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aethelflaedladyofmercia · 4 years

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Wassail

Well, I don’t know what happened. I didn’t have an idea, I wanted to write something short, but lo and behold the next story for @drawlight‘s advent challenge is the longest and most complicated yet.

I’m rather fond of the AU that I seem to have created here. It came as a pleasant surprise.

12: Caroling (3,379)

Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit Gibt Trost und Kraft zu jeder Zeit. O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum! Das soll dein Kleid mich lehren.

Aziraphale sighed, applauding with the rest of the audience. “Oh, I do love Christmas carols,” he said, smiling towards the demon standing beside him.

“You would,” Crowley grunted, tapping at the keys of his new-fangled Blackberry. He shot a glare through his dark glasses at the dozen singers gathered under a tree coated with twinkling lights. “Du denkst du bist schlau. Singe etwas das wir alle verstehen können.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale took a step away, adjusting his lapels, hoping no one thought they were here together. “I’ve told you before, if you don’t stop heckling, I won’t bring you along.”

“Promise?” Crowley growled, bending back over the keyboard of his tiny computer.

Aziraphale tutted, turning back to the singers with an expectant smile.

The angel Gabriel from heaven came. His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame: “All hail,” said he, “thou lowly maiden Mary. Most highly favored lady.”

As soon as the song started, Aziraphale felt his smile fall, though he struggled to keep it in place lest Crowley see.

He didn’t even look up, just snorted, “There’s one I haven’t heard in a while. Let’s go. I don’t want to hear about that wanker.” He brushed past, elbowing his way through the crowd while Aziraphale hurried to catch up. “Hau kultural jabetze da,” Crowley called over his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Aziraphale reminded him as they moved back towards the busier parts of the winter festival.

“Why? He’s your boss, not mine. In fact, I’m supposed to not like him.”

“Still. I would prefer if you remained civil while we were in public.”

Crowley shrugged, brushing his long hair back out of his face, never looking up to acknowledge the carts of street food, the lights, the seasonal entertainments.

“What can possibly be so entertaining about that…that machine?” Aziraphale snapped.

“They put the internet into a phone. Genius!”

“I don’t know what that means,” the angel said, trying to sound as uninterested as possible.

“It means,” Crowley continued blithely, “that I can get into all kinds of trouble from anywhere in the city.” He finally glanced up, long enough to wiggle his eyebrows. “I am going to take spam to a whole new level.”

“Please do not explain that.”

“Well, I need to do something to keep myself entertained!”

“There’s plenty to keep you entertained.”

“What, this?” Crowley waved a dismissive hand. “Consumerism. Gluttony. Really bad music. Nothing real about any of it.”

Aziraphale tried not to look hurt. “Well, isn’t there anything about the season you like?”

The fingers paused in their dance across the keyboard. “I like wassailing, I suppose.”

“Of course you do.” Back in the Middle Ages, wassailing had always ended in gangs of drunken young men demanding food and drink at houses in the villages, causing all kinds of chaos and damage if they didn’t get it. He had been glad when the tradition had died out, and that it had revived as the much more stately and dignified caroling in the Victorian era.

“Now what is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that wassailing is exactly the sort of thing I would expect a demon to enjoy.”

“You don’t need to sound so disapproving.” The fingers typed more furiously than ever.

“I only meant…there are some holiday traditions we’re better off without.” No, that sounded worse. Aziraphale immediately wished he could call the words back.

Crowley finally shoved the blackberry into his pocket. “If that’s how you feel, I think I’m better off without this tradition.” He shot a scowl his curtain of red hair. “Enjoy your festival.”

“Crowley…” but the demon had already stormed away.

Aziraphale didn’t hear from him all though December, which really wasn’t a surprise; the demon didn’t bother to come visit on New Year’s, which was unusual, but not alarming.

As the month of January began to pass, though, he grew nervous. The last time they’d parted angrily, they’d wound up not speaking for over eighty years. This disagreement surely hadn’t been so bad, Crowley couldn’t still be upset six weeks later…and yet still, no word.

Finally, on the 17th of January, Aziraphale called Crowley’s flat.

