Arthur was bored. Incredibly bored. Transcendentally bored. As king, it was his duty to hold court and listen to the concerns of the lords and knights and members of court. As a person, however, it was the single most boring thing Arthur could name. The council chambers were full of people, knights, lords, and advisors. Arthur was slouched in his seat, half-asleep and pretending to listen to what one of the lords was droning on about. It had started out as something about tax rates and had transitioned into why the rich shouldn't be mandated to pay, or something like that.
Merlin, one of the few people who had managed to pay attention to the entire speech, unobtrusively slipped behind Arthur and whispered a quick summary of what he had missed. This had very quickly become Merlin's designated role in court. There were many things Merlin was good at-some that he had no right to be good at-and paying attention while everyone else was bored to tears was near the top of the list. Arthur nodded as Merlin disappeared into the crowd of courtiers and attendants.
Arthur straightened up, approaching the look of something like a king. "Thank you, Lord Aldous." The lord immediately fell silent and bowed before returning to his place in the crowd. Arthur turned to another man. "Any news, Lord Tristan?"
The man indicated, Lord Tristan of Kent, approached the small area of open floor in front of Arthur. He bowed respectfully.
"A report of great importance, sire," he said, straightening again. "A sorcerer was found in the town today by the guard." A gasp echoed through the room. "A man that goes by the name of Teunis of West Lothian."
Arthur straightened entirely, looking like a responsible king instead of a bored twenty-five-year-old man. No one noticed as Merlin's grip on the pitcher of wine he was holding went white. Not that it could have been him. He hadn't been in town; he'd been in court the entire day. But, the odds were very good he would know this person. Merlin spent enough time in town, he'd gotten to know many people in the few years he spent in Camelot. He didn't recognize the name, which was good, but that didn't mean much. It wasn't a druid-style name, which was good. No one could expose him as a warlock. Still, not good if it is a sorcerer. He would still be one of his people. Merlin's people. The people he's sworn to defend. Gods look down on me.
"On what evidence?" Arthur asked, leaning forward.
"A strange collection of stones and herbs in his cottage," Tristan started.
A wave of agreement spread through the Knights and lords assembled. Arthur decided to keep listening before being swayed. Gwen's jewelry box was technically a strange collection of stones. The only reason she had those was rich men wanting to curry favor with Arthur and prove they were rich. And Gwen found them pretty. Gaius's chambers were technically a strange collection of herbs. They definitely weren't there for magic-or at least, Arthur didn't want to know if they were. Tristan went on.
"He was seen pricking a doll in the square while cursing in a strange tongue, indicative of harmful magic."
Merlin had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. All magic, usually, involves speaking a strange language. Not 'cursing' in a 'strange tongue' and certainly not necessarily 'harmful.' The language was even an ancient version of the language of Albion! Not even foreign or barbaric or anything like it. Tristan, apparently, still had more to say.
"His eyes are also the distinct yellow of sorcerers around slitted pupils."
This was apparently the grand finale. The court was in an appropriate amount of uproar. Merlin's grip hadn't loosened. If they know about the eyes... One of the knights, a shorter man with white fluffy hair, widened his eyes. I might know this 'Teunis of West Lothian', he thought. He stepped forward and bowed before Arthur had a chance to say anything.
"Excuse me, if I may, King Arthur?"
Arthur glanced at Merlin who shrugged. "Go on, Sir Aziraphale," Arthur proclaimed.
Aziraphale straightened, his eyes still respectfully aimed at the floor. "Might I speak to this sorcerer? See if I can...can thwart his wicked ways?"
Arthur was silent for a minute. No harm to it, he thought. Merlin's grip relaxed slightly. Someone else was with him, with the 'sorcerer.' At least one other citizen of Camelot was willing to support an accused sorcerer. Arthur nodded, slowly.
"Do one more thing for me."
Aziraphale froze. "Yes, sire?"
"Escort the sorcerer up here." The court stared at Arthur as if he'd lost his mind. He went on. "I wish to give him a proper trial, let him explain his actions."
Aziraphale bowed again. "Of course, sire."
Arthur dismissed him with a wave of his hand. As Aziraphale left, he heard the court start badgering Arthur, bombarding him with questions. All of Arthur's kingly skills deserted him as he tried his best to make himself heard. Aziraphale, meanwhile, managed to make his way to the dungeons without running into a single person, other than a few servants, who ignored him. Aziraphale liked being ignored by people.
