Castiel is nothing more than a Captain of a Garrison, content to live his life serving his country. But a chance meeting with a snippy young woman named Meg spins his world about and suddenly nothing will be the same.

Fairytale style AU

Chapter 1

Once upon a time is the stuff of fairy tales. Of princesses, romance, and magic. Of good versus evil.

So naturally, this isn't exactly fairytale though there are some parts that remain the same.

The Kingdom of Abaddon had long been loathed by Elysium. In the way of most neighbouring countries, they spent the better part of their years fighting. Fighting enormous battles without any sign of an end, letting the rivers run red with blood and scorching the earth. No one knew why they fought; some said that it had all been started over a woman and an apple, others that it was mere jealousy. Elysium was all grassy hills, winding rivers, and immense forests of white trees, while Abaddon was a land of dark woods and treacherous mountains. The contrast between the two was a stark one, yet Elysium did covet the one thing that Abaddon had. Its magic. Endless founts of it. It was pure essence, with no light or dark deciding it fate. Abaddon only wanted one thing from Elysium: its destruction for its real and imagined crimes.

So the story goes, anyway.

It's the hundredth year of the Hundred Year War between Elysium and Abaddon and as far as anniversaries go, this was to be a tricky one. War was the only thing the two nations had known and they were not about to put their differences aside for the sake of realizing how foolish that war was. Not when one side had accomplished something their ancestors had only dreamed about at one time. The ruler of Abaddon, Azazel, had managed a successful coup against the two heirs to Elysium by capturing one and ransoming him to the other. The two brothers would do anything for each other and he had a powerful weapon in their brotherly love.

But Azazel failed to realize that the one person he should keep his eye on was in his own household and had remained as rebellious as a wild cat. He also couldn't see for all his power that near the Borderlands, a host of Angels was gathering, readying for war to retrieve their stolen leader back to them. A host that wasn't about to lose to the legions of demons that stood between them and the crown prince of Elysium.

##

"Your horse is your best weapon when faced with a horde of enemies. Be unseated and you are as good as dead."

The words weren't shouted yet were loud enough to be heard over the ring of steel and the smack of leather on leather. One man yelled when a hit was too close to his own head and he was unseated to the ground with a resounding thump. It was followed by loud laughter and admonishing scolds, but no one moved to help him as a loud trumpet was blown and a second charge stormed the small dusty practice ring. Then it became a sea of horses and men, all brilliantly decorated in the whites and dark blue of the Garrison.

The horses were snorting and dancing as they were pressed together to fight their opponents. Some snaked their heads forward to chomp on the necks of the other horses, others kicked out and narrowly missed the fragile and soft bodies of the riders who had fallen to the ground. Trained chargers were as deadly as a sword in battle and the men riding them fought hard to prove how ready they were. They'd all heard the rumours, after all, of where they would be fighting, and every one of them wanted the chance to earn their right to fight in the legendary Wings of the Host.

Yet all that Castiel saw as he watched them fight was a sea of novices, barely ready to be horsed let alone blooded on the battlefield. As Captain of the Garrison he knew what to look for when it came to prepared soldiers. These men would be hard-pressed to do more than scream in fear of battle before they even cut their first battle wounds. Even he, in his youth, had been better prepared for battle. These were mere boys being brought to fight with men and women who had long defended the borders of Elysium. With his luck, they'd throw fits at the last moment before the charge and he'd be left alone on the field. Adjusting his reins in one hand, he clicked his tongue and tilted his head to the side. His horse, Sword, stamped his forefeet in an endless one-two dance, tossing his head several times in rhythm with the movements. Over the clash of swords and men, Castiel heard his superior murmur disapproval.

"They are all so green," she said before bending her head. He watched her undo the harness that strapped her helm to her head and she removed her sparkling steel and gold helmet to reveal shining red hair and features so pale she might have been ghostly. "What does Uriel say?"

"Same as all of us, Lady Anna. They need experience before we take them into Abaddon for our mission." He rested his hand on the saddle pommel. "But there is no time. So all we can do is school them over and over again and hope that the drills will prepare them."

She nodded and chewed on her lower lip in thought. "Those in Abaddon haven't given us much choice. It might be for the best," she agreed.

Castiel watched her, struck as he always was by the serenity in her expression. They could be knee-deep in the Abaddon Knights, the 'demons' to their 'angels', and she would still be calm. Even blood soaked and battered, she would not falter. He admired her the most of all his commanders, even above the ArchAngel generals, and had aspired to be like her when it came to keeping his calm. He had achieved it and more, going so far that his own men called him the coldest fish they knew. No one dared say it to his face but it was thought of and he knew what they said of him. No matter; sooner or later, he'd be recognized and he could climb even higher within the Garrison.

Anna's eyes suddenly alighted on something in the distance and she nodded. "You might want to help me keep an eye on His Highness. He's insisted on fighting amongst us now but his advisors do not want him to fight."