“…you know what to do, do it with style. <beep>”

“Crowley. Crowley! I know you’re there, don’t ignore me. Crowley!”

A long pause, then…

“What is it, Angel?”

“There you are! I was beginning to think – oh never mind.” Aziraphale had promised himself to be calm and reasonable. “Where have you been?”

“Indulging in holiday traditions we’re better off without.”

“Really! Crowley, there’s no need for you to be…stand-offish.”

“I’m not being stand-offish. I’m in a great mood. Very sociable.”

“Are you.”

“Yes, but you wouldn’t approve, would you?” A heavy sigh. “Look, Angel, I don’t want to argue. I have people to meet. We can talk later.”

“People?” But the line was dead. Crowley had hung up on him.

Now Aziraphale was furious. He very nearly miracled himself to Mayfair to give Crowely a piece of his mind. Then again, there was the slight possibility that something demonic was afoot, in which case the sudden arrival of an angel would cause rather a large disaster.

If that was the case, though, why wouldn’t Crowley have said something? No, he hadn’t even tried to speak in clever code. This wasn’t business, this was him giving Aziraphale the brush-off.

After pacing furiously across the book shop for five minutes, the angel reached his decision.

He opened up a map of London and concentrated on a bit of magic he’d lain down decades ago, in case Crowley ever needed to be rescued from his own foolish risks. After a moment, he was able to sense the exact location of the Bentley – nothing was visible, the trick was all in his mind, but using the map he could track it as it traveled through the city.

Except that, almost immediately, it turned onto a major road and drove southwest, crossing out of London entirely. Aziraphale fumbled until he found a larger map of southern England. This would be cruder, but with some concentration he could still detect the car racing through Surrey, Hampshire, Wiltshire, and Somerset.

When the Bentley finally came to a stop, it appeared to be in the middle of nowhere.

Where was that atlas? Aziraphale flipped through map after map. Not Bath. Not Taunton. Not Wells or Glastonbury. He finally settled on a village named Chilton Stoke, not even four hundred people. What in Heaven’s name was Crowley doing there?

The Bentley didn’t move for half an hour. Or for an hour.

After more than ninety minutes, Aziraphale decided he should investigate.

Teleporting to a strange location took ten minutes of preparation, even with the Bentley as a focus. Aziraphale arrived as subtly as possible, but there was nothing demonic going on at all.

The Bentley sat outside the village post office. There didn’t seem to be anyone about, but he could feel Crowley somewhere out among the farms, and started in that direction.

The air was chilly, but clear and crisp, the sky just starting to darken towards sunset. There were plenty of tracks across the thin layer of snow that coated the fields, grinding the pure white into a brown and grey slush. Aziraphale turned to follow that up the hill and into the orchards.

A shift in the wind brought the sound of shouting, but laced with laughter. He crept closer, moving from one tree to the next.

The crowd seemed to include every man, woman and child from the village, gathered around the largest, oldest tree in the orchard. They were shouting, jeering – a few banging pots and pans or other noisemakers. Children threw wads of snow up among the branches and there, moving from one limb to another, taunting them, catching the snowballs and throwing them back down, was Crowley.

Crowley, glasses off, golden eyes shining for all to see, garland of winter greens hanging around his neck.

“Ha! Is that the best you can do? I’m not even trying!” Another snowball sailed past his head, and he slid across the fork of the tree as easily as if he were on the ground. “I’m going to have this whole field blighted by morning, and then where are you going to be?”

The crowd booed this, but much in the way one boos the villain of a pantomime. Crowley waved his arms, encouraging it.

Then, the crowd shifted to cheers as a young lady with a wreath lain across her hair began to climb the tree. Crowley gave one of his overdramatic cries and backed further away up one of the branches.

“Evil spirit! You are not welcome in this village!”

Crowley gave a look of exaggerated shock. “Get him, Liz!” called one of the children in the crowd.

“And what, exactly, do you plan to do about it?” Crowley hooked his hands across a branch and dangled bonelessly, grinning at the young lady.