After a few pleasantries with the guards, Aziraphale finally found the sorcerer, standing stock still in the center of the cell, chains wrapped around his wrists. He looked very annoyed. And familiar. Aziraphale tried to figure out who the sorcerer looked like. Curly red hair, pale, yellow eyes...
"Crawly?" Aziraphale blurted out, stumbling backwards in shock.
He rolled his eyes. "It's. Crowley," he hissed. His tone became more conversational. "Well, Teunis of West Lothian now."
"Teunis?" Aziraphale asked politely. The two were quickly falling back into their old and familiar banter.
Crowley shrugged. "Liked the name."
Aziraphale nodded like that made sense to him. There's something I need to know. "How did you end up here?"
Crowley didn't answer. He bit his lip and stared absently in Aziraphale's general direction. He was trying to figure out how to answer that question. There wasn't really an easy way to answer. Mostly because, Crowley told himself, Aziraphale didn't ask a good question. He wasn't specific enough.
"Bad luck."
"I meant, in Camelot," Aziraphale elaborated.
"Oh," Crowley said, lamely. "Erm, thought it'd be fun to come up here for a bit. Then, stroke of divinely bad luck, I end up here."
Aziraphale didn't miss the insult. There were any number of other words Crowley could have chosen to describe his luck, and he went with divinely bad. Aziraphale had to decide if that was a jibe at him or Heaven as a whole. He chose to interpret it as Heaven as a whole and residual anger. Therefore, Aziraphale would turn the other cheek and ignore the insult. However, there still had to be more than bad luck involved.
"Anything else to it?" Aziraphale asked.
Crowley shook his head. "No." He paused for a second. "Well, forgot my glasses. Let everyone see my eyes. Don't think that helped."
Aziraphale gave Crowley a very strange look. This explanation was entirely unreasonable, but, at the same time, at least made a little bit of sense. But, honestly? Did Crowley expect him to believe that he forgot his dark glasses-his prized possession-and 'accidentally' ended up imprisoned as a sorcerer? Aziraphale sighed. There's no reason to not believe him.
"I've been told to bring you to the king," Aziraphale said, as if it was a reasonable connection.
Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Let me explain my side of the story?"
"Er, yes, I believe." Aziraphale opened the door to the cell. "Come along."
"Yeah, yeah." Crowley rolled his eyes before miracling the chains off of his wrists. Eh, just a small miracle. No one'll notice. "Coming."
Aziraphale and Crowley started walking up to the council chambers, side by side. The two had slipped into their old banter so easily and, now, the pair had ended up in awkward silence. What were they supposed to talk about? There really weren't any good options. Aziraphale was still an angel, Crowley was still a demon. Neither had done anything particularly interesting. Nothing particularly dramatic had occurred. Therefore, they were in awkward silence.
Aziraphale decided to break the silence. "What were you speaking?" he asked. "I assume you weren't truly speaking in tongues. Not a particularly demonic occurrence."
"Latin, as I recall." Crowley thought for a minute. "Or maybe Aramaic. One of those old religious ones."
"You know those aren't spoken here, yes?" Aziraphale asked. He probably does, but better to make sure.
"Yes, Zira," Crowley answered. He was annoyed and very sarcastic. "I know. I was frustrated."
They lapsed into silence again. What to do? That was all of Aziraphale's questions answered. Crowley seemed to be deep in thought about something. Though what that was...
"You know, if you're found guilty, they'll kill you." To any mortal observer, that was a terribly conversational way to say it. A mortal would respect mortality and say something like death was terrifying. Meanwhile, occult and ethereal beings tolerate 'death' as something annoying. They cannot truly die, except with holy water or hellfire, respectively. As Camelot was unlikely to have either, it would only be an inconvenience.
Crowley certainly agreed. He groaned, loudly. "It'll take ages to get another body!" He looked at Aziraphale who was nodding along. "They're strict about that downstairs."
"More strict upstairs, I'd believe." Aziraphale was finding it hard to believe that Hell would be more strict about interventions on earth than Heaven.
"Eh, you'd be amazed." Crowley knew that, if he failed again, there was a good chance of him being demoted back to Hell. He forcibly distracted himself with something else. "What're you doing here?"