Castiel looked at where the tall young man was riding into the fray, wearing a disguise of a herald's helm and grey armour. Clever. He turned his blue eyes on Anna. "I'll do my best to guard him. But I thought..."

She raised both eyebrows, not used to him questioning her.

"I thought that the Archangels were his guard."

"They are needed to help manage the citizens. They won't see battle for some time," she said without any rancour. Anna accepted some things as they were though she was renowned for doing things her own way. Her own way saved lives, rather than waste them, but she wasn't known for her mercy when it came to the demons. With a tilt of her head, she and Castiel started to ride a wide circle around the group in the practice field. Her bay charger danced as impatiently as Castiel's white Sword, and both horses nipped at each other. Anna turned in her saddle to watch the battle, her eyes solely on the young Prince riding amongst the men and fighting as rough as they were. It would be on her head if he was hurt and she had no intention of letting him see true battle. Blunted weapons would have to be the most he fought. She did admire his skill though and she remained quiet as she watched.

Used to her silence, Castiel looked around, enjoying the view of the green valley in the bright sunshine. He closed his eyes and stretched his senses out, let it all flood into him. The warmth, the light, the peace of the valley. Everything suddenly seemed to envelope him and he enjoyed it. Magic seeped out of his fingertips to wrap around them, to make the sky a bit bluer, the sunlight even warmer. Becoming captain of the guard had many advantages, though he had fought long and hard to get to this point. The best advantage was that he could use his limited magic to lift the fog, to let the sunshine in and he let it bathe his face in warmth.

His hearing though was working hard and his senses began tingling with awareness.

"We don't want you here, wench!"

"Get out!"

"I'm just trying to walk through town."

"If you don't pay the toll, you ain't walkin' anywhere!"

Castiel turned in his saddle and looked across the practice field to where the small town stood. It was a simple staggering of buildings, old brick and plaster builds raising in high steeples and rounded domes of roofs. A pathetic little town really, compared to the shining cities near the capital, but Castiel dismissed the looks of it in favour of seeing what was happening in the gated entrance way to the town. Three men were blocking the way of a small figure dressed in dirty rags, pushing back and forth. He saw a fist lift and fall, saw the smaller person go to their knees to block the blow, and then curl on their side while still warding off further blows. It appealed to a softer side within him, the one he tried so hard to hide.

Hearing his sharp intake of breath, Anna followed his gaze and smiled.

"Go on, then. You always do like to help the helpless," she said. She reined in her horse and turned him around to head back to the practice ring. With a grin, she tossed her red hair over a shoulder and gave him a playful once-over. "I might put you up for sainthood. Castiel the Chaste and Pious."

Castiel scowled at her. "It almost sounds like an insult from you."

Her smile widened into a grin. "Come on, Castiel, you sound like you think it isn't true."

He huffed and wheeled his horse around before kicking him into a canter towards town. Anna's laughter followed him and as he rode he let it stew inside him. The Chaste and Pious. He was seen as stuck up and cold by his own men and he knew it. He just didn't think that his betters thought it of him as well. There were worst titles he could be called and yet he wanted to be known as something more. He knew that he was young for his position and he had true belief in the missions of the Garrison. Anna had said he could prove himself when they went to complete their mission in the next month. Maybe that would be his chance, his golden opportunity.

The shouting drew his attention off his own problems.

Bending low over his horse's neck, he rode the charger faster towards the entrance of the town. He thought he saw a glint of metal in the small figure's hand and he spurred his horse, feeling the giant lurch in the massive body. The horse snorted and Castiel pulled on the reins until they came to a crashing halt that knocked all four of the citizens to the ground. Through the cloud of dust and dirt, he saw a knife go skittering across the dirt. The ragged figure scrambled to their feet while the others groaned and slowly pushed up onto their buttocks.

"What the hell is the big idea?" a large man demanded and Castiel glared at him. He deliberately flashed the insignia on his chestplate and the sight of the wings within the gold circle made them all gape.

"You're speaking to a Captain of the Garrison, sir. Show some respect," he demanded and instantly all three men rolled to their bellies and began grovelling at him. Satisfied, he turned to see that the fourth person was not grovelling but instead putting themselves to rights. They were no man but a small woman, he could tell by the curve of her body and the long dark hair that tangled about her face. She was busy wiping the muck and grime off her clothes and making a bit of a show of not looking him in the eye. Castiel watched her for a moment then looked at the men. "Three men attacking a lone woman?"

"We weren't attacking her, like. Just razzing her up a bit. She ain't from here," one man said, chancing a look up.

"So that means you threaten a stranger. This town is so small I would have thought better of its citizens," Castiel said. Especially a Garrison town, he thought.

"Was just for fun."