“I call upon the soul of this tree to reject you and your curse! I – oh,” she leaned down and someone handed up a large bowl, which she gripped in both hands. “I shall waken this tree, and all the trees in the orchard, and your evil will not stand!”

She pulled a piece of bread soaked in something brown and dripping and pressed it to a sharp twig so that it dangled. The people gathered below cheered again and began to sing.

Huzza, Huzza, in our good town The bread shall be white, and the liquor be brown So here my old fellow I drink to thee And the very health of each other tree. Well may ye blow, well may ye bear Blossom and fruit both apple and pear. So that every bough and every twig May bend with a burden both fair and big May ye bear us and yield us fruit such a stors That the bags and chambers and house run o’er.

All the while, the young lady moved across the tree, spearing more bits of bread on twigs. Crowley darted around, making a show of alternately hiding from and trying to scare her. But every time she nearly lost her footing on the slippery bark, his hand would reach out and steady her, just for a moment.

When the song ended, she announced, “The blessing has been made!” and climbed quickly down to the ground, where several young men were pouring more liquid at the base of the tree.

“Attack!” someone shouted.

Suddenly the air was filled with sound – everyone screamed, or banged their noisemakers, and the children threw a concentrated volley of snow at Crowley. When one struck his chest, he flung his arms out dramatically and fell from the tree.

Everyone cheered, several small children crowding close around the fallen demon.

“Alright, ALRIGHT! You got me!” The crowd parted, and Aziraphale could see Crowley sitting up, grinning like mad, snow thick in his hair. A five-year-old child appeared to be trying to put him in a chokehold, but was unable to move much in thick jacket and scarf. “Fair cop. This orchard is officially uncursed. Congratulations.”

He jumped to his feet and pointed at the large tree.

Apple-tree, apple-tree Bear good fruit, Or down with your top And up with your root!

There was another round of applause, and Crowley made a show of bending over and taking a deep breath. “Right. Who’s next?”

“You know perfectly well,” snapped an older man – at least seventy.

“Barnabas? Aren’t you dead yet?”

The old man laughed. “That’s no way to talk to your elders! I’ll outlive you.”

“That’s what your grandfather used to say, too. Fine then, you try and catch me, or you’ll have the biggest worms in your apples in all Somerset.” And Crowley turned and ran – straight towards Aziraphale.

He tried to get out of the way, but there was no place to hide. And Crowley spotted him almost immediately, stumbling to a halt under the tree. “Angel. What are you doing here?” The smile, the humor, the glint in his eyes – all gone now. He scowled.

“What am I…what are you doing?”

Crowley shrugged, looking down at his foot as he dragged his heel through the snow. “Wassailing.”

“That…” Aziraphale waved his arms, trying to indicate the drama, the apple trees, the strange songs that had nothing to do with the winter season. “That is not wassailing!”

“What? Course it is. I’ve been doing it for over five hundred years.”

“Five hundred years?” It was too much to take. “You’ve been doing this for five centuries? Why did you never say anything?”

Crowley shrugged. “Wasn’t sure you’d approve. And you didn’t.”

For a moment, the angel’s mouth just hung open. “My dear fellow, I assure you, this is not what I pictured when you said you enjoyed wassailing.”

“Oh.” He looked up, cocking his head, expression carefully blank.

“Hey! You gotta run!” came a shout from one of the children. “We can’t chase you if you don’t run!”

“Listen, I kind of have a whole…thing here. Can we talk later?”

“I suppose we must.” Aziraphale’s mind was in a whirl.

“Great. Uh. Back in the village, wait by the church. I’ll see you after.” Without waiting for a reply, he spun and ran off through the trees. The crowd followed behind, singing another song.

Here we come a wassailing Among the leaves so green, Here we come a wandering So fair to be seen. Love and joy come to you, And to you your wassail too, And God bless you and send you a happy New Year…

“It started, oh, 1467 or so,” Crowley began, slumping into a seat in the little reception hall next to the church. The whole village had gathered inside, talking, laughing, sharing mugs of mulled spiced cider served from a large bowl by the door. This, Aziraphale had been told, was the wassail. He’d remembered something like it from centuries ago, but this recipe was entirely different.

