Crusaders 2 1/7
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christianfanficA/N: I enjoy Big Bangs immensely, but they do occasionally have a drawback: something that was written several months before an episode airs can be either Jossed or Kripked before the story’s posted! There are some Kripked moments in the sequel to this story, which I’ll be posting next week; here, there’s one plot point that could have been Jossed... had it not spawned a plotbunny for Crusaders 4. That one’s probably going to have to wait for next year. :D (And hey, it’s AU anyway....)
In the meantime, enjoy this second story in the Crusaders trilogy, written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spnbigbang_era and illustrated by the ever-fabulous ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
quickreaver! Also, many thanks as usual to my lovely beta jennytork!
Word Count: 22,627 (plus notes)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: More gen than not, but does include Dean/Joanna and John/Mary
Warnings: Period violence (includes non-graphic descriptions of Viking atrocities), mentions of attempted non-con, gratuitous Anglo-Saxon, crass comments by Brother Asce
Summary: With the angels and the Colt gone back to the future, it looks like all Hell is out for revenge on Dean and Samuel. Will the family survive this ordeal and keep history on the right track?
THEN
All things considered, Sir John of Winchester had a pretty good life.
His forefathers had been thegns and ealdormenn of the greatest Saxon kings, from Ælle to Alfred, and it was in service to the latter that the family had moved to Wintanceaster. Though the family’s fortunes plummeted under Æthelred and Canute, John’s grandfather somehow managed not only to survive the Battle of Hastings but also to keep his land, albeit as a mere baron. Both William and William Rufus had looked kindly on both Winchester and John’s family, and though William had assigned governing authority to a Norman overlord, the barony stayed with the family until at last it passed to John. And once John was of age, he joined King Henry in the Scottish wars and gained not only a friendship with the king but also a small fortune and a Pictish bride.
Ten years of wedded bliss sped by.... Sir John was content with his life as a gentleman farmer, and he had many friends and both spent and gave gifts with equal wisdom, thanks in no small part to Lady Mary. And Lady Mary herself was well loved by all. She was more apt than Sir John to grace the cathedral with her presence on holy days, but even he would sometimes join her for no other reason than to make her smile.
Some in the town did begin to murmur when, after five years, the union remained fruitless. Yet the next five years saw Lady Mary bear Sir John two fine sons, and she seemed content to bear him twenty more.
But everything changed on All Souls’ Day of 1125.
In August of 1147, [now-outlawed] John of Winchester disappeared.
Dean was none too concerned at first. John was always disappearing for days, even weeks, at a time, leaving Dean to carry on his errantry alone. And as long as there was a baron around whose ill-gotten gains Dean could steal with impunity, all was as well as could be expected given the general lawlessness of the time. But in every other case, John would leave word somewhere or send a letter to wherever Dean was, or else one of his friends would fetch Dean to help get John sobered up and onto the next hunt. The latter had become all the more common since Samuel had run away to enter the Abbey of Rievaulx when he was 18 after a flaming row with John.
This time, however, there was no message after Lammastide. By mid-September, Dean began to worry. When no word came after Michaelmas, he began to search actively, to no avail. Other hunts kept cropping up throughout October, and the few chances he had to ask after John were fruitless. But finding himself in Yorkshire as the month drew to a close, Dean decided the time had come to enlist help.
So on the eve of All Saints’, Dean stood at the gate of Rievaulx Abbey and asked for Brother Samuel.
Suddenly there were two other men standing on either side of Samuel, also robed in Cistercian white, though they seemed... brighter, somehow. As he realized what they must be, Dean’s eyes went wide, and he sank to his knees, crossing himself.
“Pray you, stand and fear not,” said the shorter, brown-haired angel as the dark-haired angel grabbed hold of Dean’s left shoulder and pulled him back to his feet.
“Sammy?” Dean asked.
“St. Gabriel, St. Castiel,” Samuel replied, pointing to each angel in turn. “’Twas they who brought me hither.”
“But... but why?!Of all the cares in England of late, why do ye come for ours?”
“Your care is greater than you know,” said St. Gabriel grimly. “It is not true that this land is forsaken of God, but your own case is harder still. We need you two to help us stop the end of the world.”
Dean just stared in shock. Samuel raised an eyebrow at him.
“Morning, campers,” Gabriel said cheerfully when Dean cracked an eye open. “We’d better get this over with so we can get on the road after breakfast.”
