Chapter 7: House of Kyiv
Aziraphale didn't have so much time to think about all the possibilities. His eyes were already searching around him, looking for a similar mane to false-Warlock's, or some woman who might look like him, when the boy spoke. He seemed to have a sudden interest in Aziraphale because he almost bumped into him.
-Who is this?- the boy asked. His black eyes shinned in curiosity and his childish face was forming a pout. As if deciding if he liked the person he had in front of him, or not. A high sentiment of nostalgia washed over Aziraphale.
-That is not very polite - he answered with a sad smile, without thinking. False-Warlock frowned.
-Your clothes are weird -he said thoughtfully.- I never had seen those kinds of clothes before -.
False-Crowley smiled at that. He put a hand on False-Warlock elbow.
-That is, son because he is not from here.
That seemed to confuse the young boy
-Where are you from, then?- he directly asked.
-I, um...- Aziraphale sawolled. Ok, he could do that, he decided. He could live among those humans, pretend, the time he found a solution to his situation. He wouldn'0t have imagined answering questions to a boy, but it was a situation as good as any other one. He cleared his throat. - I am Az, from Ukra-from Kyiv - he explained with a firm voice, his back as straight as possible. Just do not let those curious, pleading eyes influence you - he thought. Then, his voice going a tone sweeter: And who do I owe the honor?- he asked. He almost wondered if maybe it was not too much, too sweet, but it didn't seem to bother False-Warlock, who asked:
-Kyiv? The mighty kingdom? -
Aziraphale blinked, but False-Crowley smiled even further -and sharper - at that.
-That's it. It is indeed a powerful land. And full of mysteries too. But there is more - he said and pointing at him in a way that almost gave the angel a heart-attack, as his eyes slightly shined (which, Aziraphale would think later, must have been his imagination -Az is not a regular Rus, but a Prince. Youngest prince of House Kyiv. - he explained, eyes locked on him, and Aziraphale could feel his cheeks blushing furiously.
Warlock seemed marveled by what his father was telling him, and Aziraphale felt unspeakable tore apart between amusement and uncomforted.
-So why are you here? - asked the jarl's son.
- Ah well that... - what was he supposed to answer? The body I am locked in almost murdered one of your princesses and now I am here at your father's will?
Thankfully, Crowley was faster than him.
- Az is here for a state matter. He is an ambassador, while your Uncle Fenrir is at Kyiv's court. He has businesses he has to attend with Behald too - he answered.
Az opened his mouth, not knowing what to say.
- Aaah- he finally said - yes. That is it. What your father said. Political...matters -
False-Warlock had looked dubiously at him. Then:
- Well, whatever, sounds boring -
Crowley smiled at that.
- Young man, sooner or later you are going to need to understand the politics and alliances that connect our territory with others - he said seriously, but Aziraphale could see the smile that lied under those serious words.
His heart jumped in his chest. Admiration grew at the display of love False-Crowley showed for his son. His Crowley had always had a soft spot for kids, and he had loved Warlock as his nanny, no doubt of that. But as long as they had been under Hell and Heaven watch, the demon had always shown a shy affection. He had been a privileged witness of that expression of love.
Crowley's love was always so intense, it radiated from him with a brightness he didn't think the redhead demon was aware of it. It was a good thing he never had had an encounter with any angel apart from Aziraphale because he was sure he would have been in trouble.
They had indeed been in danger lots of time.
Crowley thought Aziraphale could not feel his love, but of course, he could. Just, to protect him, Aziraphale had been so good at pretending he didn't say it. He didn't know. He didn't feel.
It was refreshing.
To see him, even if it was not him, to be so open and caring about another person.
That and the quickness he had found to answer the boy.
Aziraphale was amazed. He could feel a warm feeling filling him from inside his chest, reaching his eyes, making him want to cry.
No, he wouldn't cry. Crying was a good thing. It made people more aware of their feelings, of what they were looking for, and what they needed. But he had already cried enough, and that would not help him for now. Maybe later, he thought. Maybe, when he will find a solution to everything else, then he will allow himself to cry.
