Happy Holidays, Payton (Part 1)!
Title: The Beautiful Ones, Part 1
Recipient: Payton
Author: thekeyholder
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Ancient Egypt AU that takes place during Akhenaten's (Amenhotep IV) reign. Crowley as the pharaoh's advisor becomes highly suspicious of princess Nefertiti and especially her guardian, Aziraphale.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Happy Holidays, Payton! This is my first story in this fandom, so I really hope you'll like it. Many thanks go to irisbleufic for the beta!
Berlin, 19th November 2013
A man in a black coat rushed into the looming façade of the Egyptian Museum, fleeing the frantic snowstorm outside. He cursed through his teeth, straightening his upturned collar and taking off his black leather gloves. Damn the cold; he'd never liked it. He didn’t even clearly understand why he was there. He had a feeling, as if he'd got a telepathic request to be there.
He suspected where he was needed. He soon found himself in a large and strangely (but conveniently) deserted room, its dark green walls enclosing a single showcase in the center. A single visitor stood motionless in front of it. He joined the other man, brushing their shoulders together in familiarity. Together, they admired the most famous piece held in the museum.
The man with the black coat silently read the description under the sculpture:
Bust of Queen Nefertiti (1368? - 1336? B.C.)
This masterpiece was found in 1912 by a German archaeological team. It is one of the best artworks of the Amarna period, made around 1345 by the court sculptor Thutmose. The realistic depiction of the pharaoh’s Great Wife was something very innovative, for pharaohs and their wives were considered gods and goddesses; therefore, in previous periods they were shown in formal positions and without any flaws. Yet here one can notice that the artist applied even some fine wrinkles around Nefertiti’s eyes.
He was about to ask “Is this why you called me, angel?” when his companion spoke.
“Over three thousand years have passed, and she’s still considered one of the most beautiful women in the world,” Aziraphale murmured, raking his fingers idly through his hair, eyes settling on Crowley's sharp profile.
“A little make-up works wonders on anyone, Aziraphale.”
“Oh, come now,” protested the angel. “You were there beside her in the worst moments, and you must admit, my dear, that she didn’t need make-up. She was a wise, strong, and charismatic queen.” He spoke reverently, letting his words trail into silence.
“She really was,” Crowley agreed, an unsettling memory abruptly crossing his mind.
“You’re not still mad at her, are you?” Aziraphale whispered, nudging Crowley with a teasing smile.
“Of course not!” Crowley huffed, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes as he unbuttoned his coat.
“You know, I do miss our time there,” Aziraphale admitted, his shoulder brushing Crowley’s.
“True, the weather was much better,” Crowley sighed wistfully. “People were easier to tempt. It took so much less effort than I'm even willing to expend now.”
That remark earned him a sardonic glance. “Which, you must admit, isn't much. And I thought you’d mention the wine,” sighed Aziraphale, closing his eyes, remembering the divine taste. “That hot, dry climate made it exceptionally sweet.”
Smiling, with his eyes still closed, he didn't notice Crowley edging closer and leaning in to whisper in his ear: “That hot weather made you exceptionally sweet.”
Aziraphale opened his eyes and scowled, but Crowley saw the challenge beyond the frown, and smiled smugly as he led Aziraphale out of the museum, excited to revive certain memories.
He found that he didn’t mind the cold weather anymore.
* * * * *
Thebes, 1366 B.C.
Crowley loved what would one day become known as the New Kingdom; he loved Egypt in general. Why wouldn’t he? The weather was perfect, and rain only fell in certain months. Even more importantly, people were simple and didn’t wish for much: extra money to make ends meet, carnal pleasures, or land. Of course, this didn’t mean that noblemen or pharaohs weren’t easy prey for the demon. They wished for even more wealth, carnal pleasures, and power.
“But pharaohs have all that!” one might say. Yes, but who spurred greed in them? Who inspired their decisions to raise taxes and create more bureaucratic red tape? Who made them pine for maids? Who nurtured their vanity to the point that they believed themselves to be gods? Crowley was there, behind every leader, nudging and prodding when it suited him. He liked assuming different characters, but he always had lots and lots of money. It was necessary in this job.
One day, however, he got strange instructions from Down Below. He was ordered to become good friends with the second son of the current pharaoh (Amenhotep III). Not the crown prince, but the second-born. It was odd, as he hadn't known the pharaoh had another son as well. For the first time in many years, he assumed the body of a child since this boy (he was called Amenhotep like his father) was around six or seven years old.
Crowley pretended to be the son of a wealthy nobleman and received the same education from the priests as little Amenhotep. He listened to rumours and found out that the pharaoh and his family shunned the boy because of his unusual physical appearance. Amenhotep was skinny and had long limbs and eyes too big for his elongated face. The other boys and his family ignored him, so he welcomed Crowley’s friendship with open arms.
The demon went to school during the day and got drunk at night. He found his double life very funny. His Boss wouldn’t comment anything as long as he followed orders, and the truth was that it wasn’t very difficult to become Amenhotep’s best friend. He did not expect it, though, that he’d grow to like the boy: Amenhotep seemed to live in his own world with interesting ideas crossing his mind, readily sharing them with his friend.
