Aziraphale sat beside Gyda—a talented weaver that he met after a month of living with the Norsemen—on the beach. She looked at him skeptically and he returned the look. It wasn't his fault that Crowley decided to make the angel his "god" paramour. It also wasn't his fault that most of the villagers believed he was Sigyn in disguise.

"So you're telling me that you're not a god? And that you're definitely not Sigyn?" her accent was thick and rough, but finally understandable, unlike when he first arrived and had trouble using Old Norse instead of Old English.

"That's exactly what I'm telling you. I don't understand how hard it is to get, considering all things..."

"Considering what?" Gyda tilted her head at Aziraphale. "Loki would never just take a lover who's mortal."

He had to keep firm in this. Unlike Crowley, he would never pretend to be a false god. He was an angel. And as such, he had to keep strong. "Gyda, my dear," he said as he placed a hand softly on her shoulder. "I am not one of your gods. I'm a Christian Priest." Aziraphale made a face and corrected himself. "I was a Christian Priest."

Gyda stared at him thoughtfully. "So then why are you Loki's lover then?"

"I am quite certain he is not Loki."

"How do you know?"

Because I'm an angel and Crowley is a demon. Because I've known him forever, Aziraphale thought. "I've known this so-called Loki for many years."

Gyda just snorted in response. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows at her as if to say "what?". She just stared back at him. "Are you sure you're not a god, Priest?"

Aziraphale sighed. There was just no convincing her, was there? "Fine, go ahead and believe that I'm a god. But we both know the truth."

Gyda just grinned at him in response. Oh, that was it, he'd have to convince her. It was just a matter of how.

Later that night, Aziraphale laid on the pile of animal furs of his shared bed. Crowley wasn't back yet, and he probably wouldn't be for a while, seeing as he was in the Jarl's hall getting drunk. So Aziraphale let himself get lost in deep thought.

Several minutes—or maybe hours. Who knows?—later, Crowley came stumbling in, drunk and happy. Entirely too happy. "Angel," he slurred. "We've done it! You're a god. I'm a god. We're all gods!"

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, pulling himself back into the present. He scowled lightly at the demon. "I'm not a god."

"Yes, you are. 'M a god too. Enjoy it."

"My dear, you're drunk."

"Yes, and your point is?"

Aziraphale shook his head and muttered softly to himself before he stretched out his arms. "Come here," he said softly. Crowley just stared at him for a moment before complying.

Despite the familiarity of this, despite this being an occurrence since the rise of Romulus and Rome, something in the back of Aziraphale's mind kept telling him it was wrong. But was it? Yes, he was told by his head. An angel and a demon? It's blasphemous. She will find out and you'll have a lot of explaining to do. No, that couldn't be so. There shouldn't be anything wrong with what Aziraphale and Crowley were doing.

Almost as if Crowley could sense Aziraphale's inner struggle, he moved closer and looked at Aziraphale with half-lidded eyes. He smiled dopily and loosely hugged Aziraphale. "Angel," he slurred. "pay attention to me."

Aziraphale chuckled lightly. He's like a cat. "Whatever you say, my dear."

Crowley snuggled closer and began rambling. "Y'know something, Angel? The Pagans have really nice ruins." he furrowed his brow and tried again. "No, runes. They have really nice runestones."

Aziraphale looked down at Crowley curiously. "Runestones?"

"'S very large. And Hall—" Crowley fell silent and looked at one of the walls intensely as he recalled the name. "Halls— Hallsteinn told me something about them."

"What did Hallsteinn tell you?"

Crowley scrunched up his nose and met Aziraphale's eyes. "'M not entirely sure. 'S all a bit hazy."

Aziraphale shook his head again and began to slowly run a hand through Crowley's hair. Runestones... What a strange thing to bring up. And then it dawned on him. He could use his lack of knowledge about runestones to prove Gyda wrong. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Giving me an idea."

The next day, Aziraphale hunted Gyda down. She was sitting by her loom, working away on a tunic, died blue from woad. He knocked softly on one of the wooden beams to catch her attention. "Priest!" she exclaimed. "What a pleasure."

"Gyda," he replied in greeting. "I can prove to you that I'm not a god."

Gyda stopped her work and turned to face the angel fully. She had an amused, yet skeptical expression and smirked. "Oh? Please try."

Aziraphale cleared his throat and wrung his hands. "Do you have parchment? I can't prove it to you without any."

