As You Wish Chapter One: True Love

Summary:

Warlock rarely got sick, all illnesses passing him by as though he was wholly immune, but today he felt surprisingly ill. Since his parents are at work and Nanny is on her honeymoon it’s up to his Nana Agnes to stay with him. Much more interested in video games than books, he is surprised to find himself enthralled in the book she has decided to read aloud.

—

Do you not know? True love is ineffable. Death cannot stop it, only delay it for a while.

A classic tale of true love, ineffability, adventure, and miracles. You might think you know the story, but there is more to this edition of The Princess Bride than meets the eye.

Author’s Note:

This work is COMPLETE, that is to say that unlike most of my other fics that I’ve posted on here it is 100% finished, and I am just staggering the updates. I’ll be posting two chapters today (Friday 11/22/2024) and going forward I will post updates every Friday until we get to the last chapter which if I’ve counted the calendar should be out on January 17th, 2025, since there are only 10 chapters.

I’ve been working on this story since May, and it is truly a labor of love. Many thanks to TinyMoonDrops, skullfragments, sososomebody, and Nate for being my cheerleading squad as I worked on this fic, and special thanks to sososomebody for the AMAZING art of Aziraphale and Crowley as Buttercup and Wesley.

This fic is rated T, and is relatively lighthearted. That said there are scenes later in the fic where Crowley is tortured that might be uncomfortable to read, as well as fight scenes where characters will die. I will make sure to include content warnings on the relevant chapters, but you can rest assured that any violence will be more or less on par with the movie and nothing more than that.

Chapter One: True Love

Warlock was sick. He rarely got sick, all illnesses passing him by as though he was wholly immune, but today he felt surprisingly ill. He could barely muster the effort required to play his favorite video game, which is how he knew that the situation was truly dire. 

His mother came in as he was doing his best to get something resembling rest. She fluffed his pillows and felt his forehead, which was just as feverish as before. He could tell that she was worried, but she was doing her best to not let it show.

“Guess what, Nana Agnes is here.”

“Can’t you tell her I’m sick?” Warlock grumbled. 

“You are sick. That’s why she’s here.” Anathema laughed fondly. “Your dad and I have to work, and Nanny Ashtoreth is still on her honeymoon.”

“She’ll ruffle my hair. I hate that.”

“Well, maybe she won’t.”

Suddenly the door to Warlock’s bedroom burst open. Warlock’s gran was not necessarily intimidating at first glance. Nevertheless, all who knew her for any period of time could tell that there was something unusual about her. A quiet power that could not quite be explained. Today she had a book tucked under her arm, and a mysterious smile on her face. She pulled Anathema into a hug and kissed her cheek before walking over to Warlock and ruffling his hair. Warlock shot a betrayed glance at Anathema, who sighed.

“And how is my favorite grandson?” Agnes asked with a smile, settling down in the chair next to Warlock’s bed. 

He looked at her with a frown. “You’re just saying that. I know you’ve said the same to Adam.”

“Well of course I have. No one ever said I can’t have more than one favorite grandson.” Agnes sniffed before pulling the book out from under her arm.

“I’ll just be going then. The shop won’t open itself.” Anathema left the room, closing the door carefully. Warlock sniffled and blew his nose.

“I brought a special present,” Agnes smiled her mysterious smile, and Warlock perked up slightly.

“What is it?” Warlock slumped back when she held up the book. It was green, with faded gold lettering on the front. “Oh, a book.”

“Not just any book. It’s a special book. One that has been passed down in our family for over three centuries. I think you’ll like it if you give it a chance.” Agnes winked and Warlock wrinkled his nose before reaching for another tissue. 

“Does it have any sports in it? What’s it about?” 

Agnes laughed, her eyes bright. “It has much more than sports. It’s got fencing, fighting, torture, revenge. A tale of giants, monsters, chases, escapes. True love, ineffability, miracles— truly one of the best works of its time.”

“Right.” Warlock shrugged. “It doesn’t sound too bad. I can at least try to stay awake.” He yawned, but it was mostly for effect. He could not deny that the description was intriguing. 

“Thank you, for your confidence,” Agnes drawled before putting on her reading glasses and opening the book. “The Princess Bride, chapter one. Aziraphale was raised on a small farm in the country of Florin. Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse, reading books, and tormenting the girl who worked on their farm. Her name was Crowley, but Aziraphale never called her that. Isn’t that a wonderful beginning?” Agnes asked, peering over the edge of her glasses. 