When the time came, Crowley showed him how grown men had fun. He also encouraged Amenhotep’s disdain for his father and what he represented. He planted ideas and waited for them to bloom in the young man’s head. Then, around 1353, Amenhotep’s brother, the crown prince, died, and Crowley wondered if Hell had known all along that this would happen. He grudgingly admired his superiors' foresight; planting one of their agents so early beside the future pharaoh had, perhaps, provided many benefits to Hell.
Crowley noticed that people started treating Amenhotep differently, and he saw that the future king was repulsed by this falsehood. This was going to be fun for him to watch. One day, the pharaoh brought up the subject of marriage, and that worried the prince and Crowley in equal measure. The pharaoh sent out letters to the kings of neighbouring countries. After months of conversing, he chose a bride and sent treasures to the other kingdom in exchange for the girl. She was expected to arrive in three months.
A month later, Amenhotep III died (after almost forty years on the throne). His son, Amenhotep IV, succeeded him, and no one was shocked when he appointed Crowley as his advisor. The young man was just getting used to his new duties when a herald arrived at court and announced that the foreign princess would arrive the next day.
* * * * *
Somewhere in the Levant, November 1351 B.C.
Aziraphale quite liked how the world was getting on.
The smell of papyrus scrolls made him giddy, and he loved working as a scribe. Besides, being an angel, doing good was so easy in those years. People appreciated even a few kind words or a reassuring smile. He was working in the king’s library, transcribing stories when an unexpected message, written in an iridescent ink, appeared on the scroll:
Whatever the king asks of you tomorrow, accept it.
The message disappeared in that instant. He found the order curious, naturally, but he knew that it was coming from Above and that he had to obey it. He did hope, though, that it would not be something unpleasant or something that would keep him away from the library for too long.
Oh, how wrong he was…
* * * * *
He wasn’t surprised when the king asked to see him the next day. He stepped into the ruler’s private chamber and bowed politely.
“Aziraphale, my good friend!” the king exclaimed. “How are you today?”
“Very well, Your Majesty. I hope you are in good health as well?”
“Of course. Aziraphale, I think you heard that I have been negotiating with the pharaoh of Egypt. He wants to find a suitable match for the crown prince, and we have finally agreed on the matter. My daughter is to marry prince Amenhotep and become the wife of the next pharaoh,” the king said with a satisfied smile.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” the angel replied, not quite sure where he came in.
“Now, I know you are a solitary man and that you treasure scrolls and writing above anything else, but I believe you are the only one who can do this. My daughter is going to a far-away land, and I cannot accompany her. She will need an honest and wise man to be there for her, to guide her and advise her in the difficult moments on her journey.”
“Your Highness…” Aziraphale started, but was interrupted.
“Please. I have known you for years; you are the most loyal and trustworthy person in the kingdom. Besides, my daughter likes you. She says you were her best teacher, and I am sure she will feel safer with you around. Will you be her guardian?”
Aziraphale sighed; by choice, he wouldn’t have accepted this mission, but he couldn’t ignore the orders. He looked up slowly and nodded in acceptance, although his mind rebelled against it.
* * * * *
One Week Later
Aziraphale found himself under the blazing sun, riding beside the princess at the front of the caravan and praying that the trek would spare them of any perils. He loathed that he had to leave his comfortable position at court, although it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was dissatisfied with the whole situation.
Princess Nefertiti looked ahead with her lips pursed tightly, anger burning in her dark eyes.
Later, when they stopped for the night, Aziraphale also noticed tears which were trapped in those eyes, tears which were never allowed to be seen shining on the princess’s cheeks. He felt sorry for Nefertiti: she was so young, only sixteen years old, and she was being sent off to a foreign country to marry a prince who she had never met before.
The angel sat down beside the girl, who watched the fire dancing, and offered her a bowl of dates.
“Your Highness, I know you’re facing the biggest challenge in your life so far, but I assure you that you won’t be forced into anything. If you find the prince disagreeable, you don’t have to marry him,” Aziraphale murmured, so that no one else heard their discussion.
“My lord, I wish things were that easy. I know your words were meant to soothe me, but I am afraid I cannot even entertain that thought. Were I to refuse the marriage, war could break out between Egypt and my father’s kingdom. I cannot allow that.”
Aziraphale’s stomach clenched; he didn’t expect the princess to be so insightful. He tried to cheer her up: “Nevertheless, I’ll be there beside you, Your Highness. Don't worry.”
“Thank you. Please, call me Tadukhipa. I feel odd with you addressing me as ‘Your Highness’.”
“Very well. Then I insist you call me Aziraphale from now on.”
They were on the way to becoming very good friends.
* * * * *
Thebes, January 1352 B.C.
Amenhotep and Crowley waited in front of the palace, the whole staff and circle of nobility joining them. The caravan was already visible on the horizon; the young pharaoh’s anxiety rose with every step they drew closer. Amenhotep was fidgeting, wiping his forehead every five seconds, and humming an annoying song.
“Stop it. You're making me nervous,” Crowley hissed.
“I can’t! What if she's ugly? I’ll be the one tied to her for the rest of my life, not you!”