It had been so strange to see the crowd returning from the orchards, singing, Crowley swaggering in the middle as if he belonged. Every once in a while, someone would come by and speak to the demon, either congratulating him or making some vague threat about next year. He took it all in stride, even when a few slapped him on the shoulders.

It was incredible. Aziraphale had never seen him so relaxed. Smiling, meeting people’s eyes, letting them touch him without flinching away.

“What happened in 1467?”

Crowley took a swig of his drink. “I was sent out here to blight the farms, as you might expect. Stupid assignment. No Temptation involved. What do they even think I am?”

“Absolute waste of your talents.”

“Yes! See? Exactly. But I snuck out there and did my job. Or tried to.” He chuckled, looking around the room with something approaching fondness. “Bunch of idiot humans caught me at it, tried this ancient ritual to raise the trees against me.”

“And it worked?”

“No! Throwing bread at trees and shouting? Of course it didn’t work!” Crowley took another drink, but he couldn’t hide the way his face lit up at the memory. “But they spent the whole night chasing me around the orchards and I couldn’t do my work. So I agreed to leave them in peace.”

Aziraphale leaned against his hand, studying Crowley’s face. He knew that expression. It was the same one that lit up his own face whenever he thought of learning the gavotte with his friends at the club, a hundred years ago. “You had fun. You enjoyed it.”

“Well. I.” Crowley suddenly fumbled for his glasses, but paused with them halfway to his eyes. “I suppose…yes, I did.” He folded them back up, placed them on the table. “They weren’t afraid of me. Do you know how often I meet humans who aren’t afraid of me?”

“So you came back. Every year.”

Crowley sighed, turning to take in the people surrounding him. “Eighteen generations. I know we’re not supposed to get attached. And it’s been hard sometimes. But…one day a year…I don’t know. I need another drink.” He stood up and walked away before Aziraphale could stop him.

As he waited for Crowley to return, Aziraphale realized people were staring at him. No, glaring. He tried for a friendly smile, but that only made them scowl worse.

Suddenly, the young lady with the wreath in her hair sat beside him. “Are you here to cause trouble?” she demanded without preamble.

“I – no, I’ve never intentionally caused trouble in my life.” She seemed to believe him about as much as Crowley would have. “Let me see, was your name Liz?”

“I’m the wassail queen,” she said, as if that gave her authority over all supernatural entities. “I’ve never seen him like this before. He’s nervous. He’s unhappy. You make him unhappy.”

Aziraphale gasped, his heart clenching in his chest. “No, I…I don’t think I do.”

“Then why is he like this?” She glanced over at where Crowley stood in the corner, holding his mug of wassail, not looking at anyone. It was very much how he usually looked in crowds.

When Aziraphale didn’t respond, she looked him up and down. “You’re like him, but not. Did you threaten him? Are you going to try and take him away?”

“Goodness, no! I would never!” He tried to think how much it would be safe to tell these people, who seemed so familiar with Crowley. “I…I am in this world as a force for good, and –”

She waved her hand. “I know. That’s why I’m talking to you. We all know exactly what he is. But he’s our evil spirit. So you leave him alone or you’ll find out exactly what we’re capable of.”

Aziraphale raised his hands in alarm. “I think you have entirely the wrong idea.” He lowered his arms, rubbing his palms together. “Crowley and I…we’ve known each other a long time. A very long time. I would not…That is…I don’t wish any harm on him, either. I suppose he’s my evil spirit, too. I just never knew about any of this.” He looked again at Crowley, and found he couldn’t look away.

Liz watched for a moment, eyes darting between the angel and the demon. Suddenly she grinned. “I think I did have the wrong idea. My mistake. I was pretty nervous when I brought my girlfriend home to meet the family, too.”

“I – what?” Aziraphale turned to her in alarm. “I have no idea what you…we’re not…”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do and you are. For crying out loud, it’s the twenty-first century. No one cares about that anymore.” She stood up. “Tell him if he wants to bring you next year, we’ll find a role for you. I hope you’re good at falling out of trees.”

After a great many steadying breaths, Aziraphale picked up his mug and walked over to join Crowley.

