Note: This is inspired mostly by the movie, but attempts to follow the genuine Greek legend. Rated K+ for occasional tastelessness.
Troy OR How long can an army survive on seafood?
Time: Several thousand years ago, ancient Greece.
Crowley woke up. It was dark. Very dark. That was good. At the moment he wasn't in a state to deal with light.
He groaned, remembering the night before. He hadn't drunk that much wine. Surely not. He tried another groan, on the basis that things couldn't get much worse. The floor gave an unpleasant lurching movement. It was not a movement Crowley usually associated with floors.
He stood up unsteadily. What had happened last night? He'd got bored, wondered around, met Aziraphale and got drunk. They'd had an argument. He'd left the house drunk and, what had he done? There was a big looming blank in his memory. The problem was, he decided after another groan, was that this place was too boring. Greek civilisation had produced a wonderful culture that had plenty of opportunities for people being both damned and saved at the same time. Many of their philosophers here needed no encouragement to deny what passed for God's in this place. He hardly had to do anything. Neither did Aziraphale, there were plenty of temples, and hundreds of Gods.
Nothing to do except get drunk and argue.
The floor rolled again, and a faint sound of seagulls made Crowley think 'boat'. Then he threw up.
000
Aziraphale's awakening was also on a boat, it was, however, slightly ruder. He was woken up by a splash of cold water and found himself chained to an oar. He supposed that it could have been worse, but at the moment he couldn't actually think of how it could have been worse. He rowed for a bit, to show willing, then just held on and let the slave next to him do all the movements. There was a whip somewhere, but the man holding it didn't seem to know how to use it properly and couldn't get it to crack.
There was also a drum, played by somebody with a very bad sense of rhythm. The safest thing that could be said was that there was probably a tune in there somewhere, although what it was was anyone's guess.
On the whole, not much opportunity of showing anyone the amazing world that was belief and how to ensure that ones soul was best prepared for a wonderful afterlife.
000
"Bring up the man in the hold"
Somewhere above Crowley a hatchway opened. Somebody grabbed him and hauled him up a ladder into cruel, unfriendly sunlight. He was dragged along a deck and pushed in front of two official looking men with enough arrogance and the right clothes to register in his mind as royalty. Standing next to them was a young woman looking nervous.
"Er…" Crowley had always prided himself on being able to talk himself out of trouble, but he'd had far too much to drink last night and was finding it hard to think, "Er… hail, um princes? To what do I owe this honour"
It wasn't too bad for a makeshift sentence. Crowley desperately tried to remember what filled in the large space in his memories of the previous night"
"You attacked my…this woman here last night." Said the younger of the men, grabbing Crowley's tunic and pulling him forward. You might have killed her"
A man who speaks in exclamation marks, thought Crowley as his feet left the floor. Always a bad sign. And what's this woman to him? Not his wife. His tavern-lady maybe?
"Paris?" The elder man said, his voice between a warning and a question, "I'm sure this can be explained.
"I was drunk." Crowley said, seeking refuge in truth. He addressed the older man, always ready to talk to anyone who was in favour of giving him a chance to explain.
Paris dropped him in a heap onto the deck. "When we get back to Troy," he said slowly and deliberately, "I'm going to see him executed." He aimed a kick at Crowley before moving down to what Crowley mentally thought of as the pointy end of the ship. The woman followed him.
"So it's acceptable for Paris, Prince of Troy to steal another man's bride but not for a drunk to attack her." The other man shouted. The other man's name is Hector. The woman's name is Helen. If you don't understand why stop reading now because you won't understand anything else either
Crowley looked over to where Paris was fondling Helen's breasts, as the men around them averted their eyes. Stole another man's wife? The boy had potential.
000
Aziraphale found after a while that there was a peaceful, almost soothing motion to rowing. He was being fed, and allowed chances to sleep on a regular basis. He'd also converted half of the rowers and when the man with the whip wasn't listening they held insightful conversations about the nature of the human soul, and how to achieve peace and glory with God and the world in general. He wondered where they were headed. The other men told him that this ship was only one of a vast navy that was sailing to attack somewhere. He wasn't sure where.
He also knew the navy was Greek, although seeing as it had left from a Greek harbour, this did not take an amazing leap of deduction. He occasionally wondered where Crowley was. During their discussions on board ship he missed Crowley's rock hard cynicism and also his complete lack of ability to fundamentally understand humans. Galley slaves were admirable at keeping up stamina for long periods of time, but tended to get rather lost during physological and metaphysical discussions. Several days later he had a clearer idea of what was happening. They were going to Troy. A Prince called Marseilles, or possibly Nice, had eloped with a young Princess called Helen.
Aziraphale grinned. So that was where Crowley was.
000
The Trojan ship sailed towards Troy. After a while, in accordance with the laws of physics and narritavum, it arrived there.