“I don’t think the king would offend you that way. Just wait and see. Rumours say she's pretty.” Crowley had made that up on the spot. He hoped it would be true; otherwise, he would have to listen to Amenhotep’s complaints for decades.
“If I don’t like her, you should marry her,” Amenhotep offered slyly. “After all, marrying the pharaoh’s Chief Advisor is a great honour - the king wouldn’t object to that.”
Crowley just glared at him menacingly.
Not much later the caravan arrived. The guards at the front stepped aside to let the princess and her guardian come forth. Amenhotep and Crowley both watched curiously as the princess lifted the shawl covering her head. Their eyes widened as they took in her beauty.
“Nefertiti,” Amenhotep whispered, amazed. “The beautiful one has come.”
While the young pharaoh continued to stare at his betrothed, Crowley’s eyes wandered to the princess's guardian. At first, he didn’t notice anything odd, not until their gazes met. Only the man’s eyes were visible beneath his linen head-covering. And yet, Crowley recognised that pair of blue eyes - strange as it was among all of those dark ones. He would have recognised those eyes anyywhere, because there was only one man with such celestial eyes.
Shock and anger rose in him: Aziraphale.
What the hell was he doing there?
* * * * *
Tadukhipa heard the muffled sigh, even though Aziraphale tried to cover it with a cough. She followed her guardian’s eyes and frowned when she realised that he was staring at the man standing beside the pharaoh. He didn’t look familiar to her.
“Do you know that man?” she whispered.
Aziraphale got off his camel and went to Tadukhipa’s side to help her off her camel.
“Now is not the time to discuss this,” was his only answer.
They'd only made two steps when Tadukhipa remarked: “I don’t see the pharaoh, the old one. Is he…?”
The angel frowned. Well, this turn of events changed things.
“Indeed, it looks like your betrothed is a pharaoh now. What are your first impressions?” he whispered.
“I…I don’t know. He has an unusual appearance, but that doesn’t mean anything. His look is sharp, though, so I hope he is not a dumb one.”
Aziraphale hid his smile.
The official greetings were said and Aziraphale’s face darkened when he heard that Crowley was the Chief Advisor of Amenhotep. Tadukhipa confidently presented the gifts her father had sent, and the angel admired her for her grace. It seemed that the pharaoh was enchanted by her. The guests were shown to their rooms and told that princess was expected to dine with her future husband that evening.
Aziraphale couldn’t wait to wash away the dust of the road. He could, of course, keep himself cool even in the unbearable hotness of the desert, but nothing beat the feeling of water on his skin. As the princess’s guardian, he got a washing room beside his large bedroom, along with a slave who would fulfil all his needs. Aziraphale closed his eyes as the slave poured water on him and then rubbed sweet-scented oils in his skin.
He relaxed and directed his thoughts towards his ward. He hoped that Tadukhipa would have a nice time with Amenhotep that evening. Since their marriage had been arranged, the angel could do a bit of... tweaking to ameliorate it. Still, they needed to be at least a tiny bit compatible.
Despite Aziraphale’s ardent wish to clear his head with bathing, his biggest worry was still eating at him. He couldn’t stop asking himself what Crowley’s plans might be. He had to be careful; that snake surely didn’t have good intentions.
* * * * *
The Next Day
After having breakfast and making sure that the princess - Nefertiti, as the court had begun to call her out of deference to their king, and which name she was in no position to reject - had a fine evening, Aziraphale, not surprisingly, sought out the library. He was pleased, extremely so, by the scroll collection. In that moment he didn’t mind moving back to Egypt at all. Noticing a separate shelf, reserved probably for the more special items, he moved there and studied it with wide eyes.
Suddenly, someone grabbed his tunic and slammed him up against the wall.
“Why are you here, angel?” a low voice hissed.
Aziraphale's head lolled to the left. “Looking for reading material, of course.”
“Don’t be such a smart-arse. I mean, what are you planning to do with the princess?” Crowley leaned in closer, the breath of his words touching Aziraphale’s cheek. “Don’t lie to me.”
The angel turned his head and stared at Crowley for a moment, utterly puzzled by the demon’s eyes. Normally, they were yellow, but that colour would be too conspicuous. He sported a pair of arresting, light golden-brown eyes that matched his caramel skin tone and black hair wonderfully. Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s lips for a moment, then back in his eyes. “I’m not planning anything. I think you’re the one who's scheming here, you old serpent.”
Crowley’s hold on Aziraphale’s tunic tightened and he pushed the angel against the wall again. “Really? That’s interesting, since Amenhotep has just told me that he’s going to marry Nefertiti next week!”
“Such wonderful news!” Aziraphale smiled. “I haven’t been to a party in years!”
Crowley narrowed his eyes as he shoved his enemy once more for good measure.
“I’m keeping my eyes on you, angel.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, dear boy.”
* * * * *
A Week Later
Aziraphale was not the slightest bit intimidated by Crowley.
He felt the demon’s eyes on him wherever he went, but there was nothing that the snake could possibly discover. In fact, not even Aziraphale himself knew what he was doing there as he hadn’t received any new indications ever since the message a few months before. Maybe he was simply sent to Egypt to neutralise Crowley’s presence. But now, they had a wedding ceremony to worry about, and he had to put these thoughts aside.
