Title: Cassandra's Prophecy
Author: Azrael
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to Messrs Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman. The scenes set in Troy are adapted from a unique and very beautifully written book called Goddess of Yesterday by Caroline B. Cooney. And the wonderful illustrations are done by eldanis. Yes, I can't seem to stop repeating that.
Note: My first historical and illustrated fic! :D I definitely owe something to vulgarweed and quantum_witch too, though, because they started the whole illustrated-historical-fic thing, I think. And irisbleufic and linnpuzzle too, of course. Not to mention the absolutely wonderful eldanis who did the illustrations.
Summary: Featuring Greeks and Trojans, a prophecy, sexy Greek statues and a cuckoo clock. Not to mention a pair of protoplasmic, psychic voyeurs. A/C.
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The strong Mediterranean sun glinted off the walls of Troy – and the countless crowns, necklaces and jewels of the people on the balcony of the royal palace. King Priam and Queen Hecuba, surrounded by their fifty sons and twelve daughters, stood there, counting the ships pulling up at the shore. The aged King turned to a woman at his side – a woman who could have rivaled Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty.“Those are curious ships. They have red cheeks as well as eyes painted on either side. Whose are they, Helen?” he asked, sounding like a man examining goods.
Helen of Troy gazed at the ships for a moment. “The ships of Odysseus of Ithaca. A wise and crafty man, said to be favoured by Athena herself,” she answered. Her eyes glittered as she looked at the hundreds of ships lined on the shore. All these men, gathered to fight and die for her…
“Judging by the oars alone, there are five of them for every one of us!” muttered a tall, dark, bear-like warrior. The fair-skinned, golden-haired young man next to him smiled. “Peace, brother Hector. Do we not have the aid of Aphrodite, Apollo and Father Zeus himself? I, Paris, proclaim that Troy shall never be taken, for do we not have the Palladium, holiest of holies, within our walls?”
Unseen to the royal family, two watchers perched atop the palace roof were squabbling. “Do they really think that a lump of meteorite will protect them from an army like that?! Look at what you’ve done, Crowley!” Aziraphale ran a hand through his golden curls agitatedly.
Crowley – or Crolius, as he known these days – grinned and stretched. “At least they’ve got faith, angel. They’ll need it when your side really gets going in a few hundred years. And what are you blaming me for, anyway? It’s not as though I told Paris to make off with the queen of Sparta and half the country’s treasure as well. All I did was incite a bit of Lust so they would spend some quality time together – after all, she wasn’t getting any from Menelaus.” He grinned even wider as the angel blushed. “And this ensuing war, or siege or whatever it turns out to be, is all the humans’ fault. I didn’t have to lift a finger.” Snakelike eyes gleamed as he appraised Helen. “But really, who could blame them for fighting over something like her?”
Aziraphale twisted his white tunic between fidgety fingers. “This isn’t a joke, Crowley. People will die. Queen Helen of Sparta will now be remembered as Helen of Troy, the woman whose face launched a thousand warships. And it’s all your doing, just because you were bored.” He glanced sideways at Crowley. The demon had been wearing the armour of a Greek warrior, but had removed his breastplate, armguards and so on until he now lounged on the roof in only his short leather skirt and sandals. His bare torso gleamed in the sun. The angel swallowed and continued, “And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing to Agamemnon, Briseis and Achilles. There’s only so much distracting I can get Patrocles to do, you know.”
Crowley simply stretched again before materializing a plate of peeled and cut fruits. Aziraphale stared. “Crowley, I don’t think pineapples even grow here.” The demon shrugged. “If you don’t like it, don’t eat it.” He bit into a slice of pineapple. The golden juice trickled down his chin. “Close your mouth, angel, an insect might fly in.”
Aziraphale turned away and looked at the Trojan royal family again. On Priam’s other side stood a tall, beautiful young woman, with dark hair that fell below her waist, contrasting with her snow-white gown. This was Cassandra, daughter of Priam, who had been cursed by Apollo – she could see into the future and into the minds of men, and she always spoke the truth, but no-one ever believed her. As the angel and demon watched, she turned and looked at the rooftop. Her dark eyes held a deep sense of sadness, but she smiled. Right at them.
Crowley choked on a fig, before remembering he didn’t need to breathe. “How in Hades can she see us? No-one is supposed to be able to see us!” Aziraphale laid a hand on his shoulder, staring back into the eyes of the hallowed princess. She began to murmur, and their inhuman hearing picked up her words clearly, as her eyes bore into Crowley’s.
“I can see into men’s’ minds, yet you are no men. You, who have eyes like a snake, are not as evil as the rest of your kind. You have Fallen, but not wholly from grace, for you know what it is to love. One day you will try to save your Adversary, and face your Master. And afterwards, on the day sacred to Helios and Phoebus Apollo, at the ninth cry of the wooden bird, loosen your forked tongue, for you will know by then that Time and the Fates play cruel games.”
Crowley stared at her, gobsmacked, but the god-swept princess had turned her gaze on Aziraphale. The angel tried to look away, but somehow he couldn’t. Sky-blue eyes gazed into deep, dark orbs.