There was a celebration going on to celebrate the arrival of the Princes and a murmur of astonishment at Helen. Crowley was slipped out a back way, in chains, so as not to offend the guests or break the festive spirit. He was placed, or more accurately thrown, into a dungeon. It was much the same as the boat had been only there were some fellow prisoners in it. The guard said something that he thought was witty, gave a laugh, and shut the door with an ominous clang.
Outside the sound of the celebration could be heard. Crowley listened to it for some time. It sounded depressingly like any other celebration, with the crowds cheering because crowd barriers had been put up. There were probably free drinks and flags. Flowers would be involved, possibly being thrown into the air by young virgins dressed in white with ecstatic smiles that made them look like they'd been on hard drugs for at least an hour beforehand.
He escaped that night. It could have been a more glamorous escape. It could, in fact, have been left until the last moment when Crowley was standing on the scaffold. It could have involved Aziraphale with a feathery hat on and a lot of dramatically choreographed sword fights. It didn't, but it could have. What it did involve was a small piece of bent wire, lots of cursing and, eventually, when it became evident that the wire wouldn't work a simple word that evaporated the lock with an interesting hissing noise.
Crowley crept out into the night and looked around Troy. After a while he made it to the palace.
000
After a while the Greek army landed on the beaches of Troy. The beach was taken, a temple (much to Aziraphale's annoyance) was looted and various young men made a name for themselves. The Greeks made camp, ate, drank and praised themselves in the manner of warriors everywhere. Then, in the manner of drunks everywhere they started fighting.
A delegation was sent to Troy to demand the return of Helen and Paris. The Greek delegation made it quite clear that they didn't even require all of Paris; just his head would be enough, preferably on a stick. The Trojans listened politely then took the delegates on a tour around the walls of Troy giving particular reference to its strength and lack of entrances. They also quoted some Trojan history, namely those times when enemies had tried to storm the walls of Troy and failed.
The Greek representatives listened, and then came back to camp. The siege was decided upon and the whole camp moved forwards, to beneath the walls of Troy.
000
Helen was worried. She cried into Crowley's hair as he made vague soothing noises to comfort her.
"It's all my fault." She sobbed, "If I hadn't run away with Paris. I should give myself up right now"
It's not your fault, thought Crowley; it's that playboy Paris. Aloud he said, "Think logically. There are several thousand Greek soldiers outside screaming for battle. Do you really, seriously think that if you gave yourself up, right now, they'd all turn around and go home"
"No" she sniffed.
"There you go then"
"But if I hadn't run off, they wouldn't be here"
"Well, yes, but then again no. You see," Crowley sighed preparing to explain politics to a fifteen year old tart with a limited mental capacity, "Greece wanted to go to war anyway. If it hadn't been you it would have been, oh, I don't know, the will of the Gods or something. You aren't the reason, you're the excuse"
She thought about this for sometime, then said, "Where's Paris"
"Er, busy." Crowley lied, with smooth efficiency, "Council of war"
What he's actually doing, thought Crowley as they walked down the olive-grove scented walkway, is trying to seduce Hectors wife. At least, he should be if I've arranged it properly.
"Feeling tired?" he murmured into Helen's ear as he steered her off the path to beneath some rather high bushes. 'Let's have a rest."
000
The siege went on. Five years passed. Stones and plagues were passed from one side of the wall to the other. Helen started putting on weight. Crowley left Troy for a bit and wandered down to the sea where he saw Aziraphale attempting to fish. He watched for some time. It was really quite pathetic.
"Long time no see." He said, sauntering down to where Aziraphale, in the excited heat of actually catching a fish, accidentally let it flip out of his hands and back into the sea, "The general idea, I believe, is to get the fish out of the water"
"Hmm?" Aziraphale turned, knocking his basket into the sea, "Crowley! Where have you been all this time? I haven't been too successful at fishing so far but at least," he added reproachfully, "I sit and wait, rather than using…alternative methods"
"I don't have the patience for that sort of thing." Crowley said, sitting down on the sand. "I've been in Troy, generally amusing myself and keeping a playboy occupied"
"What both at the same time?" said Aziraphale innocently, "I never imagined you of that persuasion, although most of the generals here do seem to prefer boys"
"Ha, Ha." Crowley said, putting as much withering scorn into it as he could manage. "What have you been up to"
"Well, they've re-built the temple, and I've had a go at converting some to our religion. Well, the bosses present one, you know what I mean. They've got the general idea"
"How long will they hold out for"
"No idea. They won't turn around and go home again, if that's what you mean. That would be too great a loss of pride. They are getting tired of seafood though."
000
Hector walked down from the ramparts, after saying goodbye to all his family. He fought Achilles, and that day the blood of Hector stained the ground red. Achilles tied Hectors body to the back of his chariot and dragged it around the walls of Troy.
Later, there was an argument.
