COMPLETE SUMMARY

They did it. They had prevented Armageddon, they had finally managed what they had been working at during eleven years (and actually, Aziraphale was beginning to think, millenia) and they had went ride off their offices. The angel was allowing himself to think that , finally, he could low the mask and think about what he actually wanted, what he desired. And God knew, he had wanted for a long, long time.

Little he knew things were going to be a little more difficult that he espected. Neither Hell, nor Heaven, took well what they did. And just when Aziraphale thought he might begin to be free to tell Crowley what he means to him, he wakes up in another time, another country, another reality. He'll soon discover that everything comes with a price, even for a (sadly-not-anymore) angel.

But he is not the only one that has to deal with relationship issues. Earl Harold J., called by his men the Crow, know for his lack of mercy at the battlefield, has to deal with the constant emisaries of The Royal House of Kiev, that want him to betray the trust of the King of Norway. And now a slave prince that seems to have completely lost his memories about who he is, has been find triing to kill princess Behald of Sweden, the Black Fly, his protégée. What should he do?

DISCLAMER

I do not own Good Omens. I am completely into this fandom right now and I have to say I was so inspired by lots of fics, fanarts and comics, that you are going to find inches of other works into this one. It is completly intentional. Actually, in this first chapter there is a reference to "Alexandría,48BC", a fancomic by smudgeandfrank you can find on instagram (you should check, just incredible), and you'll probably also find references to nixarim's "Before the Falling" and whiteleyfoster's "Prince of Omens" works too. Because they are just stunning and if you are a fan, then you should go and read those. And some others fics that where such an inspiration

Anyway, this is an AU with vikings vibes even if not a crossover. Wanted to put vikings and slaves nobility so i did. There will be angst because I am addicted to it. Also will be avalaible on AO3.

PROLOGUE: VULNERABLE

"It burned down, remember?" asked Crowley and his voice was sorrowful, he was very aware of. And he hated it. Hated that it was too obvious that he cared, and couldn't keep himself for being nice, and soft.

It made him feel vulnerable, and indeed he was, he could feel his heart broke when the angel's face saddened. He should be used by now. After more than 6000 years of slow burn pinning, sometimes he was still amazed to feel his heart painful beating in his chest. Damned this corporation. He had tried to miracle it away more than once, but each time he did the emptiness he felt was overwhelming and he just could not bear it.

He prefered to feel hurt each time he saw his blond companion knowing he could not touch him, barely talk to him or be his friend — at least he tought that at the beginning, and he was often surprised that they had managed to etablish some sort of friendship — than to look at him and feel nothing.

He knew it would have been preferable, for his mental illness and his happiness — if a demon was ever worth such a thing — but he just couldn't. Because as much as it pained him, the angel companionship made him also feel such good things — a sentiment of wholeness and well-being and warmth— that, for a moment, Crowley was able to forget that he was Fallen.

That he was a demon.

Aziraphale had that effect on him. So yes, he was worth the pain, the suffering…he was worth everything.

Worth burning his feet, and worth risking being discorporated, worth feeling his heart rippead away when the angel had told him they were fraternizing or that he was too fast for him. He knew the angel had mean no harm by that, so Crowley had understood. But more than anything, Crowley was scared. Because when Aziraphale had said he was too fast, then he had understood he was reaching a limit. Letting them being more close they should even been. What had been thinking? He was a demon, and he was corrupting an angel only because he was not able to control himself, because he had to feel love — his punishment being much torturous than expected— for someone that was out of his grasp, and because Aziraphale's presence was intoxicating.

He'll die eventually of it, he knew it. He knew it with the certainity angels know they have wings.

At first, Crowley had not been aware of what he was feeling. He was not sure where everything had begun, but he was pretty sure it have been since the garden. Maybe when he had first seen him? Or when he had told him he gave his sword? Or maybe was it when he had covered him with his pearl-white wing?