"I told you," Aziraphale said, remembering their last encounter in Albion. "Serving as a Knight of the Round Table to spread peace and love throughout the land."
Crowley quirked an eyebrow. It was a remarkably snake-like expression on a remarkably human-like face. Need something sarcastic to say. Got it. Crowley flicked out his tongue. He had a human body. That didn't mean the body entirely worked like a human. There were still some kinks that needed to be worked out. Like smelling things. That was still dedicated to the tongue.
"Ah," Crowley remarked. "That's why it smells terrible around here."
"Crowley." Aziraphale's tone was scolding, but in the way one scolds a child. "Don't be so rude to the realm."
"I'm going to be rude to the realm that arrested me for no reason, Zira."
"Please, dear."
"Fine, fine. For you, angel." Crowley couldn't resist adding an eyeroll to that statement.
They had arrived just outside the council chambers. Aziraphale had gone back to being a Knight of the Round Table and Crowley...Crowley was Crowley. Or Teunis of West Lothian. Take your pick.
Aziraphale smiled at Crowley before nodding to the door guards. The guards at the door nodded back at Aziraphale before permitting them entrance. The two walked in, Aziraphale's hand on Crowley's elbow, before another pair of guards entered. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's arm and split off to rejoin the Knights. Crowley kept walking forward, awkwardly. His legs were another thing that needed to be worked out. He was fairly sure he'd forgotten a bone somewhere. While he was lost in thought, someone hit the back of his knees and he fell. His arms flew out, which meant his entire body weight fell on his arms.
"Oof," came out unconsciously. He straightened up and wiped his hands off. "That hurt."
"Teunis of West Lothian," Arthur began, in what Merlin had termed his 'royal proclamation voice.' "You stand here accused today of the great and terrible crime of sorcery. How do you plead?"
"Not guilty?" Crowley snapped with the minimum amount of attitude possible. "I haven't done anything."
"Silence." Arthur gestured to Lord Tristan. "Lord Tristan, the evidence."
The lord stepped forward, giving Crowley a wide berth, and bowed to Arthur. Slimy prick, Crowley thought.
"A collection of stones and herbs. A poppet. Words in an unfamiliar tongue. Sorcerer's yellow in his eyes."
"What?" That was louder than it should have been.
"Silence!" another man in the crowd shouted out. Tristan bowed again and melted back into the crowd.
"Thank you, Sir Brandiles." Arthur said with a casual raise of his hand. "Now." He stood and looked directly at Crowley. "Speak, sorcerer. Have you any evidence in your favor?"
This time, Crowley couldn't control his tongue. "Other than, I'm not a sorcerer?"
"Can you prove that?" a knight yelled out. Aziraphale looked at him reproachfully.
Crowley took several slow, deep breaths. His temper had to get back under control. "What evidence do you have that I am?" he asked, slowly and deliberately.
"You were seen performing magic," Arthur said.
"What?" Oh. It had taken Crowley a minute, but he knew what they were talking about. "No, I wasn't performing magic. What I was doing was failing to sew a doll for a child, not any sort of voodoo."
"And the herbs?"
Crowley shrugged. "I like the way they smell."
Crowley straightened his head and looked up. He meant to stare at Arthur, but another man caught his eye. Merlin. The two met eyes. Both sensed something strange in the other. Crowley could tell that there was something more than 'just a valet' in Merlin. Merlin, meanwhile, couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong about Crowley. He wasn't quite human. But Merlin couldn't feel any sort of kinship with him, no innate magic in his body. Merlin gave Crowley a questioning look, silently asking for what he is. Crowley just winked.
"Stones?" Lord Tristan asked, forcing both of them to bring their minds back to the proceedings.
"They're smooth," Crowley explained. "And pretty. It's not a crime to collect gemstones, is it?"
Arthur did agree with that, but had to ask anyway. "Are they being used for a magical purpose?"
"No," Crowley said, and had the gall to sound offended. "They're being used to decorate my house."
"Please, haven't we heard enough?" another lord said. He sounded immensely bored by the proceedings. "He's a sorcerer. His doing something evil is a given."
"No, it isn't," Aziraphale interjected before Arthur could say anything. Crowley may be a demon, but he felt something more for him. Not quite friendship, not yet, but it was coming.
"Sir Aziraphale?" Arthur prompted.