“And you, messenger of the gods, your fears are unfounded. For your kind was meant to love, and be loved. Love is no sin, and neither is the ultimate physical union, if driven by love. The day will come when you must turn against all you believe in to save all you hold dear. And afterwards, when thy Adversary and you are finally safe, when he attempts to speak of his feelings, do not fear your own.”
By now both angel and demon were flushed. Cassandra’s gentle smile became almost pitying. She raised a pale arm, palm outwards, as she looked at both of them. “You will remember what I have said perfectly.”
Hector half-turned. “Cassandra? Are you feeling well?” He glanced at the rooftop, but saw nothing. Cassandra allowed herself to be led away quietly, flashing a last smile at Aziraphale and Crowley.
A moment later they blinked. Aziraphale passed a hand over his eyes. “Dear boy, I feel as though there was something I ought to remember… It’s at the back of my mind, but it’s eluding me somehow.”
Crowley got to his feet, spreading his raven-black wings, gleaming in full armour. He held out a hand. “Come on, angel. I don’t think you want to be here when the battle starts.”
Aziraphale shook his head stubbornly. “No. Perhaps I can heal the wounded.”
Crowley sighed. “Aziraphale, believe me, they’d rather die an honourable death and have their name mentioned by poets than be healed from a poisoned arrow to the crotch. They brought this on themselves. There’s nothing you can do.”
Aziraphale’s gaze swept over the thousands of soldiers now on the beach. How many of them would make it back home? He turned and took Crowley’s hand. White feathers joined black, stretching into the sky, as they began to fly away.
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Sunday (The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives)
Crowley stared into the swirling ruby depths of his wine, before draining the glass in one gulp. He stabbed an emphatic finger in Aziraphale’s general direction. “Asss I wasss sssaying. Dolphinsss. Great big bloody fisssh. Intelligent. They sspeak to one another.”
Aziraphale attempted to shrug, but only ended up wiggling one shoulder. “We should sober up, dear boy. It’s barely nine and you’re already hissing.” With a wince, they both sobered up.
Crowley gazed around. “Adam really did put everything back, then. Except for your books.”
The angel nodded with a fond smile. “He returned some of the more precious ones, like my first-edition rare Bibles and pre-Christian books. He just added a few new ones as well.”
“Pre-Christian?”
“Oh, you know, Babylon, Norway, Egypt, Greece and all that.”
Crowley nodded. “I miss Greece. You know, I modeled for a couple of statues of Eros and Ares. I wonder what happened to them.”
Aziraphale coughed nervously. “I’m quite sure the Ares one is in the Louvre, along with that other one that supposedly shows a slave. And, err –“ he was fidgeting slightly. “I’ve got the Eros one. In a miraculously extended cupboard in the back.”
Crowley blinked. “Oh.” Pause. “I’ve got that bust of Ganymede, the one modeled on you.”
Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to blink. “I thought the Louvre had that one too.” Crowley shook his head, glaring at the empty wine bottle. “They’ve only got a copy.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale was studying the wood of the table intently. His companion sighed.
“Look, Aziraphale, I need to tell you – “Crowley was cut off by the cuckoo clock. It was nine. His golden eyes widened. “The wooden bird,” he said quietly.
“What?”
“The ninth cry of the wooden bird. On the day sacred to Helios and that other guy.”
Aziraphale blanched. “Cassandra,” he whispered. Crowley’s eyes were boring into his own; he found he couldn’t look away from that hypnotic gaze. Since when had Crowley gotten this close? Hadn’t there been a table between them?
Love is no sin…your kind was meant to love, and be loved… When he tries to speak of his feelings, do not fear your own…
There was a warm hand against Aziraphale’s cheek, and an unfathomable look in those serpentine eyes, brimming with desire, pleading and something else besides. Aziraphale couldn’t think; his brain seemed to have gone on vacation.
Six thousand years’ worth of suppressed emotions; Crowley could barely hold them in as he gazed into those celestial blue eyes, in that fair, familiar face framed by golden curls. Even through the dowdy human body he wore like a comfortable old coat, Aziraphale’s innate divinity still shone though. It was like trying to conceal a star within an alabaster jar. Crowley laughed inwardly. Since when had he gotten so poetic?
But he knew the answer, of course. It was the day he’d finally realized that he was in love with Aziraphale. Him, a demon. In love with an angel.
Crowley’s lips had gone dry. He licked them nervously, and watched Aziraphale’s eyes dart to them for a moment.
“Angel, I…” But he did not need to speak. Aziraphale pressed a cool finger against his warm, slightly chapped lips.
“Sssh. I know.” And their lips finally met.
Somewhere in another dimension, a tall, beautiful dark-haired woman in a flowing white gown and an older woman in a simple dress with voluminous petticoats exchanged knowing smiles. “Tooke them longe enoughe.” Agnes muttered, and Cassandra laughed.
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Bust of Ganymede
Statue of Ares Borghese. MAJOR apologies for the sideways angle, I haven't figured out how to re-angle it. *hangs head*
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