Yes, that was it. The moment he will come back, he will search for his Crowley. He will find him, then he will tell how he felt about him. He will kiss him and hug him, and he will never let him go. And then, he will cry.
He will cry until he died if necessary if that meant having Crowley with him again.
But not for now.
He blinked, trying to get back his tears.
False-Warlock pouted at his father's sentence.
- But Daaad - he said finally - it is boring! -
False-Crowley eyes flashed with malice at that.
- Oh yeah! Then if becoming a good Jarl doesn't interest you, young lad, I suppose it is not interesting for you to have any kind of other classes. Forget about sword management young one. -
Warlock's eyes widened.
- What?! But auntie Behald promised to show me how to use the spear! -he exclaimed.
The false-Crowley smile became even wider, golden eyes sparkling.
- Then the princess will lose her most promising student. What a shame - he said.
Warlock pouted.
- Daaaaaad - he protested.
- And there would not be either more drawing classes either. - Crowley said pointing a finger in the air and closing his eyes in a solemn attitude.
- No! - the boy exclaimed.
- Well as you are not interested in booooring stuff ... - he said with a hidden smile.
Az could only smile too. He used that moment the Jarl was completely focused on his boy, to erase the leftovers of his threatening tears. Banned, forever, there were.
He was determined not to think about his problems for now. So instead he looked at the little family he had in front of him.
And it was charming. Even if the spikes of the pain he had felt when he had heard those words "Dad", "Son", it was so good to see Warlock again. He indeed missed the little terror.
He was so expressive, eyes shining with intelligence. Just the same way he remembered, the playing expression in his young features that dance between innocence and mischief.
-I am! - the boy exclaimed. I am! -
This time, False - Crowley showed his smile.
False-Warlock saw it too. Then :
-Daaaaaad! - he protested.
- I had you there, lad -
- That was not fun !- the boy said.
- It was for me- the man answered. I a moment, his golden eyes were again on Aziraphale. His cheek became to heat again. Oh, God, he hoped he hadn't been caught staring, had he?
- And I think our guest found it funny too -
Aziraphale gulped.
Quick, talk! - he thought. He had always been good at talking, he only needed to be plenty present.
-It was. - he nodded. - You were so easy to fool -
Warlock frowned.
- I am not easy to fool - he said.
- Oh no? -
- No. You should not underestimate me, prince -
Aziraphale grinned at that.
-And why is it so? - he asked.
-Because someday I will be the Jarl. And when I will, my territory will be bigger than now. And you'll fret and respect me.-
- Oh I see. But the House of Kyiv is powerful and its territory is much wider than yours. Why should I think you would be a menace?- Bless history books Aziraphale thought-
He wasn't sure if he wasn't assuming too much, but False-Crowley behind him seemed to appreciate what he was saying. He understood it made False-Warlock feel more confident and that was a good thing.
He looked briefly at him. He seemed to be focussed on both of them, even if he was avoiding Aziraphale's gaze.
Why was he avoiding him?
Then Aziraphale noted his flushed cheeks. He immediately looked to False-Warlock again.
He had imagined that redness in the Jarl's face. His heart raced. God, he hated being human. All the sensations were much more intense. How did they do?
Warlock frowned.
- Kyiv is indeed a mighty kingdom - Warlock answered with both admiration and respect in his voice, but there was also a bit of defiance - But my father is the Crow.- he said proudly - he had helped the King to triple his territory in ten years. He is the most powerful warrior in all of Norway. And he just beat the Baltics. Maybe he could beat you too -
- Oh! - said Aziraphale surprised.- He had done so many impressive things? - it was more a question to himself than to False-Warlock. It was indeed impressive. A shiver ran through his body.
He imagined false-Crowley among his enemies, in battle, or counseling the King of Norway. He remembered his naked torso, the strength in his movements, the fierce stare. That stare had become much softer now.
But it had been there. And sometimes it showed again. Aziraphale was his enemy after all.
He was beginning to feel his legs weak, both by the light fear the Jarl inspired and the arousal that was taking over him at the idea of Crowley taking what he wanted. It an undeniably erotic image and the perfect body of the Jarl didn't help.
