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Long ago in the Roman Empire, people believed in the old Gods. These Gods were powerful and numerous, with a hierarchy of their own. At the end of the line, you would find the Lares, spirits of good men who passed on to their reward, still tethered to the Earth and to the Empire.
Humans, you see, are quite funny creatures. Their capacity for belief and love and worship is the stuff of legend. Of tales and stories and ballads, passed down through generation after generation. One might say we are all stories in the end. And to the Romans, there was no higher honor than becoming one of these stories. One of these Lares. Protectors of the hearth and the home, of unborn generations, tied to the land on which they are buried. This is a story of two Lares, from opposite households, both alike in dignity. This, dear reader, is a story of unlikely friends and unlikely circumstances.
Aziraphale’s descendants were always good to him. They kept a fire burning for him, blessed him with the first bounties of their harvests. But despite the prayers and vigils, the stories of his great victories in battle that lead to his demise, his existence was still quite a lonely one. After all, they could not see or hear him talking to them. Not good for conversation, all things considered. But, this was his lot in life— er, afterlife , as it were — and it was an honor not all were given, and so he accepted it gladly.
Aziraphale was content. He would wait until his descendants were asleep and take their offerings of salt and fruit to the back garden, where he would sit and munch and watch the moonbeams dancing on the sea. He had as much time as would pass, and thus it was of no consequence to him. He had the ocean and moon and stars, the green of the grass and the heat of the sand. He had the sweetness of fruit, the bite of the salt, and the wind whispering to him.
He would sometimes muse over how nice it would be to have someone to talk to. A friend, a true one.
But one day, all of that changed. That was the day he met Crowley.
Aziraphale had settled in to watch the sunrise over the water when it happened. First, there was a loud clap, not unlike a thunderclap. A sound that would have echoed through his skull, if he had one. Soon after was a thud. A thud that’s reverberation should’ve shaken the ground, but it didn’t. Nothing moved. The last was a groan, not quite painful but definitely of one who was just rudely awoken from a rather lovely nap.
Aziraphale decided to investigate. He wouldn’t be able to do much, but it wasn’t often that strange things happened around here. He made his way around the side of the house towards the noise, and there, under the neighbor’s cypress, was a crumpled up pile of too-long limbs and a shock of too-long dark hair, and a man who was just this side of transparent. Another Lar.
“Oh dear, that does look dreadfully uncomfortable.”
“Just a little. Whatever that was, went down like a lead balloon.” The strange man took note of Aziraphale’s confused expression, brushing off the dust that wasn’t stuck to him in the first place. “Eh, never mind. Name’s Crowley… Say, why are you all glowy?”
“You don’t know?”
“Evidently not, care to clue me in, angel?”
“ Angel ?”
“Well you are glowing. And obtuse.”
“ Well, there’s no need for that!”
“I’m joking. Either way, was just taking a nice nap and now I’m here. I’m guessing you have some ideas, so… what’s up?”
“Dear boy, I’m unsure how to tell you this… but you’re dead.”
Crowley’s mouth fell open and his eyes went wide, shock overtaking his features. Aziraphale was just gearing up for a further explanation when the expression broke and Crowley doubled over in laughter.
“You were putting me on!”
“S’just a joke, that’s what I do. Real funnyman, me. Course I’m dead, been dead a long time. This is new though.”
“For some reason your household has started believing you to be a hero, it seems. That’s the only way we get here.”
“Heroes, eh? I was pretty heroic in my day,” Crowley said, puffing out his scrawny chest as though he were something impressive.
“Surely.” Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
“Still haven’t gotten your name, angel.”
He shouldn’t. But truly, what could it hurt? They were going to be stuck together, next door to each other at any rate. “I’m Aziraphale, former soldier for Emperor Pius and hero of this household. Which, might I add, means I should not be speaking with you.”
“Why?”
“Our houses are rivals .”
“What’s that got to do with us?”
The question took him aback. “I suppose… this far removed, nothing really. And it would be nice to have someone to talk to.”
“There you go then! No harm, no foul. I’m gonna... poke around a bit over here, see how the grandkids are doing. I’ll see you around, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion he would be seeing quite a bit of Crowley.
In the years that followed, they did see quite a lot of each other.
For Aziraphale, it was nice to have someone to talk to. For Crowley, it was just nice to have a friend. They would meet each other on the boundary line in the evenings, sharing their offerings with each other, building a friendship as the years turned to decades.
Aziraphale found Crowley to be oddly charming, if a bit haphazard. He never fully said what he meant, always seemed to be hiding something. But he had a sharp wit and a quick and easy smile. Something about him, about his nature, let Aziraphale trust him easily.
Crowley found Aziraphale to be fascinating. He was a contradiction, one moment saying they shouldn’t talk at all and the next passing him a slice of plum. Aziraphale was clearly a former soldier, and yet he often carried himself with a gentleness that soldiers weren’t allotted. He cared deeply for his descendants — a stark contrast to Crowley, who felt he couldn’t really relate to his.
He finally spoke the truth to Aziraphale one humid summer night.
“Wasn’t actually a hero, you know.”
“Oh?”
“No, they seem to think I killed some terrifying beast. Really just poked the wrong snake with a stick; got bitten in the process, died soon after. Dunno where they got this nonsense from, makes me think I don’t belong.” With you , he doesn’t say.
But Aziraphale only laughed, telling him of the power of human storytelling and the power of human belief. Magic, in his view, had never been reserved for the Gods. Human imagination was just as powerful as any of it, evidenced by the presence of Lares in the first place.
“We exist because they don’t want us to go, and is there any higher honor than that, whatever the reason?”
Crowley had to admit, the concept had a certain poetic nature to it.
Generations came and went, their descendants growing and dying, new ones taking their place. As the years passed, the rivalry grew stale and forgotten. Two children of the houses, Newtonius and Anathema, grew up playing together on the boundary of the properties. Aziraphale and Crowley would watch them, keep them safe, as was their charge. The years went by, and Anathema grew into a beautiful young woman. Newtonius, into a man with a kind and giving heart.
The day of their wedding, Aziraphale and Crowley looked on with pride. Two houses, brought together by something so human as love. Aziraphale watched from the fence as members of both families danced and sang, reveling in the happiness of the moment.
“S’wonderful, isn’t it?” A familiar voice spoke to him, though from the same side of the fence this time.
“It is.” Aziraphale paused for a moment. “Crowley, do you think everything happens for a reason?”
“Not sure, never really thought about it before.”
“I mean, if you were to look at it sensibly—“
“That’s just bad advice, that is. Come up with some very funny ideas if you sit down and think about being sensible .”
Aziraphale dropped the subject, watching the people celebrating, feeling the cool night air around him.
“Metaphorically though,” Crowley said, breaking the silence, “If there is a reason for everything, what would it be? Some big test of everything? Some ploy to see what the humans are thinking? Who even decides that?”
“Would be a bit ineffable, I suppose.”
“Yeah, probably.”
They stayed until dawn, long after everyone had retired, talking of everything and nothing just as they always had, but still so different.
The sun rose over the Mediterranean. And two Lares, from opposite households, brought together by this unlikely circumstance, watched it together.