"Crowley, I'm warning you. That last gesture lacked taste. Tell him to give the body back"
"Achilles is great, even better than Paris! He's an arrogant bully who doesn't believe in anything"
"And I suppose this also leaves Hectors wife open to Paris." Aziraphale said bitterly.
There was a long moment. Then Aziraphale said, "Sorry"
"That thought never even entered my mind"
"Sorry"
"Ever thought of Falling? You would've made a brilliant demon"
"Crowley"
"I wasn't even thinking about his wife! Only about Achilles. Did you know he believes he's the son of a God? I'm not sure which God though"
"Well then he must believe in something"
"Just himself. And his mother"
"Well, whatever he believes in, tell him to give the body back"
Crowley sighed, "Look it's not that easy. Hector killed his best friend"
"Best friend"
"Some kid called Patrocolus. I'll do the best I can, but I can't guarantee results"
But there were results. Old King Priam, father of Paris, went to Achilles tent and begged on his knees for the return of Hectors body. Achilles agreed, and even Aziraphale had to admit that it was quite a nice touch.
000
Some more years went by. Helen embarked on a health course and managed to regain her figure and most of her looks. Paris got bored. Crowley tried to get rid of some of the deep held belief of King Priam but failed. He swapped places with Aziraphale, and had a go at the Greek generals. This seemed to meet with a little more success but as many of them were so corrupt anyway there was little he could do.
He got bored. Then he met Odysseus (the Roman's later called him Ulysses, but that sounds terrible, so I'm going to stick with Odysseus) and had a great idea.
000
Athena came to Odysseus in a dream.
Crowley, cursing, tripped over a tent peg as he tried to get to Odysseus's camp.
She bade him hearken.
Crowley stuck his head around the tent flap. "Psst. Oh great general, I bring news from, er, which God is it you believe in"
She told him of the great Wooden Horse that would end the siege of Troy.
"Listen, my, er, mistress, Athena, says: build a big horse. Out of wood. You'll never win this siege, not if you sit here for a thousand years. You can sneak in. And horses are Athena's sacred animals aren't they? No wait, that's owls. Horses are Poseidon, God of the sea. Yes, that's right! You can pretend it's an offering to the sea God to give you a safe journey home.
And she guided the hand of the carpenter, to create this image.
"Very good, yes, it's definitely a horse. Only, perhaps the scaling is wrong. Didn't the great general explain? Oh, right. Well we want a big horse. How big? Well it's got to fit about twenty soldiers in it. Yes, that's a bit bigger than what you've got there isn't it?"
000
Aziraphale was part of the group that, mystified, went down to the beach. He saw the horse and knew at once what was going on.
He didn't say anything though. He was getting bored as well. Ten years is a long time to live off sea-food.
000
Later, there was an argument.
"You killed Priam and both of mine"
"Crowley, what are you talking about"
"Achilles and Paris. Both of them dead. But you're not only satisfied with killing my two, oh no, you go and kill Priam as well." "Priam's soul has gone straight to heaven. I'm not sure about the others"
Crowley shook his head, mystified, "I'll never understand you"
"Crowley, listen, my job is not to save people; it's to save their souls. Priam's was most defiantly saved. To save his body would've been almost impossible. I wasn't even looking when the other two died; it was an accident of circumstance"
"OK." Crowley said moodily. "What about Odysseus"
"Well, you've had two already I've only got Priam so far"
"Fine. He's already organised the sacking of an entire city, I wish you luck"
"I've already got a plan. He'll have to prove his allegiance to his Gods on the way home. Right now the boss is into a General-Belief-In-Higher-Deity mode"
"This is going to include a considerable amount of suffering isn't it"
Aziraphale looked awkward, "Erm, possibly. At least he'll be rewarded for everandeverandeveramen afterwards"
"Just promise me one thing"
"What"
"Let him get home Aziraphale. Even if it takes him twenty years, let him get home."
000
Crowley woke up. He was woken up by a splash of cold water and found himself chained to an oar. He supposed that it could have been worse, but at the moment he couldn't actually think of how it could have been worse. He rowed for a bit, to show willing, then just held on and let the slave next to him do all the movements. There was a whip somewhere, but the man holding it didn't seem to know how to use it properly and couldn't get it to crack.
There was also a drum, played by somebody with a very bad sense of rhythm. The safest thing that could be said was that there was probably a tune in there somewhere, although what it was was anyone's guess.
He turned to the man next to him, "Do you believe in anything Godlike? Afterlife, soul? It's just; it's a long journey back"
The man stared at him, "Of course. On the way to Troy the oarsman in your place told us all about God and the soul and the afterlife and" The man's eyes screwed up with the effort of thinking, "Jer-hove-er"
Crowley groaned, it was going to be a long journey back.
-----
Dear goodness I'd forgotten how excrutiatingly bad that story was.In my defence, I was several years younger when I wrote it. I am older now, so feel free to be a sarky as you like in your review. (you know, the one you're automatically going to leave :)