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

Epilogue: The Black Prince

Notes:

Title change: the entire century is now the series. I wanted to tie off the story of Edward II here, and I plan two more stories in the sequence—one dealing with the Black Plague, and one picking up with Richard II. The burn is still slow, but they will get there.

Norfolk, 1330

"Crowley, my dear."

Longing leapt into Crowley's throat. That warm voice, so pleased to see him, that indefinable feel of Grace. He forced his shoulders to stay loose, his voice casual, and not leap into his embrace. It had been months since the last time their paths had crossed.

"Hullo, Aziraphale. What have you got there?"

"Come and have a look."

Crowley slouched over, glad to have the excuse to come close. Aziraphale had given up the knight's armour and the Brother's garb alike and wore a long white harigout, the wide draping sleeves in pale velvet falling over his shoulders like white wings. Gold embroidery glimmered at his neck and sleeve, and for a moment all Crowley could think of was the Gate of Eden, the angel whose awkwardness and kindness seemed to glow through the coming storm.

"You look gorgeous," he said, forgetting to look at what Aziraphale was carrying.

The angel blushed. "Hush. Look."

"You've brought me another kid? Aziraphale, I'm not up for getting married to a human again, even one as little as this. If I get married, I'll need something more permanent." He sent his best languishing glance.

Aziraphale looked reproachfully at him. Crowley accepted the baby. It looked up at him like a wizened old man, as if it was judging him and finding him utterly lacking, but was prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt for a bit. Crowley was enchanted. He hadn't held a human baby since Joan Amie.

"Queen Isabella."

Crowley stiffened. "Oh, no. Is this Mortimer's kid?"

Aziraphale nodded. "Best no one knows."

"Daughter—no, wait, son—of the She-Wolf and the traitor regent." His arms tightened protectively around the bundle, and he was aware of Aziraphale smiling gently at him, as if he had passed a test. "Oh, poor little bastard. That's a hard row you've chosen for yourself."

"Queen Philippa is also about to give birth, but the child is malformed and will not survive. It's beyond my help," Aziraphale said gently. "She and young Edward have been praying for a son."

"Like praying ever does any good." Crowley felt a little sick. His Edward's kid. How much had he, Crowley, been responsible for the mess?

Aziraphale frowned a little, but let it pass. "It might, in this case. You would make a fetching midwife."

"Oh. Oh, no. That's a really messy job. There's blood and screaming and things."

Aziraphale gave him a pleading look, his eyes wide and blue, going straight to Crowley's heart. "Edward is prepared to forgive his mother now Mortimer has been executed and can take all the blame, but if she was to have had his child—well, that would be a risk. Isabella could at least see and dote on her child as a grandmother."

"You want me to swap babies." He pressed his little finger against the baby's mouth, and it sucked on it.

"It seems a properly demonic thing to do." Aziraphale came closer, and wrapped an arm around Crowley's shoulders. It wasn't fair. How could he be hard hearted with a baby in his arms and Aziraphale hugging him, both of them soft and sweet-smelling and as far from Hell as it was possible to be? "It hasn't been much fun for the young King He thinks his father was murdered. His uncle was executed by Mortimer for trying to save his father. And now his baby."

"I liked little Isabella quite a lot, you know. But she tried to have Edward murdered."

"She overthrew him and imprisoned him. The murder was not hers. And if she has been a touch extravagant in her dealings, well, look at the example the responsible adults in her life gave her when she was growing up."

"I never pretended to be a responsible adult," Crowley protested, and Aziraphale chuckled and kissed him on the cheek, and it was all over, because he was a helpless puddle, and couldn't concentrate on anything other than how hard it was not to turn his head and capture Aziraphale's lips with his own.

"You know, my dear, we've really messed about with this family's lives in one way or another. Perhaps it's time to make amends."

"Demons don't make amends," Crowley said, but it was a token protest, and he knew it. Aziraphale wanted this, and was pressed warmly up against him, and this little thing was cute little Isabella's brat, and the young King was Edward's son, and... yeah, he would do it. But he might as well pretend to bargain. After all, demonic pacts were his thing.

"You stick to me," he said. "Stick to the Court. No stupid self-denial, no oh no, I can't possibly be your friend, you're a demon. We tutor this kid together. You raise him as virtuously as you like, I make him tough enough to survive. And you drink with me at least once, no, twice a week."

Aziraphale laughed, and it was a sunny, fond laugh that sent fire through Crowley's cold veins. "I could do that."

Crowley leaned against him, into the warmth. Into his personal Heaven, the one thing demons weren't supposed to have. "You know, kid, Mama Crowley has some really fantastic black armour put away somewhere. You better grow up fast to fit into it. And who knows, baby swaps might be a useful skill at some point."

Aziraphale's arms curved around them both. "I can't imagine how. But, my dear..."

"What's wrong, angel?"

"Just rumours in Heaven. Something bad is coming here. Something that means the humans will need me."

"Worse than the Famine?" Crowley asked, disbelieving. "What is She planning?"

"Best not to ask." Aziraphale's arms tightened. "But I'm glad you'll be with me for it."

It was as much or more as Aziraphale had ever said, and Crowley couldn't restrain himself. "Seal the pact with a kiss?" he whispered, and Aziraphale's head turned with what had to be gladness, and their lips clung together for just a moment, a moment that Crowley poured thousands of years of unspoken yearning into, and promises for the future, and felt tenderness and, yes, he was sure it was longing in response.

Whatever She has in mind for the humans, Crowley thought treacherously, I have my angel's heart, I know it, and the future is going to be better than I ever imagined.

Notes:

1) There were rumours that Isabella was pregnant by her lover and co-regent Hugh Mortimer when Edward III claimed his throne back, but I could find no mention of a baby. It would have been due about the same time as Edward III's first son was born.

2) While Isabella was technically arrested, she was kept in luxury and as an important part of Court, and said to have doted on her grandchildren.

3) Rumours of Edward II's survival persisted. A man professing to be Edward II actually came to Edward III at one point, and instead of torturing and executing him, as would be usual with pretenders, the younger Edward entertained him at his expense. I like to think he was happy to see his father alive again.

4) The baby, also called Edward, was a great leader, although with a certain demonic flair. He was known as the Black Prince, possibly because of a very impressive set of black armour.

5) Sorry for the slow updates! I overcommitted a bit, and I've been working on *Good Omens* stories that won't be revealed until their challenges are revealed. Hope they will be worth the wait. I will be back to usual schedule soon—one WIP and a one shot here and there for spice. ;)