Damn his imagination. He felt his face on fire.
Damn, damn, damn! He thought. Not the moment. There is a child in front of you stupid principality!
Warlock, thank heavens, didn't seem to have noticed the sudden silence from the prince in front of him. He was still babbling:
- My father has won all the battles. He is protected by the Gods. He never fails, never retreats. He is also a good ruler. He knows how to talk to people. And the best scholars from all Scandinavia want to come here since he succeeded his father. -
There was unmistakable pride in the young man's voice. Aziraphale wondered if he knew what all that implied or was just repeating what he had already heard, moved by his filial love.
False-Crowley rasped his throat. He entered his field of vision again. He seemed a bit uncomfortable but there was a smile on his face.
He put a hand on false-Warlock's elbow.
- You are very flattering, son. But I am not that good. -
- Yes you are! - the boy exclaimed. - I am only telling the truth. You always told me to speak the truth, no matter what. I am proud of you, Father -
False-Crowley's eyes shined with extreme fondness, it made Aziraphale's heart skip a beat.
- Thank you, Warlock. It flatters me. But the House of Kyiv is richer and mightier than Norway. And you must know that. Grunnir is a respected and feared king, and he is unpredictable. He has done terrible things.- he took the boy's elbows and looked him directly in the eyes. For a moment Aziraphale thought he had maybe forgotten his presence, but it was a foolish sensation, as the Jarl said: - Prince Az must forgive my words, but his brother is a dangerous man. He would do what he thinks is necessary to gain power. -
-Don't do all rulers do that? - Warlock asked with genuine wonder-
- Yes and no. You must be a good ruler, Warlock. You must have your people's well at heart. And it prefers you to lose the country than to become a power-thirsty monster.
Azirapahale gulped at that. What kind of person was Grunnir? A monster False-Crowley had said.
His brains were working like never.
Who it is? -he wondered. It must be someone I know.
Until now, I am only surrounded by doubles of the people I know. And it must be someone from Heaven, he understood. Because it was clear to him that the other camp were all Vikings.
And it must be someone high-ranked.
An archangel, he understood. There was some kind of certainty in knowing that, and it was terrifying.
But he knew so many peo...
Oh no!
Suddenly there was an option that erased all the others from his mind.
Please, not him - he internally begged.
- What has he done, father? To be that much-feared - asked Warlock. It was clear, by how he asked that, that the boy had waited for asking a while, and that he was taking the occasion.
-He has overthrown the original family. He has killed people in ways I truly hope you'll never come to know. He is a fanatic. He claims to do everything on his God. Everything but his person pass after religion -
- But praising Gods is a good thing, isn't it? - Warlock seemed a bit confused. - And...we kill our enemies too -
Aziraphale was surprised by the speech of the young man.
He was more surprised by the fact his father wasn't trying to hide a hint of information at all.
- I know, laddie. But it is different. -
- How so? -
- To please the Gods is very important - False-Crowley explained, his face solemn- but it is not everything. There are things more important. Loyalty. Friendship. To have a good chore. To be determined.- he put a hand on his son's heart.
Aziraphale was about to melt. He tried not to show it, but he was having a hard time. He felt his heart could explode at any moment.
- And about the killing...well. Many people will not agree, but I find there is a difference between killing in a battle or making a sacrifice to the Gods -his voice deflated at that, and Aziraphale hoped it was he didn't approve sacrifices. But he was a Viking, he forced himself to remember. Don't assume things that you don't have a clue about, he admonished himself. It was Crowley, but it was another version of him. Maybe bad surprises were waiting for him- from just murdering or torturing people- the redhead explained. And I expect you to make the difference too, Warlock -
He lovingly put a hair strand aside from the boy's front head.
- Is that why he is called the violet-eyed demon? - the boy asked - because of his crimes? -
A cold shiver ran through Aziraphale. Violet eyes.
Then he was right.
He briefly closed his eyes.
Of course, it was him. Was it any universe he could just not have Gabriel on his back?