“For five centuries, you never said anything. Until this year. You wanted me to know. You were trying to find a way to tell me and I…overreacted.”

Crowley shrugged. “I guess I knew what you thought I meant. But… I didn’t want you to disapprove of this. I shouldn’t care but –”

“My dear, of course you should care. This village is important to you. You didn’t want me to belittle it.”

“I know I always insult things you like.” His eyes were locked onto his mug.

“You do.” Aziraphale tried to meet his gaze. “But I know you don’t mean it…all of the time. And it’s so rare for you to find something meaningful.” He stepped a little closer. “I’m glad you found this place. I only wish you’d brought me here before. I would very much like to meet them.”

“You…you like them?”

“Oh, yes.” Aziraphale glanced around the room. “I don’t know what it is, but this place, these people, suit you very well.”

The smile that had been missing from Crowley’s face started to return.

Aziraphale raised his mug. “Waes hael.”

Crowley raised his in return. “Drinc hael.”

(Translations and notes: After “O Tannenbaum,” Crowley shouts “You think you’re clever. Sing something we can all understand.” After “Gabriel’s Message,” he says “This is cultural appropriation” in Basque, the carol’s original language. Both are translated via Google Translate so I don’t know how accurate they are.

The last bit of dialogue translates to “Be in health” (Middle English) and “Drink and be healthy” (Anglo-Saxon). I’ve committed a rather egregious violation of linguistics here just to avoid typing a thorn. Mea culpa. These phrases are actually a greeting and response, not a toast – Wassail didn’t become a Yuletide toast until much, much later. Really my crimes just continue to accumulate.

I tried to include all the meanings of wassail: a rowdier version of caroling, an apple orchard ritual performed shortly after New Years, an alcoholic drink made with apples, a toast, and a greeting. Who knew it was so versatile?

Finally, I’ve never actually seen an orchard (or apple) wassail, but I had a lot of fun researching them. This one is meant to be more of a game between Crowley and the village, so I played pretty fast and loose with the traditions.

You should definitely call this an AU, one in which Crowley has a home and people he cares about long before the Apocalypse arrived. I wonder how that will affect things in the next few decades…)

#good omens fanfiction #31 days of ineffables #happy crowley #fluff #ineffable husbands #ineffable idiots #advent calendar #writing challenge #my writing #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale and crowley

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witcheswizardsleapinlizards · 5 years

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Halloween Carols

1. JOY TO THE WORLD (to the tune of JOY TO THE WORLD.)

Joy to the world,

It's Halloween.

The night of fright has come!

This time of year we wait.

We hope he won't be late.

The Great Pumpkin will come,

The Great, The GREAT Pumpkin will come.

He rules the world, On Hallow's Eve. He's coming here tonight. Let's go into the pumpkin patch They'll put us in the booby hatch, But we will have such fun, But we will have such fun, But we, But we will have such fun.

2. HUMPHREY THE BLUE-NOSED PUMPKIN (to the tune of Rudolph)

Humphrey the blue-nosed pumpkin had a very obvious nose.

And if you ever saw it, you might even say it shows.

All of the other pumpkins, used to laugh and call him names.

They never let poor Humphrey play in any pumpkin games.

Then one foggy Halloween Eve, the Great Pumpkin did say, "Humphrey, with your nose so blue, you'll make all the ghosts say BOO!"

Then all the pumpkins loved him, and they shouted out with glee, Humphrey, the blue-nosed pumpkin, You'll go down in history!

3. O Skeletons! (to the tune of O Tannenbaum!)

O skeletons! O skeletons!

Rattle down my hallway!

O skeletons! O skeletons!

Rattle in my attic.

Let them know, the day is here, When your spirit will appear. O skeletons! O skeletons! Rattle through your graveyard.

4. God Rest Ye Merry Spirits

God rest ye merry spirits, let nothing you dismay.

Witches stirring bubbling cauldrons, smelling of decay.

To save you all from Satan's Po'er before your hair turns gray.

Oh tidings of horror and fright,

Horror and fright!

Oh tidings of horror and fright.