The day before, he had assisted in Nefertiti’s preparations, and he felt very sorry for the poor girl when the maids told her that her head had to be shaved (as it was the custom amongst wealthy Egyptian women). Seeing the princess’s tears, they tried to console her with the fact that she’d be wearing a heavy wig, an accoutrement which would make her desirable in Amenhotep’s eyes. Nefertiti didn’t see the logic in it, as her hair was thick and voluminous.
The angel didn’t either, but they had to defer to Egyptian laws and customs now - right down to the new name the girl had been given, for names were power.
As about Aziraphale, he had no intention of cutting his hair. Why would he? Crowley wasn’t shaved, either, and he had a more important function than Aziraphale did. Anyway, Aziraphale had the power to make people see him any way he wished. However, he didn’t refuse the slave who came to paint his face, as this action was considered to have a spiritual aspect. Aziraphale chose the purple eye-shadow and then let the boy paint his eyelids and outline his eyes with kohl. His cheeks and lips were then accentuated with a bit of red paint.
In the end, he was handed a copper mirror and Aziraphale found it difficult to believe that it was his face in the reflection, but he was quite satisfied with the result. His eyes were prominent, and he was amazed that, with the help of the lead-based pigment, they had acquired an almond shape. The slave put perfume on his skin, and Aziraphale went to Tadukhipa's - Nefertiti’s - room.
“Are you ready, my lady?”
Nefertiti turned around, and Aziraphale gaped at her, not really expecting the change. She was exquisite in her flowing ivory dress, which contrasted in a lovely way with her caramel-coloured skin. The rich golden jewellery accentuated her swanlike neck, and she wore the heavy wig the maids had shown her the day before. She had a similar make-up to Aziraphale’s, only her eye shadow was dark blue, and her lips much redder.
“How do I look?” the princess asked tentatively, unused to wearing make-up.
“My dear, I see a beautiful, fierce woman who is determined to conquer everyone’s heart tonight,” Aziraphale said with a smile.
Nefertiti blushed and linked her arm with Aziraphale’s, the two going to the temple where the ceremony would be held. It was a simple binding ceremony; the celebration after it being much more important. The princess was now by Amenhotep’s side, and Aziraphale watched them from afar as they received gifts from the guests.
He had to admit that they looked good together. The pharaoh had make-up on, of course, but he was also wearing a false beard made of human hair to differentiate him from common people. His torso was bare, only having a white kilt, but he had a headdress with a cobra to show his royal descent and a beautiful golden collar adorned with polished pieces of malachite and lapis lazuli.
Dancer and musician girls came into the Great Hall and started playing a light melody on their harps and flutes. Food was served soon as well, and Aziraphale marvelled at the amount of tasty dishes placed on the tables.
Despite his supernatural powers, Aziraphale didn’t notice the hungry, lingering stare of golden eyes on him.
* * * * *
Crowley was frustrated. He was also upset, energized, frantic, shocked, ecstatic, and overwhelmed - but, most importantly, frustrated. He was also confused by the cavalcade of feelings whirling in him, and he blamed the angel for it. Everything started in the moment when he set his eyes on Aziraphale in full Egyptian make-up at the bonding ceremony. As if the angel’s eyes needed any more emphasis! Crowley hated lusting after anyone. He wasn’t supposed to have any weaknesses.
The demon watched Aziraphale at the celebration: he seemed to have lots of fun, which, for a strange reason, infuriated Crowley even more. He wanted to see Aziraphale standing miserable in a corner, and yet he was chatting animatedly with the other guest, drinking lots of wine and clapping to the loud music. Then he was invited to the royal couple’s table, and when Aziraphale made Amenhotep laugh, Crowley knew the angel had just gained significant favour.
Moreover, the angel amazed everyone with stories about the construction of the Great Pyramids and stories of far away lands and people. He claimed he had read about all those things, but Crowley knew he actually witnessed them, because he had been there, too. But Aziraphale had always been a better storyteller. The demon couldn’t let Aziraphale get into Amenhotep’s good books. But he’d get to that later.
He was too busy guzzling wine and glowering miserably in a corner.
* * * * *
Aziraphale hadn’t lied when he told Crowley that he hadn’t been to a party for years. That was probably the reason why he had consumed excessive wine and was now walking in an instable manner in what appeared to be a garden. Shame he couldn’t see anything in the darkness. His had was foggy, and he couldn’t will himself to sober up, so his legs got tangled up and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was going to fall face-first and break something.
However, in that same obscure part of his mind, he also sensed strong arms catching him and a low voice chiding him: “Bloody angel, don’t you know Egyptian wines are strong? Told you already a few centuries ago that if you can’t hold your liquor, then you shouldn’t drink at all.” It seemed to him that someone carried him to his room and placed him gently on the bed.
But that someone had also erased the memory before he exited Aziraphale’s chamber, murmuring to himself about stupid angels who couldn’t even take care of themselves.