Warlock shrugged again. “Yeah, it’s great.” 

Agnes hmmed before continuing the story.

—

“Farm girl!” Aziraphale called as she rode into the stable. She was a girl of about eighteen. Her eyes were a blue as bright as the sky, and her long blonde hair was so light it was almost white, and shone in the sun. Truthfully she hated brushing it, and so the curls were often rather unkempt. Her mother complained, but her father saw no issue with how his daughter looked. Aziraphale was his only daughter, and he was more than happy to let her do as she liked. 

Crowley had been brushing the horse of Lord Eastgate, Aziaphale’s father. Her eyes were bright, a brown so light that they appeared gold. They widened at Aziraphale’s approach, but she said nothing to the girl, only stopping her maintenance and gazing at her with the beginnings of a smile. 

Crowley was of an age with Aziraphale, perhaps a year or so older. An orphan, she had come to live at the Eastgate estate at the behest of her aunt and uncle, who were growing too old to care for a young child. Whereas Aziraphale was soft, healthily plump and at an average height, Crowley had a tall and lanky frame. Her hair was as long as Aziraphale’s, though where Aziraphale wore her hair loose and curly, Crowley kept hers pulled back into a tight braid. It had presumably started out neat but now had whisps falling into her face. 

Aziraphale swung herself off of the horse and landed neatly on the floor. “Make sure you polish my horse’s saddle, I want to see my face shining in it by morning!” Aziraphale’s tone may have seemed harsh, but there was a teasing lilt to it. Crowley gave her a simple smile in turn as she took the horse’s reins. Aziraphale felt she might have imagined a spark as their hands touched and Crowley replied “As you wish.”

“As you wish,” was all that Crowley ever said to Aziraphale as she carried out the other girl’s many demands, always with a small, soft smile. As time went on Aziraphale softened towards the other girl, making sure to conclude her requests with “please” at the end. Sometimes she thought she imagined Crowley looking at her when her back was turned. Yet every time that she looked back Crowley’s gaze was in another direction. 

The truth was that Aziraphale’s friends were few and far between. Around the age of sixteen, many of the village girls had ceased to speak with her. This bewildered Aziraphale, for whom the change seemed quite sudden. A few months into this exclusion, Aziraphale managed to corner a girl named Angelica, who had previously been one of Aziraphale’s dearest friends. 

“I should think, after what you’ve done, you’d have the courtesy not to ask.”

“And what have I done?” Aziraphale asked with exasperation.

“Oh don’t pretend you don’t know! You’ve stolen them!” Angelica sniffed haughtily before leaving. Aziraphale stared as she finally understood; she knew who “them” was.

It had been at the back of her mind, but she was now struck with full clarity. Many village boys had been paying increased attention to her in the past few months, much to her irritation. How could Angelica, or anyone else, accuse her of having stolen them? As if she even wanted any of them. What good were they? All they did was pester and vex and annoy.

“Can I brush your horse, Aziraphale?”

“No thank you, the farm girl does that.”

“Can I go riding with you, Aziraphale?”

“Thank you, but I quite enjoy my time alone.”

“You think you’re too good for anybody, don’t you Aziraphale?”

“No; I don’t. I just like riding by myself, that’s all.”

As the year went on, the conversations began to involve a great deal of stammering and flushing and awkward questions about the weather.

“Do you think it’s going to rain, Aziraphale?”

“I don’t think so; the sky is blue.”

“Well, it might rain.”

“Yes, I suppose it might.”

“You think you’re too good for anybody, don’t you Aziraphale?”

“No; I just don’t think it’s going to rain, that’s all.”

The boys took to following her about the village, and sometimes even back to the Estate, lurking around in a way that made her distinctly uncomfortable. She did her best to pay them no mind, as she knew that with the protection of her father there was no way that they would truly try anything too damaging. Furthermore, they soon learned to fear the threat of Crowley, who would emerge from her hovel and give the boys a solid thrashing any time that she saw them about. Aziraphale would often thank her for this, but Crowley would simply turn what Aziraphale was coming to realize was a lovely shade of red and mumble her constant refrain— “As You Wish.”