Aziraphale stepped forward and he, unlike Tristan, stood right behind Crowley. He bowed deeply before straightening and putting a gentle hand on Crowley's back, where none of the observers could see.
"I would beg to differ. His explanations have been entirely reasonable. His committing sorcery would be like...like..." He fumbled for an example. "Like Merlin committing sorcery, completely unthinkable!" Hastily suppressed snickers and giggles buried themselves in the knights. What are they laughing about? Aziraphale looked at Merlin. "No offense meant, of course, Merlin."
Merlin smiled and his cheeks and ears went bright red. "None taken, Sir Aziraphale." His grip had relaxed. This man wasn't magic and he was not being suspected. All was well.
"His eyes are the tell-tale yellow of sorcery!" one of the lords cried out.
"My eyes?" Crowley asked. What color are my eyes? They're not red...I think. He mentally smacked himself. They're yellow. He just said. "They're yellow naturally. They've always been yellow, ever since I was born!"
Aziraphale's hand on Crowley stiffened. It wasn't that he was shocked or thought Crowley's lie wouldn't be believed. It was that he had to put together the words 'Crowley' and 'born.' He wasn't born. Neither was Aziraphale. They were just created by the Almighty. The only difference was that Crowley was thrown out of Heaven.
"Do you have a way to prove this?" Lord Tristan asked, confrontationally.
"How do I prove how I was born?" Crowley turned to glare at Tristan. "My Mother is in Heaven, as is my Father."
Nice save, Crowley, Aziraphale thought.
"What are you expecting? A...A..." Crowley tried in vain to come up with a way to prove how he was born. He thought of something. "A capture of a moment in time of my youth? That's impossible. People don't have paintings made of newborns."
"Some do," a lord pointed out, like he was being helpful.
Crowley's glare switched people. "Normal people. Not nobles."
"Thank you, Teunis of West Lothian," Arthur almost shouted. This needed to be over with and over with now. "All evidence appears to point to you being the unfortunate victim of circumstance rather than a sorcerer in your own right. Therefore, I, King Arthur Pendragon, on behalf of Camelot, have no option but to adjudge you not guilty of sorcery and allow you to go wherever you may choose with no crime following you."
Crowley bowed his head with something approaching submission. "Thank you, Your Majesty."
What do you know? Aziraphale thought. Crowley can be respectful to authority. His cheeks pinked. Oh, that was terribly rude of me.
"Arise," Arthur commanded.
Crowley slithered his way to standing and rolled his shoulders. The sarcasm rose up in his throat again. "Now that it's been proven that I am not, in fact, a sorcerer, I shall abjure the realm and leave Camelot by the shortest route possible, never returning without the king's permission."
Arthur stared blankly. The sarcasm was lost on him. "You're not being banished." Merlin snorted and buried his face behind the pitcher before Arthur could yell at him.
"I know," Crowley snarked back. "Just coincidentally leaving Camelot at the same time, You're a good king, Arthur Pendragon. Keep being one." The last sentence sounded like a threat.
The lords and Knights in the room stood with bated breath. This man, who was accused of being a sorcerer not ten minutes ago, had just referred to the king, by name, looking him in the eyes, with no title. There were two appropriate reactions.
"Thank you," Arthur said, pleasantly. That wasn't one of them.
"Well, where will you go now?" Merlin asked, speaking for the first time.
Arthur turned to glare at Merlin over his shoulder. Merlin shrugged. You were going to ask anyway. Arthur couldn't argue with that. He was going to ask anyway. The man had a strange accent.
"Dunno," Crowley answered. "Maybe Ealdor." Merlin's eyes widened. This man may not be a sorcerer, but he still didn't want him anywhere near his home. Crowley kept going, talking more to himself than anyone in the room. "Could leave Albion altogether. Go to Hibernia, bit warmer there. Might go to Gaul, they've got some nice birds." He finally shrugged. "Dunno, leaving Camelot at least."
"Well, go in peace, Teunis of West Lothian. Camelot bears no quarrel with you anymore. And..." Arthur dropped his voice. "I apologize for the misunderstanding personally."
"Nah, it's fine, really." Crowley turned to leave before turning back. He waved to Aziraphale. "Thanks, angel."