* * * * *
On to Part 2
Recipient: Payton
Author: thekeyholder
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley
Summary: Ancient Egypt AU that takes place during Akhenaten's (Amenhotep IV) reign. Crowley as the pharaoh's advisor becomes highly suspicious of princess Nefertiti and especially her guardian, Aziraphale.
Warnings: None.
Notes: Happy Holidays, Payton! This is my first story in this fandom, so I really hope you'll like it. Many thanks go to irisbleufic for the beta!
Berlin, 19th November 2013
A man in a black coat rushed into the looming façade of the Egyptian Museum, fleeing the frantic snowstorm outside. He cursed through his teeth, straightening his upturned collar and taking off his black leather gloves. Damn the cold; he'd never liked it. He didn’t even clearly understand why he was there. He had a feeling, as if he'd got a telepathic request to be there.
He suspected where he was needed. He soon found himself in a large and strangely (but conveniently) deserted room, its dark green walls enclosing a single showcase in the center. A single visitor stood motionless in front of it. He joined the other man, brushing their shoulders together in familiarity. Together, they admired the most famous piece held in the museum.
The man with the black coat silently read the description under the sculpture:
Bust of Queen Nefertiti (1368? - 1336? B.C.)
This masterpiece was found in 1912 by a German archaeological team. It is one of the best artworks of the Amarna period, made around 1345 by the court sculptor Thutmose. The realistic depiction of the pharaoh’s Great Wife was something very innovative, for pharaohs and their wives were considered gods and goddesses; therefore, in previous periods they were shown in formal positions and without any flaws. Yet here one can notice that the artist applied even some fine wrinkles around Nefertiti’s eyes.
He was about to ask “Is this why you called me, angel?” when his companion spoke.
“Over three thousand years have passed, and she’s still considered one of the most beautiful women in the world,” Aziraphale murmured, raking his fingers idly through his hair, eyes settling on Crowley's sharp profile.
“A little make-up works wonders on anyone, Aziraphale.”
“Oh, come now,” protested the angel. “You were there beside her in the worst moments, and you must admit, my dear, that she didn’t need make-up. She was a wise, strong, and charismatic queen.” He spoke reverently, letting his words trail into silence.
“She really was,” Crowley agreed, an unsettling memory abruptly crossing his mind.
“You’re not still mad at her, are you?” Aziraphale whispered, nudging Crowley with a teasing smile.
“Of course not!” Crowley huffed, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes as he unbuttoned his coat.
“You know, I do miss our time there,” Aziraphale admitted, his shoulder brushing Crowley’s.
“True, the weather was much better,” Crowley sighed wistfully. “People were easier to tempt. It took so much less effort than I'm even willing to expend now.”
That remark earned him a sardonic glance. “Which, you must admit, isn't much. And I thought you’d mention the wine,” sighed Aziraphale, closing his eyes, remembering the divine taste. “That hot, dry climate made it exceptionally sweet.”
Smiling, with his eyes still closed, he didn't notice Crowley edging closer and leaning in to whisper in his ear: “That hot weather made you exceptionally sweet.”
Aziraphale opened his eyes and scowled, but Crowley saw the challenge beyond the frown, and smiled smugly as he led Aziraphale out of the museum, excited to revive certain memories.
He found that he didn’t mind the cold weather anymore.
* * * * *
Thebes, 1366 B.C.
Crowley loved what would one day become known as the New Kingdom; he loved Egypt in general. Why wouldn’t he? The weather was perfect, and rain only fell in certain months. Even more importantly, people were simple and didn’t wish for much: extra money to make ends meet, carnal pleasures, or land. Of course, this didn’t mean that noblemen or pharaohs weren’t easy prey for the demon. They wished for even more wealth, carnal pleasures, and power.
“But pharaohs have all that!” one might say. Yes, but who spurred greed in them? Who inspired their decisions to raise taxes and create more bureaucratic red tape? Who made them pine for maids? Who nurtured their vanity to the point that they believed themselves to be gods? Crowley was there, behind every leader, nudging and prodding when it suited him. He liked assuming different characters, but he always had lots and lots of money. It was necessary in this job.
One day, however, he got strange instructions from Down Below. He was ordered to become good friends with the second son of the current pharaoh (Amenhotep III). Not the crown prince, but the second-born. It was odd, as he hadn't known the pharaoh had another son as well. For the first time in many years, he assumed the body of a child since this boy (he was called Amenhotep like his father) was around six or seven years old.
Crowley pretended to be the son of a wealthy nobleman and received the same education from the priests as little Amenhotep. He listened to rumours and found out that the pharaoh and his family shunned the boy because of his unusual physical appearance. Amenhotep was skinny and had long limbs and eyes too big for his elongated face. The other boys and his family ignored him, so he welcomed Crowley’s friendship with open arms.
The demon went to school during the day and got drunk at night. He found his double life very funny. His Boss wouldn’t comment anything as long as he followed orders, and the truth was that it wasn’t very difficult to become Amenhotep’s best friend. He did not expect it, though, that he’d grow to like the boy: Amenhotep seemed to live in his own world with interesting ideas crossing his mind, readily sharing them with his friend.