Only a few months after Aziraphale had first begun to register the sparks that had appeared between the two of them, they were standing together in the kitchen. Aziraphale was making herself a pot of tea, and Crowley was bringing in eggs that she had just collected from the kitchen coop. As Crowley was about to leave, Aziraphale came to a sharp realization that was the culmination of how she felt, and her eyes flashed between the door and her surroundings.

“Farm girl!” Aziraphale called out, and Crowley turned, the ghost of a smile at the corner of her lips. Aziraphale cast her gaze around wildly before she spotted a pitcher hanging just within her reach, though it would require a stretch that was slightly beyond the range of comfort. “Fetch me that pitcher?” Aziraphale gestured, and Crowley walked forward until she was facing her. The two were chest to chest, faces mere inches from each other as Crowley reached above them for the pitcher, her eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s as she leaned forward.

“As you wish.”

Aziraphale could feel the ghost of Crowley’s breath on her ear as she pulled away, placing the pitcher carefully in Aziraphale’s hands. Crowley turned away and Aziraphale felt the words she wanted to say stuck in her throat as Crowley left the kitchen. For she was amazed to discover that when Crowley was saying “as you wish,” what she meant was “I love you.” Aziraphale was even more amazed to discover that she truly loved the other girl back.

That night, Aziraphale crept out of the main house to the annex where Crowley lived with the other staff. Knocking on the door to Crowley’s room, she was met with raised eyebrows when Crowley opened the door.

“May I come in?” Aziraphale asked quietly. Crowley nodded, and there was a catch in her breath as she simply replied, “As you wish.”

Crowley closed the door behind Aziraphale as the other girl’s eyes wandered throughout the room before she turned back to Crowley. She reached up softly to cup Crowley’s cheek, pulling Crowley towards her. Aziraphale’s words ghosted across Crowley’s lips as she asked. “May I kiss you?” 

Crowley nodded and swallowed thickly before replying with her constant refrain. “As you wish.”

—

“Hold it, hold it—” Warlock interrupted Agnes with consternation, glaring moodily at his grandmother. “Is this a trick that you’re playing on me? Where’s the sports, the monsters?” Warlock sighed and looked doubtfully at his grandmother. “Is this a kissing book?”

“Wait, wait—” Agnes interrupted. 

“When will it get good, is all I’m asking.” Warlock mumbled.

“Keep your shirt on. Just let me read.” Agnes huffed. “Crowley had no money for marriage, and Lord Eastgate would never let his only daughter marry a mere farm hand. So she packed her few belongings and left the farm to seek her fortune across the sea, hopeful that she would achieve good standing as a naval officer. It was an emotional time for Aziraphale as they parted ways, embracing each other—”

“I don’t believe this.” Warlock grumbled.

—

“I fear I’ll never see you again,” Aziraphale whispered as she held Crowley tightly.

“Of course you will,” Crowley smiled, tucking Aziraphale’s head under her chin.

“But what if something happens to you?” Aziraphale asked thickly.

“Angel, I will always come for you.” Crowley murmured.

“How can you be sure?” Aziraphale asked, pulling away slightly to gaze into Crowley’s sharp eyes.

“This is true love,” Crowley smiled again, cupping Aziraphale’s cheek. “It’s ineffable. Do you really think it happens every day?” Aziraphale smiled in return and pulled Crowley into a tight hug.

—

“Crowley did not reach her destination.” Agnes read solemnly. “Her ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Lucifer, who never left captives alive. When Aziraphale got the news that Crowley was murdered—”

Warlock perked up, a light in his eyes once again. “Murdered by pirates is good!”

“She locked herself away in her room. For days she refused all comfort, neither eating nor sleeping. She simply stared out her window, where she could see the annex where Crowley used to live, emotionless as she thought to herself that she would never love again. Five years later, the main square of Florin City was packed as the citizens waited to hear the announcement of Prince Gabriel’s bride-to-be.”

—

Prince Gabriel was tall and broad-shouldered. An intimidating man, his hair was always perfectly styled, and his eyes were a blue so dark and vibrant they almost looked purple. He stood beside his parents, King Michael and Queen Uriel, who despite their age stood tall. 

