Chapter Text
It had been over 500 years since the angel had seen the demon. 500 very long, very busy, but very dismal years without him.
Despite Constantine coming to power in Rome, and his tolerance towards Christianity, the Dark Ages in Western Europe sustained for 600 years.
Saxons had invaded England in 367AD. Driven out they remained away until 400AD when they once again invaded, this time to remain in power for over 200 years, most of that during the worst struggles for supremacy in Europe.
In the meantime Aziraphale rode out to the villages. Spreading goodwill, encouraging peace within the realm, his pockets sometimes laden with coins for the villagers. Other times considerable game fowl were laced across his saddle, also gifts to the people.
Aziraphale was doing exactly what an angel loves doing. Helping. Protecting. Loving. In return, the villagers loved him. One woman giving him bread that was still warm. Another family invited him in to share a crock of delicious stew. Thick with the dark gravy, vegetables and venison that Aziraphale had brought for this village. Excusing himself he went outside, only to return with the loaf of bread and a smile.
Days turned to weeks, to months, to years, decades, centuries. He watched children born, grow to become adults. Some concerned with nothing more than figuring out how to stay healthy and alive. Others, becoming leaders, protecting their families and the families of others in their villages.
He watched them become lovers with families of their own. He saw more infant mortality than anyone should ever have to see. Trying his best to dispel old myths about children born of fairies, or cursed by witches. Children left in crooks of trees as an offering. Some of the decisions humans made still stunned the angel, and he had certainly seen his fair share.
He also watched them die. From illnesses with no cure. A cure that wouldn’t be discovered for hundreds of years. From old age, when being 50 was considered towards the very end of life.
Aziraphale had been knighted by King Arthur. He ruled with a firm but fair hand. He was beloved because he fought alongside his knights. Arthur never asked anything of anyone that he was not willing to do himself. Arthur ruled with a goodness and kindness not seen in many years.
Arthur noticed when Aziraphale was near, things seemed to go much better, much smoother with everyone. He was loyal, honest, everything needed in a knight. Always willing to lend a hand, no request too big or too small for him to accept gracefully.
But most importantly, Knights of the Round Table were loyal to Arthur. Their swords belonged to him.
Aziraphale had consoled himself with the logic that God was behind Arthur, so it was ok for him to take up a sword for the King. It lent a certain credibility to their moral arguments.
He knew that the Battle of Camlann was becoming more of a reality as time progressed. The Saxons were gaining strength and advancing toward them.
As strong as Arthur and his knights had become, they were still not a match for the Saxons. Driven by their desire to rule all of Europe, they were becoming by all accounts unstoppable.
5 lunar cycles was not a lot of time to attempt to stop an uprising in power, which for Arthur would be his demise. Aziraphale had decided he would set off on his own to try and find the leader of the Saxons.
Surely there was a compromise that could be found. Although he was well aware that humans did not always take compromise as an option.
Rumors of the Black Knight leading the Saxons became more of a reality than a rumor. Villages raided, their inhabitants killed.
It was said that the Black Knight would work for the highest bidder. They had no loyalty to either side, just a devotion to conquer.
Sir Percy of Scandinavia had been a Knight of the Round Table, serving King Arthur, and was proclaimed as Arthur’s greatest warrior. Standing by his King, Sir Percy would have died to protect Arthur. But something happened between them.
No one was quite sure what came to split them apart, but from all accounts it was enough to cause Arthur to banish Percy from his kingdom.
Sir Percy, or Percy as he was now called, being stripped of his knighthood by Arthur, became incensed by this slight. Changing his armor from silver to black, his sword swinging, limb chopping, blood soaked carnage was feared throughout the lands. He engaged in his own private wars to avenge his sense of honor, propelling him deeper into madness and hatred for everything good in Arthur’s kingdom.
The Saxons needed a leader. Percy needed vengeance. This led to attacks on innocent villagers, the raping and pillaging feared through the lands. Many villages tried to defend against them, only to find they were no match. The men who joined with Percy, now known far and wide as the Black Knight, were for all intents, soldiers of fortune. The goal riches.