Everyone in the room either shared looks or stared at Aziraphale and Crowley with unbridled confusion. The Knights started sharing jokes. They'd dealt with their fair share of relationships. Crowley and Aziraphale were nothing new.
"Not a problem, my dear." He turned towards Arthur. "I'll see him out?"
Arthur, who tended to be bad at detecting subtext, had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. This made the knights stifle their laughter, this time directed towards their king. Merlin bit the corners of his lips so hard he could guarantee there would be blood later on.
"Go, Sir Aziraphale," Arthur eventually said. Crowley and Aziraphale started to leave. "What are you lot laughing at?"
As soon as the two were safely out of the door and out of earshot, they burst out laughing as well. Well, tittering and turning red with breathless laughter. After about a minute, they recovered and started going to leave the citadel.
"Anything you want to tell me before you leave, gallivanting off across the countryside?" Aziraphale asked.
Crowley was silent, deep in thought for a few seconds. "Keep an eye on that boy." His tone was unusually pensive for him. Usually Crowley was gung-ho and full of energy. It was strange to hear him so thoughtful.
Aziraphale, meanwhile, was bemused. "Which one? Arthur? Of course I'm keeping an eye on him. That's why I'm here, spreading peace and love through his court."
Crowley gave Aziraphale the biggest eye roll he could. "What? No! The other one." He decided to describe the man he was talking about. "The small one with the big ears and the scarf."
"It's a neckerchief," Aziraphale corrected automatically. Then, he realized what he corrected. "And why would I keep an eye on Merlin? He's just a manservant.?
"Just a manservant?!" Crowley was bordering on hysterical. Now, Crowley had switched and gone too energetic. "You don't see it?" Something occurred to Crowley and the energy zapped from his voice again. "Is he one of ours, then?" he asked himself more than Aziraphale.
"Don't see what?" Aziraphale pressed.
"There's something different about him," Crowley murmured, thoughtfully. "Something...special." He looked over his shoulder at the slowly shrinking door.
"Special? Merlin?" Aziraphale shook his head. "You must be confused."
Crowley stopped dead in his tracks. Does he honestly not see it? Is this a demon thing or an Aziraphale being oblivious thing? "I'm not confused, Zira. I know what I felt." He sighed. "And what I felt was something special about Merlin. Just...do it for me, Zira. Please?"
Then, Crowley pulled the dirtiest trick he had in his entire demonic arsenal. Pleading, watery puppy dog eyes. He'd gotten good at these a while back, somewhere in Babylon. It always helped, especially when Crowley decided to present as female. And, best of all, Aziraphale was guaranteed to fall for it, every single time. Aziraphale sighed, forced to surrender to Crowley's pleading.
"Yes, all right. For you."
Crowley smiled and the two continued walking. All their questions for the other had been answered. Except...
"What do you think is special about him?" Aziraphale asked.
"I feel...I don't know," Crowley said, finally. He searched in vain for the right words to describe what he felt. It wasn't angelic or demonic or other-worldly. He chose what seemed like a good set of words. "I feel like he'll be important someday, though. Like we're gonna be seeing him again. Almost like he's up to something."
"Up to something?" Aziraphale asked, offended on Merlin's behalf. "Merlin?"
"I don't know," Crowley said, unfortunately forcefully. He was frustrated. And ended up taking it out on Aziraphale. He took a deep breath and continued. "I don't know the power dynamics around here. I was here for ten minutes before I was clapped in irons. But, yeah. Merlin's up to something. We'll be seeing him again. In the future, I can feel it. Keep an eye."
Aziraphale gave a soft smile. "I will. If just for you, dear."
Crowley reciprocated, giving a perfectly honest smile. "Thanks, Zira." The two had reached the main gates. Aziraphale turned to go back and Crowley went to move forward. One final thing. "Your lot can have this king. Think we got Uther."
"Did you?" Aziraphale asked, mostly out of politeness.
Crowley just shrugged. "Dunno. Seems likely, given how the country's going." He went through the gates, throwing a hand up as a sort of wave. "See you 'round."
Aziraphale waved back behind Crowley's back. "See you around, dear."
In case it wasn't obvious, there are two of my headcanons buried in here. One, that Crowley's body is a constant work in progress. Two, that most of the knights know about Merlin's magic and believe that they're the only ones that know. But, yeah, there you go. I noticed there was only one in the category, so definitely let me know if you enjoyed it!