“My people!” Gabriel’s voice boomed. “A month from now, Florin shall celebrate its 500th anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady who was once a commoner like yourselves.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes from where she was waiting behind the closed castle door, listening to Gabriel’s droning outside. She was the daughter of a lord, not exactly a commoner. She was trained in etiquette, horseback riding, fencing, and incredibly well read for someone her age. She shook out her hands, palms sweaty. She could do this. Her heart had been crushed long ago, marrying a man she did not love was inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Besides, since she had become betrothed to Prince Gabriel and moved to the palace she had access to an extraordinary library. She was also well aware that her marriage bed duties would be minimal, as Prince Gabriel most assuredly was in an affair with Count Beelzebub. The count was nearly inseparable from the Prince, and she could sense the love between them. Very clearly her only purpose here was as an ornament, a piece of the prince’s collection. She had died inside nearly five years ago. This was nothing of consequence, in the long run. 

Suddenly the doors were opening, and Aziraphale registered that it was time to make her entrance. She walked out into the square, uneasy as the many faces peered at her calculatingly. “Princess Aziraphale!” 

She knew that the right thing to do would be to muster a smile as she looked out at the crowd, but the idea was unbearable. Aziraphale’s dream of marriage had drowned at sea with Crowley, whose body had, of course, never been recovered. And her heart had drowned with it. Instead she stared dispassionately up at the prince, king, and queen. The king said something that Aziraphalee’s buzzing ears could not hear. Suddenly, and with no signal, the crowd kneeled as one, and despite having had dry eyes for half a decade, Aziraphale unconsciously felt her eyes begin to well with tears.

—

After the announcement, Aziraphale fled to her room, disrobing from her elaborate dress and instead changing into her riding clothes. A flowing red tunic with matching riding pants, and sturdy boots. A dagger lay hidden in a secret pocket. Blinking away the tears that had somehow appeared after years absent, she made her way to the stables. She was stopped by Prince Gabriel, who pulled her aside just as she was about to exit the castle.

“Must you ride?” Gabriel asked softly. “You seem so upset.”

Aziraphale’s thoughts grasped to find her any excuse but the truth as to her feelings. “The ah, the King looked so old today. I, I suppose that is what upset me.”

Gabriel laughed. “He has a right to look old my dear. At last count he was 97, and nearly every organ in his body has or is on the verge of betraying him. But my father’s health is not what has upset you.” Gabriel reached out to touch Aziraphale’s shoulder, but stopped when she flinched away. “Have I done something wrong? Have I been inattentive? I know you do not love me, but I promise you will grow to do so in time.”

Aziraphalee fought the urge to roll her eyes or laugh bitterly. Her growing to love Gabriel had never been on the table. She settled for shaking her head as she made her way into the stables, and decided that something closer to the truth would work. “It was not you.” Mostly, she thought to herself privately. “It was the crowd, they should not have bowed to me. When you chose me as your bride I was like them, ordinary.” She pushed aside the voice in her head saying you could never be ordinary, Angel, to move forward. “I felt a fraud today.”

Gabriel gave her a sweet smile, and something like hatred welled up in her before she shoved it back down. “My love, your beauty is more than that of Helen of Troy. When we marry you will not only be the most beautiful woman in the world, you will also be the richest and most powerful.” The most miserable as well, though I have been that for some time. She thought to herself as he reached to kiss her and she did her best not to grimace. “Don’t expect too much from life.” That was easy enough. She had lost her faith the day she learned of Crowley’s death. Little had mattered to her in the years since.

“You are very wise.” Aziraphale forced herself to say. “I must learn to be satisfied with what I have.” She swung herself up onto her horse and rode away. Aziraphale felt nothing so much as trapped these days, but on her horse she felt free. As she rode, she could pretend to herself that she was that simple girl again, out on her daily ride that would end with her return home. A home where Crowley would be waiting for her. A home that she could never have again.

—

Aziraphale rode harder than usual that day, and as sundown approached she was surprised to find herself near the Florin channel, farther than she had expected to go. She slowed her horse and was further surprised to find herself faced with three strangers. The one in the middle was smiling at her in a way that made her feel slightly uneasy. One of his teeth was golden, and its shine was unsettling. To his left was a scowling woman dressed in form fitting fighting clothes, her hair was pulled back in locs and a gleaming sword was at her hip. She had the look of someone who absolutely knew how to use it. To his right, and closest to Aziraphale, was a tall blonde woman, with thick muscles and hands that looked like they could encircle the other woman’s waist entirely. 

“A word, my lady?” The man’s tone was easy, but Aziraphale still tensed. “We are but poor, lost, circus performers. Is there a village nearby?” 