Castiel fingered the hilt of his sword where it was strapped to his saddle. The decorated scabbard, etched with ancient runes and his full name along the side, felt heavy against his fingertips and he took comfort from its weight against his leg. He looked at the woman again but she was ignoring him still, shaking her head at the amount of mud decorating her. Not that she should, in Castiel's opinion; she looked poor enough that he doubted she was ever clean to begin with. The men continued to chatter, talking over one another to prove a point. One voice caught his attention and touched a sore nerve.

"...She looks like little more than a whore on the road, sir."

The sword leapt to his hand and Castiel swooped it through the air to lop off a chunk of the offending man's thick braid.

"Even if that were so, respect the lady."

He could have sworn he heard a snort from the woman in question. He glanced to see her watching them but then her head bent and she resumed rubbing mud out of her shirt.

"Now all of you, get out of here before I change my mind and decide to bring you up on charges. Even if it is just a charge of harassment," he threatened and gave his sword a quick swirl in the air with one hand as if to prove his threat. It sent all three men scurrying for the back alleys as if Hell was on their tail and with a satisfied grin, the kind that took years off his handsome features, Castiel turned back around to the girl he'd saved.

Only to find her walking away from him, muttering to herself about how she was going to get clean.

"Miss? Hey... hey!" Castiel dismounted quickly, knowing better than to ride his horse through a bustling town, and jogged to catch up to her. The woman turned, hands in the air, and Castiel skittered to a stop on his heels. He couldn't help but stare. Castiel had seen enough beautiful women, more beautiful he was sure — he was minor nobility after all — but there was something incredibly striking about her. Her dark eyes flashed with sparks and her dark brows slashed with wild ferocity over them, leading to a pouting mouth and a pointed chin that was lifted in pure defiance. As if she was daring him to look longer.

So he did. He looked his fill long past what was polite and he didn't lessen the intensity of his gaze. Neither did she. He felt the heat of that look shoot through to the core of him. Something unsettled him from that look and he held the stare as long as he could, determined not to let her see how just one look from those dark eyes rattled.

Suddenly, she snapped her fingers in the air before his eyes to distract his stare. "Hey what? Did you need me for something?" she asked. Her own eyes dropped to the sword in his hand. "Or did you want to have a go at me with your big knife?"

Only a peasant could be that ignorant of what he carried but Castiel was willing to let it go. "Maybe I was hoping for a thank you."

Her pouting lips raised in a sneer and she grabbed her ragged hem. She dropped one knee behind the other in an artful curtsey and fell nearly to that knee she went so low. "Why thank you, my lord. What would I have done without you?"

Funny, for a peasant she spoke quite fine.

"You're welcome." Castiel was satisfied at first until he saw the roll of her eyes.

"You don't know much about sarcasm do you?" she asked. She straightened up with a snap and turned around on him, heading down the street through the town. " I had it under control."

Castiel chose to follow her again, tugging on Sword's reins to keep the horse with him. "Not from the sounds of it."

She turned around and almost smacked into him he was following her so closely. "Who are you exactly?" she demanded and he bristled, offended by how bluntly she spoke.

"I am a Captain of the Garrison, as I said. You should show me some respect."

"Well does the Captain of the Garrison have a name?" She rolled her eyes again.

"You should only call me milord or Captain," he ordered. "What is your name?"

"A name for a name."

"I don't think so," he countered. "You should be thanking me properly. As suits your station."

"But I'm not, am I?" She stepped closer, until she was toe to toe with him, and her proximity disturbed him all the more. "My father had a loyal old dog called Clarence. I should call you that, Captain of the Garrison."

He glared down at her and then she was off walking again. Annoyed, Castiel dropped his reins and caught up to her. "Are you always this rude to people who help you?"

"I had it handled."

He grabbed her elbow and hauled back, forcing her to lift her wrist to the air. The knife in her hand was an ugly sight and he clicked his tongue like a disappointed parent. "If you hurt them, I'd have to take you."

"Oh." She pressed up into him and he felt her lips brush his jaw. "Promises, promises."

Castiel almost turned red and let her go, far too aware of her now. Trying to will his blush to leave, he distracted himself by dusting off the leather of his vambraces and stepping back. "That isn't what I meant. What is your name?" he asked again and she seemed to think it over.

"Friends call me Meg. You can call me "Your Highness."" The order was said with a mocking smile that sent a chill through him and Castiel shook his head.

"Peasants with visions of glory." He looked up at the sky. "Why did you punish me with her?"

Meg looked up at the sky as well. "Who are you talking to?"

"Someone a woman like you would be best to know," Castiel muttered. He took her arm in his and led her away from the tavern nearby. A tavern he could see those men lingering close to. Meg seemed to not realize what he was doing and began to struggle. The more she struggled the closer she came to him and he realized how bad an idea this likely was. Her dark hair swung between them and he caught a faceful of it. He noticed how sweet it still smelled. That unsettled feeling came crawling back into his skin and he let her go again.