When the time came, Crowley showed him how grown men had fun. He also encouraged Amenhotep’s disdain for his father and what he represented. He planted ideas and waited for them to bloom in the young man’s head. Then, around 1353, Amenhotep’s brother, the crown prince, died, and Crowley wondered if Hell had known all along that this would happen. He grudgingly admired his superiors' foresight; planting one of their agents so early beside the future pharaoh had, perhaps, provided many benefits to Hell.
Crowley noticed that people started treating Amenhotep differently, and he saw that the future king was repulsed by this falsehood. This was going to be fun for him to watch. One day, the pharaoh brought up the subject of marriage, and that worried the prince and Crowley in equal measure. The pharaoh sent out letters to the kings of neighbouring countries. After months of conversing, he chose a bride and sent treasures to the other kingdom in exchange for the girl. She was expected to arrive in three months.
A month later, Amenhotep III died (after almost forty years on the throne). His son, Amenhotep IV, succeeded him, and no one was shocked when he appointed Crowley as his advisor. The young man was just getting used to his new duties when a herald arrived at court and announced that the foreign princess would arrive the next day.
* * * * *
Somewhere in the Levant, November 1351 B.C.
Aziraphale quite liked how the world was getting on.
The smell of papyrus scrolls made him giddy, and he loved working as a scribe. Besides, being an angel, doing good was so easy in those years. People appreciated even a few kind words or a reassuring smile. He was working in the king’s library, transcribing stories when an unexpected message, written in an iridescent ink, appeared on the scroll:
Whatever the king asks of you tomorrow, accept it.
The message disappeared in that instant. He found the order curious, naturally, but he knew that it was coming from Above and that he had to obey it. He did hope, though, that it would not be something unpleasant or something that would keep him away from the library for too long.
Oh, how wrong he was…
* * * * *
He wasn’t surprised when the king asked to see him the next day. He stepped into the ruler’s private chamber and bowed politely.
“Aziraphale, my good friend!” the king exclaimed. “How are you today?”
“Very well, Your Majesty. I hope you are in good health as well?”
“Of course. Aziraphale, I think you heard that I have been negotiating with the pharaoh of Egypt. He wants to find a suitable match for the crown prince, and we have finally agreed on the matter. My daughter is to marry prince Amenhotep and become the wife of the next pharaoh,” the king said with a satisfied smile.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” the angel replied, not quite sure where he came in.
“Now, I know you are a solitary man and that you treasure scrolls and writing above anything else, but I believe you are the only one who can do this. My daughter is going to a far-away land, and I cannot accompany her. She will need an honest and wise man to be there for her, to guide her and advise her in the difficult moments on her journey.”
“Your Highness…” Aziraphale started, but was interrupted.
“Please. I have known you for years; you are the most loyal and trustworthy person in the kingdom. Besides, my daughter likes you. She says you were her best teacher, and I am sure she will feel safer with you around. Will you be her guardian?”
Aziraphale sighed; by choice, he wouldn’t have accepted this mission, but he couldn’t ignore the orders. He looked up slowly and nodded in acceptance, although his mind rebelled against it.
* * * * *
One Week Later
Aziraphale found himself under the blazing sun, riding beside the princess at the front of the caravan and praying that the trek would spare them of any perils. He loathed that he had to leave his comfortable position at court, although it seemed that he wasn’t the only one who was dissatisfied with the whole situation.
Princess Nefertiti looked ahead with her lips pursed tightly, anger burning in her dark eyes.
Later, when they stopped for the night, Aziraphale also noticed tears which were trapped in those eyes, tears which were never allowed to be seen shining on the princess’s cheeks. He felt sorry for Nefertiti: she was so young, only sixteen years old, and she was being sent off to a foreign country to marry a prince who she had never met before.
The angel sat down beside the girl, who watched the fire dancing, and offered her a bowl of dates.
“Your Highness, I know you’re facing the biggest challenge in your life so far, but I assure you that you won’t be forced into anything. If you find the prince disagreeable, you don’t have to marry him,” Aziraphale murmured, so that no one else heard their discussion.
“My lord, I wish things were that easy. I know your words were meant to soothe me, but I am afraid I cannot even entertain that thought. Were I to refuse the marriage, war could break out between Egypt and my father’s kingdom. I cannot allow that.”
Aziraphale’s stomach clenched; he didn’t expect the princess to be so insightful. He tried to cheer her up: “Nevertheless, I’ll be there beside you, Your Highness. Don't worry.”
“Thank you. Please, call me Tadukhipa. I feel odd with you addressing me as ‘Your Highness’.”
“Very well. Then I insist you call me Aziraphale from now on.”
They were on the way to becoming very good friends.
* * * * *
Thebes, January 1352 B.C.
Amenhotep and Crowley waited in front of the palace, the whole staff and circle of nobility joining them. The caravan was already visible on the horizon; the young pharaoh’s anxiety rose with every step they drew closer. Amenhotep was fidgeting, wiping his forehead every five seconds, and humming an annoying song.
“Stop it. You're making me nervous,” Crowley hissed.
“I can’t! What if she's ugly? I’ll be the one tied to her for the rest of my life, not you!”
