraphale asked waving the restitution for the cursing twelve year old shepherd aside. "Who wase behinde the Serpente of Edene appearance to some farm children?"

"Er ..." made Crowley and drained another cup of wine. "That wase an accidente I hade on the waye. Did the demonice horse ... uh ... cause thee inconvenience?"

"Demonice horse?" Aziraphale asked before remembering his first thoughts at the sight of the illumination. "Oh, so it really wase a demonice horse! I thoughte it wase merelie a bad descriptione and Brother Anselmus' drawing skills."

It was quite a relief to find that Crowley knew nothing of the illumination and had most certainly not intended to have it made. The poor boy was quite embarrassed by it and could barely look at Aziraphale as he explained the circumstances of his accidental appearance to the children.

"I did not doe them any harme!" Crowley assured him. "They merelie took frighte when the horse got up and ... ran awaye."

The poor demon looked so miserable about it that Aziraphale decided to confess to his own mishap as well. The wine made it quite easy to talk and by the time he had finished the story Crowley was actually able to laugh about the matter.

"Oh but I wi... wishe, I could shee she pishures!" the demon exclaimed.

"Well," Aziraphale said. "Why not? They are in she scr... shcr... she writinge place. It ishe not holie."

They started up the stairs giggling and laughing and it would have been quite a hilarious visit to the scriptorium, except that they met Brother Amadeus halfway up and he gave them such a stern look that they both decided to sober up. After that Aziraphale felt a touch of doubt whether it was really wise to draw attention to Crowley and himself in connection with those illuminations. He had promised to show them to him, though, and as a proper angel he couldn't very well go back on his word.

"I am takinge thee to see my owne worke," he decided instead. "And then thee canst aske to see that of the others as welle. Just doe not aske for the Serpente of Edene to starte with."

Crowley readily agreed to that, but of course as soon as they entered the scriptorium all the brothers in it dropped their work and crowded around brother Aziraphale's unknown guest, forcing Aziraphale to make introductions.

"... and thise is brother Anselmus," he said.

"Ah," Crowley acknowledged beaming."The one who drewe the Serpente of Edene. Brother Aziraphale has tolde all aboute it. Might I be permitted to see that page?"

Aziraphale only just managed to stifle a distressed yelp, but nobody was paying him any attention anymore anyway. They were all too busy praising Brother Anselmus' work and retelling the incident of the appearance of the Serpent of Eden.

Crowley duly admired the illumination, though he did venture to point out that the legs must be wrong.

"The farmere must have been mistakene," he declared. "A serpente does not have legs."

"Oh, but you shouldst also see brother Benedict's Angele of the Esterne gate!" brother Ambrosius told him. "We saw hime ourselves and the drawinge is moste true to life. No chance of a mistake there."

Crowley was most agreeable to that suggestion and let himself be led over to where brother Benedict's latest page was drying. Brother Anselmus was left frowning at his desk. He exchanged an exasperated glance with Aziraphale, who was, of course, much too angelic to point out that it only served brother Anselmus right to have Crowley snatched away from him when he himself had snatched him away from Aziraphale. But then his face lit up with a sudden idea and he followed the group around Crowley after all.

"Quite nice, is it not?" brother Anselmus told Crowley smiling a little patronisingly at the picture. "But if thee like illuminations frome life, thee muste come and see what I have just started drawinge."

Crowley came, and so did everybody else including Aziraphale. Brother Anselmus did not usually show off his work while it was still in progress, and probably for good reasons. This one at least proved to be not much to look at yet. There was a blue circle with some strange black object in it.

"That isse the Demone Crawly," brother Anselmus announced.

"What!" Crowley yelped.

"I onely juste saw hime todaye as I was walkinge outside the monastary after lunche," brother Anselmus reported. "He wase in a puddle juste outside the gate and yellinge his name."

"Dagon!" Crowley gasped. "That isse not the Demon Crawly, that isse the Demon Dagon."

Everybody stared at him.

"He isse known to appeare in puddles yellinge for othere demons in the citie I come frome," Crowley explained hastily. "But I doe not like thise. Whatfore are so many demons appearinge in this holy place?"

"There are no demons appearinge in the monastery," brother Anselmus protested. "The Demone Dagon wase outside and coulde not follow me in. He did try, but he coulde not. The Serpente of Edene appeared on some farme in a village, not here. The only one that did appeare in the monastary wase the Angele of the Eastere Gate. Thise isse a holie place and thee art quite safe here."

Crowley nodded thoughtfully.

"Saye Aziraphale," he asked the angel a while later when the eager showing-off of illuminations had died down. "Woulde thee abbote be very opposede to me spendinge the wintere here? It isse gettinge rathere late in the yeare and I am not familiare with the roade to the next citie. I might not be able to reache it before the snowe after alle."

"We have mass here three times a daye," Aziraphale pointed out cautiously. "And prayers before every meale."

"Thee also hast the Demon Dagon outside," Crowley reminded him. "Yellinge for the Demon Crawly. But he cannot get ine."

It ended up being a surprisingly pleasant winter for Aziraphale, though the abbot grew rather unhappy with the amount of petty sins he found himself obliged to reprimand his brothers for during it.

Comments

[(Anonymous)]

this fic is so funny. well done op

[hsavinien]

Funny! Dagon's absolutely unsubtle approach is great.

[anjael]

That was really good and funny! Great job!

[(Anonymous)]

Hey that was really well-written and funny! We do need more content about Crowley and horses. Thanks for writing the fic! <3

[emmagrant01]

This is so sweet and funny! Aziraphale’s jealousy is precious, and the idea of Crowley spending an entire winter in a monastery to avoid responsibility (and spend time with Aziraphale, ofc) is amazing. Lovely work!

[sonnet23]

This is hilarious! :D I also think that there should be more fics about Crowley's relationship with horses. Both he and Aziraphale here are such disasters, I love them! XD And I adore all the Es! :)

[pollitt]

Oh my word this was wonderful and so utterly delightful! I've always loved Crowley's dislike for horses, and the nods to Aziraphale and Crowley's history (and their drunken gab sessions are some of my favorite things.)

Thank you for this delight of a tale! <3!

[improbabledreams900]

Poor Crowley and Aziraphale! Hopefully they can convince someone else to make them a proper set of portraits. :D

And I lol'ed at them talking in actual ye olde English!