"At least let me take you to wherever you need to go. So you remain unhurt," he offered. The gallant offer was ignored and she sighed in a long, drawn out way.

"No thanks. I do better on my own. I have somewhere to be."

"I insist," Castiel said, taking hold of her hand and leading her away from the town square. He missed her desperate look to the left and then right.

She had to get him to let her go. Meg knew she should fight back and kick and scream but it would do no good. He was stronger than her. Just enough that he could hurt her if he chose. But if he didn't let her go, she was going to have to do something desperate to get him to let her go. Something she shouldn't have to do.

To the left and right, she saw the people scurrying from building to building, stealing supplies for the wagons outside. All it would take would be for her rescuer to look up and notice. She'd been doing her best to shoo him away and the obstinate Angel wasn't listening to her.

Oh she knew what he was and knew she should be hiding her own head. Thank the dark that he didn't have the wit to look for the signs below the faint glamour she wore. He hadn't noticed yet and probably never would if she could just keep him distracted. Better yet, get him away from her and back to the garrison practicing in the distance.

Why the hell would he rescue a single peasant girl? He'd charged in like some big damn hero and she hadn't actually needed his help. It all seemed foolish to her.

There was a crash and Meg saw his head lift.

"What?" she asked, keeping her voice bored yet innocent.

"I'm not sure." The Angel was looking left and right and his brow was wrinkled as if he was drawing some conclusion in his head.

Oh damn, Meg realized. He was clueing in.

"Why did you rescue me?" she asked to distract him and he murmured something. Something slightly insulting to her, she was sure of it. "Clarence?"

"Don't call me that," he said and finally his attention was back on her. His head swung in her direction just as another crash happened, the impact of a fire barrel meeting the bed of a wagon, and Meg saw four women and men rushing through the courtyard. Without the glamour to hide what they were, all he needed to do was see...

He started to look in their direction and Meg decided to take her chances. She stepped into him and slid her hand up his shoulder.

"I should just say thank you," she breathed with just enough wistfulness to come across as innocence and sweet. His head turned back to her and she rocked up onto her toes. Her mouth pressed chastely to his, and she felt his shock make his body rigid and unyielding. He didn't kiss her back, not at first. He merely held the contact of her lips on his and made a muffled sound. Meg parted her lips and took his lower lip in her mouth, drawing it closer so that she could deepen the kiss.

Then something changed inside him and the kiss was finally returned. He kissed her back with a ferocity usually left between lovers and she tasted an intoxicating blend of his natural taste and something acidic like wine from him. The press of his lips on hers was fevered and hurried, as if he couldn't get enough of her and her mouth. Meg swallowed down her need for air and raised both hands to his hair at the same time his own tangled in hers. The kiss continued to heat and flame something between them and she pressed as close as she could to see if she could absorb just a little bit more of that fire. Something electric passed between them and she nearly moaned when he pulled back from the kiss, only to catch herself. She had never expected him to kiss her like that.

The look in his eyes was equally bewildered and he swayed a little on his feet. Meg licked her lower lip and let him go.

"Thanks," she repeated, clearing her throat repeatedly to hide the crack in it. He nodded and let her hair release from his hand, the tangles snagging on his fingertips. Meg recovered fast though and while he was still dazed she backed away. He stared at her, hands held limply at his sides. Meg looked over his shoulder and saw that the wagons were already headed out the East passage, out of sight towards the Borderlands and the Abaddon forests.

Perfect.

She looked into those blue eyes again and grinned.

"I'll see you around," she said and winked at him as she continued to back towards his horse. Her Clarence still looked confused and breathless and she decided to use that to her advantage.

With a graceful pirouette she ran, lifting her skirts high about her waist so that her pale legs flashed him, and mid-sprint she leapt upon the white charger. The horse reared, confused by the new weight on its back, but Meg dug her knees into its side and gave it its head. With a joyful buck, the charger galloped down the street, the crowds parting and shouting at her to watch it. The horse just grazed its master as it passed him, and Meg reached out with a hand. Her fingertips grazed his face and she felt her nail scratch his cheek just a little. With a laugh, she took up the reins again and steered the horse towards the forest. All the while leaving her rescuer behind, staring dumbly after her.

Castiel watched long after the dark figure on a white horse disappeared from sight. He hadn't made a single move towards his garrison or to follow her.

He could only stare and wonder. Wonder at the gall of a simple peasant woman. Wonder at how that woman had treated him with no respect or deference... and he had let her. Wonder at the how that kiss had been unexpectedly exciting.

"She kissed me," he whispered, reaching up to touch the light scratch on his cheek. He let his fingers trace the mark she'd left on him. "She..."

Then he realized the reality of what had just happened.

"Damn! She stole my horse!"