He didn't know exactly, but it doesn't mattered anymore, did it? The fact was, he had fallen twice, and as terrible as the first has been, there was nothing comprable to the second one. It was a continous fall, a sweet torture.

And as many thing, they are less real when you experience it but do not acknowledge it. Crowley hadn't acknowledge for quite a long time. Because he was stubborn, probably, even if not as much as Aziraphale. He only thought that he was content because he had some kind of company, and that kindly mocking the angel was just so funny.

But then had came the Roman Empire, with the oysters. There, he had begun to wonder what was wrong with him….why he felt the world was brighter when the angel smiled, and why he wanted to be with him all the time. He had begun to feel a bit anxious about it, and scared too. Except he didn't really know what fear was until Alexandria.

Alexandria, 48 B.C.

That date was marked with fire in Crowley's memory. His gaze slipped, from his angels lips — shit, he has been staring again, luckly Aziraphale hadn't been noticing, too busy drinking wine directly from the bottle — to his right forearm. He couldn't see it, hidden by the all the layers the angel insisted on wearing even during summer, but he knew it was there. Under the suit, the pale, soft sking of Aziraphale had been irremediably burnt, and it had been Crowley's fault. And he knew that for that, he couldn't forgive himself.

Ever.

But Aziraphale could. And Aziraphale had done. And it had been at that moment he had known, with terrible, freezing, deathly certainity, that he was completely, utterly in love with him.

That he was lost.

"Shit….Shit! G-G-God! God, please! I am begging you….please don't let Aziraphale die! I know you hate me for falling….and you probably won't hear me… but please, save him. He is…he is….the one good thing in my good damned existance …"

Those words he had pronounced, the prayer he had done, the deal, the debt he had passed with God….

Crowley still felt the tears coming back to his eyelids each time he thought about it, an he felt the hotness of the library of Alexandría being destroyed, and how his entire soul had collapsed along his knees when he had seen that Aziraphale was not breathing.

It had been the worst moment of his entire existence. Until….until the bookshop had burnt too and it wasn't able to feel Aziraphale anymore. In a moment, he was back at Alexandria, powerless, meaningless and his world was collapsing again, except it was worse, because he had tell him that he wouldn't need him, that he would not think about him. And that had been the last words he had directed to him.

How can you be so stupid? he thought, how could you be so mean?

Telling such an obvious lye, hurting him again, even when you promised….you promised to God herself you filfthy demon.

He looked at Aziraphale, at those blue, deep-as-the-ocean eyes, and he talked, just for avoiding the silence. Silences had never been a problem between them, but Crowley was at the verge of tears, and he was thankful he was wearing his glasses because he wouldn't know what to do if Aziraphale saw him crying. He felt desperate.

"You could come to my place….if you wanted" he invited. His throat felt constricted and he was losing control. The necessity of hugging Aziraphale was becoming an urgent fire in his chest.

Keep calm, keep cool. You can do it, Crowley. You have been pretending for millenia, you can do it for a few hours.

Maybe invinting him to his place was not the best of ideas (not the best way to avoid temptation ) but there was no way he would leave the angel homeless.

He couldn't avoid to be worried for him, as he couldn't avoid to try to please him in every way he could. Even when he teased him.

Crowley would kill, and would die for him.

And he tried, he tried so much not to show it, because he knew, he had always known, that it could put Aziraphale in danger, that his foolish, unravelled, stupid friendship, and lust, and love and complete devotion for the angel could kill them both. He had surrended to a friendship, because he was not strong enough to keep himself far from him, but not in a million years he would risk his life. Not again.

Something brightned in the angel stunning eyes, something warm, but he seemed to doubt when he say.

"I do not think my lot would be very fond on that idea"

Before he could stop himself, Crowley was already answering,

"You don't have a lot anymore. Neither of us have. We are on our side"

And then, a light smile on Aziraphale lips — lips he would worship forever if he was allowed to — and his heart ached.

Maybe he might allow himself to hope, to, for once, be vulnerable. Maybe this was a new beginning.