Both brothers groaned as they sat up. “Ought we not break our fast first?” Samuel asked.
“Need not. C’mon, both of you.” He picked up a piece of wood and a steel rod and walked away.
Dean groaned again as Samuel helped him to his feet. He was not looking forward to trying out this new weapon without having eaten.
Gabriel led them a short distance from the camp before snapping his fingers. A target appeared, though it seemed to be made of parchment over a board and was colored roughly in the shape of a man. The target rings marked distances from points on the head and chest that would be fatal arrow wounds.
“Is’t a bow, then?” Dean frowned.
“Close,” Gabriel replied.
Then he looked hard at the rod and the wood, and they joined together and changed shape to form [the likeness of] a very odd weapon indeed. The wood had become a bell-shaped handle, and the metal... well, there was a long eight-sided tube, and a part with five filled chambers that looked like it turned, and a lever at the back that, when pulled down a little, caused another lever to spring forth at the front. When Gabriel handed it to him, Dean noted words marked on the barrel and a pentagram on the handle.
“Non timebo mala,” Samuel read over Dean’s shoulder. “—Should be malum, surely?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I didn’t write it. I think the man who made it was not familiar with the Vulgate.”
Samuel nodded thoughtfully.
Dean studied the thing for a few moments longer before shaking his head. “What is it?”
“It’s called a gun,” said Gabriel. “Here, let me show you how it works.”
Once the seven travelers were in Bethlehem, setting up the trap took a little under an hour. The room of the abandoned storehouse that they were using was large enough that even with the candles that John would have to light to complete the summoning, the sides of the room would remain in darkness. Samuel and Dean were to stand in opposite corners, while Father Seamus and Robert were in the other two; Gabriel stood to one side, and Castiel sat in the rafters with a piece of ironwork that Gabriel had crafted. Castiel had already entrusted the real gun to Dean’s care, and he knew that he need not leave his hiding place to shoot Azazel with it. John, of course, was in the center of the room and would not stand so that Dean would have a clear shot....
“So, John,” said Azazel, his brimstone eyes and mocking smile hideous in the candlelight. “We meet again at last.”
“Aye,” John answered wearily. “At last.”
From his hiding place, Dean could just make out Father Seamus closing one of the gaps in the trap chalked on the floor. Robert, he knew, was doing the same on his side of the trap, and Castiel was lowering the ironwork—another trap, far harder for a devil to break—into place overhead. But he could hear no sound but Azazel’s footfalls as he circled John.
“Thou art many things, John of Winchester,” the devil said. “But I did not think thee fey.”
John snorted. “Not though thy vassals beat me ’til I scarce knew my own name?”
Azazel laughed. “Beaten and broken is one thing. But to summon me thus? That I do call fey. Think thou that thou canst do aught against me in this state? ’Twould take a stronger man than thou to trap me.”
“Nay.” John sounded utterly defeated. “I would fain treat with thee.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye. Thou hast not my sons, I know, but... I would give thee aught to leave them be. To cease thy search and let them live.”
“Prithee, what wouldst thou give?”
“I... have learned of aught that can kill thee. A weapon. ’Tis that I offer.”
Azazel laughed again, loud and long, and Dean had to stop himself from shooting the fiend then and there. If all went according to plan, he would have a better shot later.
Finally, Azazel stopped laughing. “There is no weapon that can kill me, John. Thou hast my terms—thy life for thy sons’. What sayest thou?”
And a voice that was not John’s said, “Exorcisamus te....”
The devil lurched. “Who said that?”
Samuel stepped out of his hiding place, slowly reciting the exorcism. Azazel lunged toward him and struck the edge of the iron trap, but his attention was drawn first to the chalk trap below him. He tried to scuff at the lines, but the chalk would not erase, thanks to Gabriel.
Finally, Azazel snarled and reached a hand toward Samuel, choking him and lifting him off the ground with unseen force. “Think thou, little monk, that thou canst send me back to Hell so easily? ’Twould take but the slightest force to break thy neck, and little more to break this trap—a small earthquake would suffice.”
Dean took aim and pulled back the hammer as quietly as he could.
“Let him go,” John pleaded. “Take my life in his stead.”
Azazel chuckled, not taking his eyes from Samuel. “Why, John, what is to prevent me from killing you both?”
Dean squeezed the trigger.