5. Spooky Night (to the tune of Silent Night.)

Spooky Night, Halloween Night,

All is cold, nothing's right.

Round yon pumpkin glowing away.

People singing in the doorway.

Sing in devilish glee-ee.

Singing in devilish glee.

6. The First Halloween

The First Halloween

The parents did scream

At the children in costumes

Who stole all the treats.

"Go away, go away!" The spirits did say. "You're taking our business, So come back in May!"

7. We Three Ghosts (to the tune of We Three Kings)

We three ghosts of Halloween are

Scaring kids who wander too far.

Trick or treating, candy eating,

Watching for the Halloween Star.

Oh...oh...

Star of darkness, star of fright. Star of every gruesome sight. West winds howling, cat's a-yowling, Let us play some tricks tonight!

8. Obligatory Solutions (to the tune of Jingle Bells.)

Dashing through the streets,

Meeting goblins as we go,

Wearing contour sheets,

Wishing it would snow.

Bells in doorways ring, Making spirits bright, What fun it is to come and sing And get some food tonight.

Trick or treat, trick or treat, trick or treat we say! Try to get the treats before the ghost takes us away! Trick or treat, trick or treat, trick or treat we say! If you don't have treats for us we'll never go away!

9. Ghosties We Have Heard on High

Ghosties we have heard on high,

Groaning horribly o'er the plains.

And the witches in reply,

Cacklin' their eerie strains:

Boooooooooooooooooooooo On this Halloween Night we cry: Boooooooooooooooooooooo On this Halloween Night we cry.

Spirits why this jubilee? Why your ghastly tunes prolong. What these gruesome tidings be, Which inspire your evil song.

Boooooooooooooooooooooo On this Halloween Night we cry: Boooooooooooooooooooooo On this Halloween Night we cry.

10. Deck the Halls

Deck the halls with poison ivy,

fa la la la la, la la la la.

'Tis the season to be slimy,

fa la la la la, la la la la.

Don we now our strange apparel,

fa la la, la la la, la la la.

Troll the ancient Halloween carol,

fa la la la la, la la la la.

See the goblins rise before us, fa la la la la, la la la la. As we sing the Halloween chorus, fa la la la la, la la la la. Follow them as they ascend, fa la la, la la la, la la la. Join with all your loony friends, fa la la la la, la la la la.

11. The Grim Reaper is Coming to Town.

Oh, you better not shriek, you better not groan,

You better not howl, you better not moan.

The Grim Reaper is coming to town!

He's gonna find out from folks that he meets, Who should have arsenic put in their treats. Grim Reaper is coming to town!

He'll search in every graveyeard, Haunted houses far and near, To see if you should stay alive, Or die right here in fear!

So, you better not shriek, you better not groan, You better not howl, you better not moan. The Grim Reaper is coming to town!

12. On the First Day of Halloween

On the First Day of Halloween, my Swamp Thing gave to me:

A hoot owl in a dead tree. Two trick or treaters, Three black cats, Four skeletons, Five Snicker bars, Six goblins gobbling, Seven pumpkins glowing, Eight monsters shrieking, Nine ghosts a-booing, Ten ghouls a-groaning, Eleven masks a-leering, Twelve bats a-flying.

13. Spirit Wonderland (to the tune of Winter Wonderland)

Screech owls hoot, are you listening?

'Neath the moon, all is glistening.

A real scary sight, we're happy tonight.

Waitin' in a spirit wonderland.

In the streets, we're begging for some candy. We've been waiting for this night all year. We've tried to embarrass everybody, And to make a costume filling you with fear.

Later on, while we're eating What we got trick or treating. We'll share all our sacks Of Halloween snacks, Waitin' in a spirit wonderland.

14. Shivery Yells

We're on sidewalks, we're on porches,

Dressed in costumes to scare.

Through the city we're ringing the doorbells.

Trick or treating, candy eating,

Gooey stuff in our hair,

But the most fun is shrieking out loud,

"Shivery yells! Shivery yells!"

That's the Halloween nitty-gritty.

"Moan and Groan. Leave us alone.

Halloween's just one night a year."