Gyda shook her head. He frowned before reaching into his robes and miracle up a roll of parchment and a quill. "No fret, I have an extra roll in my robe. He pulled it out and spread it on a spare space on the table next to him. He then began writing a Biblical verse in Latin.

What are you doing?" Gyda left her loom and walked up behind Aziraphale, watching his movements.

"I'm writing a verse from the Bible." Aziraphale finished the last line with a delicate dot and leaned back. He motioned to what he wrote. "The language I wrote the verse in, is Latin. Now, you write something with your runes."

"I can't."

"Oh, right. Then get Hallsteinn to do it."

Gyda shook her head again. "Priest, that's not how this works."

Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows. "Then how does it?"

Gyda sat on a stool, Aziraphale following her lead. She looked at what he wrote, then grabbed a tiny rune from the table. "We don't write anything with our runes unless it's for something important. And even then, it goes on a large stone."

Aziraphale scrunched up his nose at her. "You should begin writing," he said snippily. How do they function or get things done proficiently?

Gyda huffed a bit. "We just do things orally. It's how we work, just like how the Christians love to write everything down." When Aziraphale didn't answer her, she held out the rune she was holding. "Do you know what this rune means?"

Aziraphale took a closer look at it. He'd seen it a few times in passing but he'd never taken the time to learn about it. "No."

"It's the rune 'Fehu' and means wealth."

"Oh. Why is this important?"

Something dark flitted across Gyda's face. "If you have this rune, it means your wealthy." She stood up and moved back to her loom. "You're really not a god, are you?"

"No."

Gyda pulled her lips into a grim line and nodded. Outside, thunder crashed and Aziraphale jumped only so slightly. "Thor's not happy." It was directed not-so-subtly at him and his heart gave a slight twinge.

Thor doesn't exist, he thought. Though, now that he thought about it, Aziraphale probably shouldn't tell Gyda as she herself could get upset. "I think I'll go back to Crowley now."

Gyda gave him a funny look, almost as if though his head had been replaced with that of a goat. "Who?"

Oh, right. The people thought Crowley was Loki. He sighed heavily. "You know him as Loki."

Before Gyda could reply, Aziraphale left, allowing her to continue her work, and rushed to his house, outrunning the rain. As he walked in through the door, he heard some laughter. "Skål," came the rough voice of Hallsteinn.

"Skål," Crowley replied. He sounded tipsy, but still nowhere near drunk.

Aziraphale walked into the small area that acted as a dining room of sorts. He silently watched Hallsteinn and Crowley drink mead and talk about raids, going unnoticed for ten minutes, before clearing his throat. The two figured turned around to face the angel. Hallsteinn's eyes widened while Crowley's lit up.

"Christian, you're back." Hallsteinn had taken to calling Aziraphale "Christian" thinking it was simultaneously the most appropriate and insulting name he could give. Unlike Gyda's "Priest" or the village's "Lady Sigyn", it was not entirely affectionate.

"How observant of you."

Hallsteinn stood up swiftly, finished his mead, and began to walk away. He bowed slightly before leaving. "My Lord Loki, Christian."

Once the door closed, Crowley attached himself to Aziraphale. The demon snaked his arms around the angel and buried his face in the crook of Aziraphale's neck. "Let's never leave this place," he murmured.

"We have to, at some point," Aziraphale sighed.

Crowley just looked at Aziraphale dryly. It was a look that was all too familiar. It was a look that appeared during the death of Caesar. It was a look that had been present when Aziraphale had decided to go be a healer during the Saxon invasions. It was a look that Crowley learned from Aziraphale after deciding to join the Pharisees. It was a loo that was once dubious but now affectionate.

"Let's just stay for a couple years. Then move on."

"That doesn't sound so bad." And truthfully, it didn't.

"It's settled then." There was a beat of silence. "Oh, did you know that these Norsemen only write something down in runes if it's important."

"I did know that."

Crowley looked at Aziraphale strangely. "Well, did you know that the one here was erected to commemorate the Jarl's wife? She was one of the best weavers he'd ever known."

"Was? What happened?"

Crowley shifted lightly. "She died in childbirth with his son."

Aziraphale sobered quickly. "Oh." Maybe Gyda had a point about runestones being used for important occasions. After all, he was living in another country with a different culture, so he had to be mindful. Maybe the Norsemen could teach him a few things.