Next
Thegn = thane, a more senior retainer than a cniht (knight), a term that has more youthful connotations
Ealdormann = alderman, a high position of authority but not necessarily hereditary in the way an earldom would be
Wintanceaster – This was the name of the city prior to the Conquest (spelling per Introduction to Old English by Peter S. Baker).
In the meantime, enjoy this second story in the Crusaders trilogy, written for
spnbigbang_era and illustrated by the ever-fabulous quickreaver! Also, many thanks as usual to my lovely beta jennytork!Word Count: 22,627 (plus notes)
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: More gen than not, but does include Dean/Joanna and John/Mary
Warnings: Period violence (includes non-graphic descriptions of Viking atrocities), mentions of attempted non-con, gratuitous Anglo-Saxon, crass comments by Brother Asce
Summary: With the angels and the Colt gone back to the future, it looks like all Hell is out for revenge on Dean and Samuel. Will the family survive this ordeal and keep history on the right track?
All things considered, Sir John of Winchester had a pretty good life.
His forefathers had been thegns and ealdormenn of the greatest Saxon kings, from Ælle to Alfred, and it was in service to the latter that the family had moved to Wintanceaster. Though the family’s fortunes plummeted under Æthelred and Canute, John’s grandfather somehow managed not only to survive the Battle of Hastings but also to keep his land, albeit as a mere baron. Both William and William Rufus had looked kindly on both Winchester and John’s family, and though William had assigned governing authority to a Norman overlord, the barony stayed with the family until at last it passed to John. And once John was of age, he joined King Henry in the Scottish wars and gained not only a friendship with the king but also a small fortune and a Pictish bride.
Ten years of wedded bliss sped by.... Sir John was content with his life as a gentleman farmer, and he had many friends and both spent and gave gifts with equal wisdom, thanks in no small part to Lady Mary. And Lady Mary herself was well loved by all. She was more apt than Sir John to grace the cathedral with her presence on holy days, but even he would sometimes join her for no other reason than to make her smile.
Some in the town did begin to murmur when, after five years, the union remained fruitless. Yet the next five years saw Lady Mary bear Sir John two fine sons, and she seemed content to bear him twenty more.
But everything changed on All Souls’ Day of 1125.
In August of 1147, [now-outlawed] John of Winchester disappeared.
Dean was none too concerned at first. John was always disappearing for days, even weeks, at a time, leaving Dean to carry on his errantry alone. And as long as there was a baron around whose ill-gotten gains Dean could steal with impunity, all was as well as could be expected given the general lawlessness of the time. But in every other case, John would leave word somewhere or send a letter to wherever Dean was, or else one of his friends would fetch Dean to help get John sobered up and onto the next hunt. The latter had become all the more common since Samuel had run away to enter the Abbey of Rievaulx when he was 18 after a flaming row with John.
This time, however, there was no message after Lammastide. By mid-September, Dean began to worry. When no word came after Michaelmas, he began to search actively, to no avail. Other hunts kept cropping up throughout October, and the few chances he had to ask after John were fruitless. But finding himself in Yorkshire as the month drew to a close, Dean decided the time had come to enlist help.
So on the eve of All Saints’, Dean stood at the gate of Rievaulx Abbey and asked for Brother Samuel.
Suddenly there were two other men standing on either side of Samuel, also robed in Cistercian white, though they seemed... brighter, somehow. As he realized what they must be, Dean’s eyes went wide, and he sank to his knees, crossing himself.
“Pray you, stand and fear not,” said the shorter, brown-haired angel as the dark-haired angel grabbed hold of Dean’s left shoulder and pulled him back to his feet.
“Sammy?” Dean asked.
“St. Gabriel, St. Castiel,” Samuel replied, pointing to each angel in turn. “’Twas they who brought me hither.”
“But... but why?!Of all the cares in England of late, why do ye come for ours?”
“Your care is greater than you know,” said St. Gabriel grimly. “It is not true that this land is forsaken of God, but your own case is harder still. We need you two to help us stop the end of the world.”
Dean just stared in shock. Samuel raised an eyebrow at him.
“Morning, campers,” Gabriel said cheerfully when Dean cracked an eye open. “We’d better get this over with so we can get on the road after breakfast.”
Both brothers groaned as they sat up. “Ought we not break our fast first?” Samuel asked.
“Need not. C’mon, both of you.” He picked up a piece of wood and a steel rod and walked away.
Dean groaned again as Samuel helped him to his feet. He was not looking forward to trying out this new weapon without having eaten.
