Favourite Demon (The Entire Bloody Boring Fourteenth Century Part I)

1311-1312 CE, England

All around England and Scotland, pious households fasted through Advent, denying themselves in the lead to the anniversary of the birth of Christ. In Scarborough Castle in North Yorkshire, the inhabitants feasted every day in celebration of the upcoming birth of the child of the first Earl of Cornwall and Margaret Lady de Clare, his young and beautiful Countess.

Under the circumstances, it had not been too difficult to convince Aziraphale to stay. Score one for human indulgences. After all, Crowley had reasoned to him, how did going without good wine, peacock and honey actually make anyone more inclined to do good? All it meant was that they were grumpy and inclined to do nasty sinful things to each other. Sweet Meg needed to keep her strength up with good food for the baby, and she didn't like to feast alone. A hundred little arguments to turn vices into virtues.

Crowley considered it a just reward for his immense self-control in not flying Aziraphale straight up to the bedroom and snogging the breath out of him to see what happened. Instead he dropped him off first, let him prepare Meg for the terrifying news that her husband was returning before she'd managed to discreetly have and adopt out the child but no, he wouldn't ask what she'd been getting up to in his absence, and "arrived' under cover of darkness a night later.

Crowley curled up in front of the fireplace in the solar, drowsing, and listening to Aziraphale and Meg talk in whispers over a board game of fox and geese. He was warm, well-fed, and happier than he could ever remember being. His angel was close, his presence like a sunbeam. Aziraphale and Meg got along terribly well; unlike her uncle the King, the only one of the late Queen's children whose education she had not bothered to supervise, Meg was well-read and intellectual. Like her uncle the king, she adored minstrels and masques and the castle was full of music and entertainment and good food, bound to be warming to an angel's heart. He also suspected Aziraphale enjoyed her flirtiness and mischief more than he would admit. She was a credit to a demonic upbringing.

Crowley congratulated himself on bringing Meg and Aziraphale together. He should have thought of asking Aziraphale to help him bring up his wife before. Probably not great for his plans to make her an evil seductress luring men and women to Hell, but it might have been fun. He should have asked Aziraphale to help him bring up Hugh Mortimer as well, when Longshanks had given him to him. Strangely trusting, these English royals, handing Crowley wealthy children as if they were pets and telling him not to go spending all their money at once. They were obsessed with demons, and then when they actually met one they kept giving him kids.

Of course, Hugh had been nearly grown-up when he was given to Crowley, but he was good company. Crowley thought he should call him out to the castle and be a real household.

A household. A family. This cozy feeling, this feeling of being a family... Surely Aziraphale loved it as much as he did. Crowley closed to eyes to all his own sensible warnings about getting attached and putting down roots, and listened to his clever angel and clever little girl.

Perhaps too clever.

"Sir Ezra, he must know he's not the father of the baby," Meg whispered. "I mean, we haven't... He didn't... He was in Scotland."

"You didn't?" Crowley fancied he heard relief. "He's happy about the child. That's what matters. He likes children. Did he ever kiss your cheek or hand?"

"Sometimes, when I won a game of chess or at hoops."

"There you are, then."

"But how could he possibly think..."

"He's very naive, and innocent in the ways of women and men."

Crowley let out a snore, as he swore revenge on the angel for damaging his dashing reputation in the eyes of his wife. The child looked up to him.