Aziraphale raised one of her eyebrows. She saw no caravan nearby, and had nothing but doubt for their story. She frowned, and tightened her grip on the reins as her eyes narrowed. “There is nothing nearby, not for miles.”

“Then there will be no one to hear you scream.” Aziraphale tensed again, and readied herself to turn the horse, but was too late. She had been so focused on the man that she missed the movement of the giant, who had Aziraphale’s neck in her grasp. She pressed down on Aziraphale’s pressure point and caught Aziraphale gently as she lost consciousness and began to slip off the horse. 

—

Maggie, the giant, held Aziraphale gently in her arms as she made her way to the sailboat they had docked nearby to some trees on the shore of the channel. The man who had hired her, meanwhile, was ripping a piece of fabric off of an army jacket.

“Sandalphon, what is it that you are ripping?” Nina, the swordswoman asked, her eyes narrowed at the man.

“Fabric, from the uniform of an army office of Guilder.” Sandalphon huffed, succeeding in ripping off the fabric and attaching it to the horse before scaring it away. The horse took off, spooked, and Sandalphon looked after it with a satisfied smile.

“Who is Guilder?” Maggie asked, turning towards them again with a furrowed brow. 

As the three moved closer to the boat Sandalphon pointed out towards the channel. “The country across the sea and the sworn enemy of Florin.” Sandalphon replied with a content smile. “Thought to be responsible for the death of the late Prince Samael and his family. Not that it was ever proven. Once the horse returns alone, Prince Gabriel will find the fabric and suspect that the Guildreians have taken his bride. When he finds her body dead on the Guilder frontier, his suspicions will be confirmed. Between her loss and the grief still felt for his older brother the war is as good as begun.”

“You never said anything about killing anyone,” Maggie frowned. Nina said nothing, though their mouth twisted into a grimace as she jumped onto the boat.

“I have hired you to start a war. It’s a prestigious line of work, with a long and glorious tradition. If we do this properly, there will be a continual demand for our services.” Sandalphon huffed. 

“I just don’t think it’s right,” Maggie sighed, laying Aziraphale down carefully on the deck of the boat. “Killing an innocent girl.”

Sandalphon, who had just stepped onto the boat, turned to glare at Maggie. “Am I going mad or did the word think just cross your lips?” He sneered at her, stepping closer as he continued. “I did not hire you for your brains, you hippopotamic land mass! Besides, God kills innocents all the time. If it doesn’t bother Her, don’t let it bother you.”

“I agree with Maggie.” Nina’s voice was quiet but firm.

“Oh, the sot has spoken,” Sandalphon spat sardonically. “What happens to her is not truly your concern! I will kill her.” Sandalphon spat. “And remember this— NEVER forget this—” despite the fact that he was smaller than both of them, Sandalphon still managed to be intimidating, though Nina’s face was impassive. “—when I found you, you were so slobbering drunk you couldn’t buy brandy—” Nina grimaced again. It was true she had been at a low point when meeting Sandalphon. Which was the only reason he had convinced her to join him, honestly. 

Sandalphon continued his advance, now focused on Maggie, who despite having a good foot or two of height compared to Sandalphon still shrunk back. “And YOU! Friendless, brainless, helpless, hopeless. Do you really want me to send you back to where you were, unemployed in GREENLAND?”

Maggie’s face twisted up into apology but before she could say anything Sandalphon had already turned away in disgust. As he began to sail the boat away from the shore Nina walked closer to Maggie, leaning in almost to whisper.

“That Sandy he can fuss.” They placed extra emphasis on the last word, looking at Maggie with a sly smile. 

Maggie looked at her curiously, mumbling to herself “fuss… fuss.” Brightly she replied directly to Nina in a loud whisper. “I think he likes to scream at us!”

“Probably he means no harm.” Nina pressed again.

“He’s really very short on charm!” Maggie replied, almost giggling. Nina patted her softly on the arm.

“You really do have a gift for rhyme my friend.”

“Yes, some of the time.” Maggie replied with a true smile.

Sandalphon turned back towards them and snapped out “Enough of that!”

As they were properly sailing off Nina asked loudly “Maggie, are there rocks up ahead?”

“If there are, we’ll all be dead!” she replied cheerfully.

“No more rhymes now, I mean it!” Sandalphon snarled. 

“Anybody want a peanut?” Maggie’s question was drowned out by Sandalphon’s scream, and she and Nina shared a secret smile.