Gabriel led them a short distance from the camp before snapping his fingers. A target appeared, though it seemed to be made of parchment over a board and was colored roughly in the shape of a man. The target rings marked distances from points on the head and chest that would be fatal arrow wounds.
“Is’t a bow, then?” Dean frowned.
“Close,” Gabriel replied.
Then he looked hard at the rod and the wood, and they joined together and changed shape to form [the likeness of] a very odd weapon indeed. The wood had become a bell-shaped handle, and the metal... well, there was a long eight-sided tube, and a part with five filled chambers that looked like it turned, and a lever at the back that, when pulled down a little, caused another lever to spring forth at the front. When Gabriel handed it to him, Dean noted words marked on the barrel and a pentagram on the handle.
“Non timebo mala,” Samuel read over Dean’s shoulder. “—Should be malum, surely?”
Gabriel shrugged. “I didn’t write it. I think the man who made it was not familiar with the Vulgate.”
Samuel nodded thoughtfully.
Dean studied the thing for a few moments longer before shaking his head. “What is it?”
“It’s called a gun,” said Gabriel. “Here, let me show you how it works.”
Once the seven travelers were in Bethlehem, setting up the trap took a little under an hour. The room of the abandoned storehouse that they were using was large enough that even with the candles that John would have to light to complete the summoning, the sides of the room would remain in darkness. Samuel and Dean were to stand in opposite corners, while Father Seamus and Robert were in the other two; Gabriel stood to one side, and Castiel sat in the rafters with a piece of ironwork that Gabriel had crafted. Castiel had already entrusted the real gun to Dean’s care, and he knew that he need not leave his hiding place to shoot Azazel with it. John, of course, was in the center of the room and would not stand so that Dean would have a clear shot....
“So, John,” said Azazel, his brimstone eyes and mocking smile hideous in the candlelight. “We meet again at last.”
“Aye,” John answered wearily. “At last.”
From his hiding place, Dean could just make out Father Seamus closing one of the gaps in the trap chalked on the floor. Robert, he knew, was doing the same on his side of the trap, and Castiel was lowering the ironwork—another trap, far harder for a devil to break—into place overhead. But he could hear no sound but Azazel’s footfalls as he circled John.
“Thou art many things, John of Winchester,” the devil said. “But I did not think thee fey.”
John snorted. “Not though thy vassals beat me ’til I scarce knew my own name?”
Azazel laughed. “Beaten and broken is one thing. But to summon me thus? That I do call fey. Think thou that thou canst do aught against me in this state? ’Twould take a stronger man than thou to trap me.”
“Nay.” John sounded utterly defeated. “I would fain treat with thee.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye. Thou hast not my sons, I know, but... I would give thee aught to leave them be. To cease thy search and let them live.”
“Prithee, what wouldst thou give?”
“I... have learned of aught that can kill thee. A weapon. ’Tis that I offer.”
Azazel laughed again, loud and long, and Dean had to stop himself from shooting the fiend then and there. If all went according to plan, he would have a better shot later.
Finally, Azazel stopped laughing. “There is no weapon that can kill me, John. Thou hast my terms—thy life for thy sons’. What sayest thou?”
And a voice that was not John’s said, “Exorcisamus te....”
The devil lurched. “Who said that?”
Samuel stepped out of his hiding place, slowly reciting the exorcism. Azazel lunged toward him and struck the edge of the iron trap, but his attention was drawn first to the chalk trap below him. He tried to scuff at the lines, but the chalk would not erase, thanks to Gabriel.
Finally, Azazel snarled and reached a hand toward Samuel, choking him and lifting him off the ground with unseen force. “Think thou, little monk, that thou canst send me back to Hell so easily? ’Twould take but the slightest force to break thy neck, and little more to break this trap—a small earthquake would suffice.”
Dean took aim and pulled back the hammer as quietly as he could.
“Let him go,” John pleaded. “Take my life in his stead.”
Azazel chuckled, not taking his eyes from Samuel. “Why, John, what is to prevent me from killing you both?”
Dean squeezed the trigger.
Thegn = thane, a more senior retainer than a cniht (knight), a term that has more youthful connotations
Ealdormann = alderman, a high position of authority but not necessarily hereditary in the way an earldom would be
Wintanceaster – This was the name of the city prior to the Conquest (spelling per Introduction to Old English by Peter S. Baker).
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Date: 2013-06-08 07:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-06-09 05:15 am (UTC)