“I don’t think the king would offend you that way. Just wait and see. Rumours say she's pretty.” Crowley had made that up on the spot. He hoped it would be true; otherwise, he would have to listen to Amenhotep’s complaints for decades.
“If I don’t like her, you should marry her,” Amenhotep offered slyly. “After all, marrying the pharaoh’s Chief Advisor is a great honour - the king wouldn’t object to that.”
Crowley just glared at him menacingly.
Not much later the caravan arrived. The guards at the front stepped aside to let the princess and her guardian come forth. Amenhotep and Crowley both watched curiously as the princess lifted the shawl covering her head. Their eyes widened as they took in her beauty.
“Nefertiti,” Amenhotep whispered, amazed. “The beautiful one has come.”
While the young pharaoh continued to stare at his betrothed, Crowley’s eyes wandered to the princess's guardian. At first, he didn’t notice anything odd, not until their gazes met. Only the man’s eyes were visible beneath his linen head-covering. And yet, Crowley recognised that pair of blue eyes - strange as it was among all of those dark ones. He would have recognised those eyes anyywhere, because there was only one man with such celestial eyes.
Shock and anger rose in him: Aziraphale.
What the hell was he doing there?
* * * * *
Tadukhipa heard the muffled sigh, even though Aziraphale tried to cover it with a cough. She followed her guardian’s eyes and frowned when she realised that he was staring at the man standing beside the pharaoh. He didn’t look familiar to her.
“Do you know that man?” she whispered.
Aziraphale got off his camel and went to Tadukhipa’s side to help her off her camel.
“Now is not the time to discuss this,” was his only answer.
They'd only made two steps when Tadukhipa remarked: “I don’t see the pharaoh, the old one. Is he…?”
The angel frowned. Well, this turn of events changed things.
“Indeed, it looks like your betrothed is a pharaoh now. What are your first impressions?” he whispered.
“I…I don’t know. He has an unusual appearance, but that doesn’t mean anything. His look is sharp, though, so I hope he is not a dumb one.”
Aziraphale hid his smile.
The official greetings were said and Aziraphale’s face darkened when he heard that Crowley was the Chief Advisor of Amenhotep. Tadukhipa confidently presented the gifts her father had sent, and the angel admired her for her grace. It seemed that the pharaoh was enchanted by her. The guests were shown to their rooms and told that princess was expected to dine with her future husband that evening.
Aziraphale couldn’t wait to wash away the dust of the road. He could, of course, keep himself cool even in the unbearable hotness of the desert, but nothing beat the feeling of water on his skin. As the princess’s guardian, he got a washing room beside his large bedroom, along with a slave who would fulfil all his needs. Aziraphale closed his eyes as the slave poured water on him and then rubbed sweet-scented oils in his skin.
He relaxed and directed his thoughts towards his ward. He hoped that Tadukhipa would have a nice time with Amenhotep that evening. Since their marriage had been arranged, the angel could do a bit of... tweaking to ameliorate it. Still, they needed to be at least a tiny bit compatible.
Despite Aziraphale’s ardent wish to clear his head with bathing, his biggest worry was still eating at him. He couldn’t stop asking himself what Crowley’s plans might be. He had to be careful; that snake surely didn’t have good intentions.
* * * * *
The Next Day
After having breakfast and making sure that the princess - Nefertiti, as the court had begun to call her out of deference to their king, and which name she was in no position to reject - had a fine evening, Aziraphale, not surprisingly, sought out the library. He was pleased, extremely so, by the scroll collection. In that moment he didn’t mind moving back to Egypt at all. Noticing a separate shelf, reserved probably for the more special items, he moved there and studied it with wide eyes.
Suddenly, someone grabbed his tunic and slammed him up against the wall.
“Why are you here, angel?” a low voice hissed.
Aziraphale's head lolled to the left. “Looking for reading material, of course.”
“Don’t be such a smart-arse. I mean, what are you planning to do with the princess?” Crowley leaned in closer, the breath of his words touching Aziraphale’s cheek. “Don’t lie to me.”
The angel turned his head and stared at Crowley for a moment, utterly puzzled by the demon’s eyes. Normally, they were yellow, but that colour would be too conspicuous. He sported a pair of arresting, light golden-brown eyes that matched his caramel skin tone and black hair wonderfully. Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s lips for a moment, then back in his eyes. “I’m not planning anything. I think you’re the one who's scheming here, you old serpent.”
Crowley’s hold on Aziraphale’s tunic tightened and he pushed the angel against the wall again. “Really? That’s interesting, since Amenhotep has just told me that he’s going to marry Nefertiti next week!”
“Such wonderful news!” Aziraphale smiled. “I haven’t been to a party in years!”
Crowley narrowed his eyes as he shoved his enemy once more for good measure.
“I’m keeping my eyes on you, angel.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, dear boy.”
* * * * *
A Week Later
Aziraphale was not the slightest bit intimidated by Crowley.
He felt the demon’s eyes on him wherever he went, but there was nothing that the snake could possibly discover. In fact, not even Aziraphale himself knew what he was doing there as he hadn’t received any new indications ever since the message a few months before. Maybe he was simply sent to Egypt to neutralise Crowley’s presence. But now, they had a wedding ceremony to worry about, and he had to put these thoughts aside.