- Grunnir is no demon. Demons are Christian monsters, there is what the heretics invent to design their enemies. They are not enlightened by Odin's wisdom. But Grunnir is a human - Crowley explained - he is not... he has...good things...I guess. Like any of us. - Aziraphale was in shock to hear that. Oh, Crowley- Not that I know them. But he is not a good man. And people like him...they are extremely dangerous -
Warlock nodded at that.
- If you want to know more, you should ask Lu - false-Crowley said. At that, he looked a bit uncomfortable. Aziraphale wondered why.
Warlock frowned at that.
- I don't like Lu - he said.
- I know, but he was once a Christian. -
- But he is no Rus -
- No. But he knows better of those things. -
The boy seemed to think.
- I prefer not to talk to him - he finally said in a little voice.
False-Crowley nodded. - It is ok -
Then Warlock seemed to remember Aziraphale's presence.
He cleared his throat, suddenly less cocky and sure of himself than before.
— Eh...I must apologize, prince. I have driven by pride — the young man said sternly.
— Oh, please. You can call me Az — Aziraphale heard him saying
Warlock smiled shyly at that.
— Aziraphale then —
— It is ok. What you said was true. Even if — he doubted a second — my brother is...well, so powerful... I will remember the importance of such a promising little Lord - he said, then bowed slightly, to Warlock's surprise.
That had the power to made the boy offer him a radiant smile.
Aziraphale missed him.
He resisted the urge to caress his cheek.
—Well now, Warlock, Az, and I have to talk. Privately. And he has to eat. Have you eaten? — the redhead asked.
Aziraphale wanted to say no, but his belly betrayed him.
—I am famished— he answered honestly, he could not deny it now, so better have a good breakfast.
—You see, Warlock, our guest hasn't eaten yet. Go say hello to your uncles —
Warlock frowned.
—Fenrir is not here — he said. —Nor is Ivy —
—There are Red and Fergus —
—Red left a few minutes ago — the boy says. —Is she upset again? —
False-Crowley sighted.
— It will be all right, lad. She is stubborn, you know her —
—She is often upset. I don't like that. I prefer her when she shows me things about horses, or weapons, or history —the boy complained.
—I know, Warlock. Go with Fergus and please, watch that he eats something, ok? I don't want him to be sick again. —
Warlock smiled, happy with the mission his father had given him.
—Yes dad!— he said, and left for the fulfillment of his mission. Then he came back, running.
He bowed in front of Aziraphale.
—Pleased to meet you, my Liege— he said and then disappeared in an eyeblink.
Azirapahale was stunned.
My liege, the boy had said.
It was a showing of respect he was truly receiving for the first time, ad it was heartwarming.
False-Crowley clapped his hands.
—Well, let's go eat. I can't let you be famished for more time —
Aziraphale nodded, a bit ashamed.
—Well, maybe I exaggerated a bit—
At that, the Jarl laughed.
—You are not fooling me, Az.— he snapped his fingers. Aziraphale shivered at the familiar gesture. But instead of a demonic miracle, there was a bunch of servants that dressed a table next to them.
It was a sample of his enormous power, he understood. But he was not sure if the man was showing off or just wanted to please his guest.
Maybe it was both.
—Please take a sit— he asked. Aziraphale exected himself. — You'll excuse that the food here might be not as refined as the one you are using to. But we have excellent meat. —
—Oh, you don't have to ...— he lost his words before the feast the servants were putting for him.
—Is...is all this...for me? — he asked.
— Mmmm — the Jarl answered. He had sat too, his head slightly posed on his fist, and he was observing him with great interest. Like Crowley used to do. If before he had been flustered, this time Aziraphale's whole face was burning with such intensity he thought he was going to explode. Contrary to the many times Crowley had observed him eating, there were no sunglasses to hide the interest that shined in the golden eyes.
—What...about you?— he asked, his voice hoarse. The question "who is your son's mother?" was in his mouth, but it was not the moment. There were too many questions.
—Not hungry — the man replied. Then he seemed to recall himself. He looked away for a moment. When he looked again, his gaze was less intense, and he was more straight on his seat, but interest was still there.
—I...thank you—
—Please Az, serve yourself— he invited. Aziraphale indulged, his heart hammering, under the stare of the Viking.