The day before, he had assisted in Nefertiti’s preparations, and he felt very sorry for the poor girl when the maids told her that her head had to be shaved (as it was the custom amongst wealthy Egyptian women). Seeing the princess’s tears, they tried to console her with the fact that she’d be wearing a heavy wig, an accoutrement which would make her desirable in Amenhotep’s eyes. Nefertiti didn’t see the logic in it, as her hair was thick and voluminous.
The angel didn’t either, but they had to defer to Egyptian laws and customs now - right down to the new name the girl had been given, for names were power.
As about Aziraphale, he had no intention of cutting his hair. Why would he? Crowley wasn’t shaved, either, and he had a more important function than Aziraphale did. Anyway, Aziraphale had the power to make people see him any way he wished. However, he didn’t refuse the slave who came to paint his face, as this action was considered to have a spiritual aspect. Aziraphale chose the purple eye-shadow and then let the boy paint his eyelids and outline his eyes with kohl. His cheeks and lips were then accentuated with a bit of red paint.
In the end, he was handed a copper mirror and Aziraphale found it difficult to believe that it was his face in the reflection, but he was quite satisfied with the result. His eyes were prominent, and he was amazed that, with the help of the lead-based pigment, they had acquired an almond shape. The slave put perfume on his skin, and Aziraphale went to Tadukhipa's - Nefertiti’s - room.
“Are you ready, my lady?”
Nefertiti turned around, and Aziraphale gaped at her, not really expecting the change. She was exquisite in her flowing ivory dress, which contrasted in a lovely way with her caramel-coloured skin. The rich golden jewellery accentuated her swanlike neck, and she wore the heavy wig the maids had shown her the day before. She had a similar make-up to Aziraphale’s, only her eye shadow was dark blue, and her lips much redder.
“How do I look?” the princess asked tentatively, unused to wearing make-up.
“My dear, I see a beautiful, fierce woman who is determined to conquer everyone’s heart tonight,” Aziraphale said with a smile.
Nefertiti blushed and linked her arm with Aziraphale’s, the two going to the temple where the ceremony would be held. It was a simple binding ceremony; the celebration after it being much more important. The princess was now by Amenhotep’s side, and Aziraphale watched them from afar as they received gifts from the guests.
He had to admit that they looked good together. The pharaoh had make-up on, of course, but he was also wearing a false beard made of human hair to differentiate him from common people. His torso was bare, only having a white kilt, but he had a headdress with a cobra to show his royal descent and a beautiful golden collar adorned with polished pieces of malachite and lapis lazuli.
Dancer and musician girls came into the Great Hall and started playing a light melody on their harps and flutes. Food was served soon as well, and Aziraphale marvelled at the amount of tasty dishes placed on the tables.
Despite his supernatural powers, Aziraphale didn’t notice the hungry, lingering stare of golden eyes on him.
* * * * *
Crowley was frustrated. He was also upset, energized, frantic, shocked, ecstatic, and overwhelmed - but, most importantly, frustrated. He was also confused by the cavalcade of feelings whirling in him, and he blamed the angel for it. Everything started in the moment when he set his eyes on Aziraphale in full Egyptian make-up at the bonding ceremony. As if the angel’s eyes needed any more emphasis! Crowley hated lusting after anyone. He wasn’t supposed to have any weaknesses.
The demon watched Aziraphale at the celebration: he seemed to have lots of fun, which, for a strange reason, infuriated Crowley even more. He wanted to see Aziraphale standing miserable in a corner, and yet he was chatting animatedly with the other guest, drinking lots of wine and clapping to the loud music. Then he was invited to the royal couple’s table, and when Aziraphale made Amenhotep laugh, Crowley knew the angel had just gained significant favour.
Moreover, the angel amazed everyone with stories about the construction of the Great Pyramids and stories of far away lands and people. He claimed he had read about all those things, but Crowley knew he actually witnessed them, because he had been there, too. But Aziraphale had always been a better storyteller. The demon couldn’t let Aziraphale get into Amenhotep’s good books. But he’d get to that later.
He was too busy guzzling wine and glowering miserably in a corner.
* * * * *
Aziraphale hadn’t lied when he told Crowley that he hadn’t been to a party for years. That was probably the reason why he had consumed excessive wine and was now walking in an instable manner in what appeared to be a garden. Shame he couldn’t see anything in the darkness. His had was foggy, and he couldn’t will himself to sober up, so his legs got tangled up and, somewhere in the back of his mind, he was aware that he was going to fall face-first and break something.
However, in that same obscure part of his mind, he also sensed strong arms catching him and a low voice chiding him: “Bloody angel, don’t you know Egyptian wines are strong? Told you already a few centuries ago that if you can’t hold your liquor, then you shouldn’t drink at all.” It seemed to him that someone carried him to his room and placed him gently on the bed.
But that someone had also erased the memory before he exited Aziraphale’s chamber, murmuring to himself about stupid angels who couldn’t even take care of themselves.
* * * * *
On to Part 2