As You Wish Chapter Five: The Pit of Despair
This is chapter five! To start reading from the beginning, check out 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.
Chapter Preview:
Author’s Note:
Hello my dear readers! Thank you to everyone who has engaged with this story so far, it has truly been a labor of love. Many thanks again to TinyMoonDrops, skullfragments, sososomebody, and Nate for being my cheerreading squad as I worked on this fic, and special thanks to sososomebody for the AMAZING art of Aziraphale and Crowley as Buttercup and Westley.
Please note that this chapter has a small torture scene in the Pit of Despair, which if you have seen the movie you will be familiar with— it’s not anything worse than what happens in the movie, and is almost exactly the same scene only with different character names and in a written instead of visual format. For those who have not seen the movie, or have not seen it in a while, I have included a detailed information in the endnotes. I’ve also inserted an achor link, so you should be able to skip past it. Please leave a comment and let me know asap if the link doesn’t work for you! You can also manually skip ahead by scrolling to the next line break after the “Skip Torture” link. As always, if there is ANY content you find triggering and/or believe that there was not adequate warning for please leave a comment and let me know so I can make the necessary adjustments.
I hope y’all enjoy chapter five!
Chapter Five: The Pit of Despair
Crowley came to awareness slowly. Count Beelzebub had done an annoyingly good job of knocking him out. He took care not to open his eyes even as he came to awareness, instead taking in what he could of his environment. Wherever he was, it was cold, and vaguely damp, and chains kept him tied to some kind of table. His shirt was gone, leaving him only in the wrapping that kept his chest relatively flat. There was a shuffling sound and he could sense someone approaching. Opening his eyes, he quickly looked around while still keeping his body still. He was inside what appeared to be some kind of underground cave.
He looked appraisingly at the person approaching him. She had short, dark hair, and a sharp gaze. She smiled disconcertingly as she approached, and Crowley noted that her teeth were uncommonly sharp.
“Where am I?” Crowley’s voice was rough, and he wondered what it would take for his captor to give him water.
The person looked at him appraisingly before approaching. “You are in the pit of despair.” Her voice was raspy as she continued. “Don’t even think—” she coughed, clearing her throat, before continuing in a voice that was much closer to a normal cadence, but with a certain sinister air. “don’t even think about trying to escape. The chains are far too thick.” She began to dab at his bruised and bloody shoulder with a wet and dubiously clean cloth. “And don’t dream of being rescued either. The only way in is secret. And only the Prince, the Count, and I know how to get in and out.”
Crowley ignored the person’s sneers and turned on his signature charm.
“And who are you?” He asked, with far more cheer and confidence than was typical for someone who was wounded and chained to a table.
“My name is Shax. Though I’m not sure why you care. I will not betray his lordship.”
Crowley attempted to shrug before wincing as it pulled at his chains.
“I’m not asking you to. But from your description it seems that I am to be here until I die, and if only three people know how to get in here that means that you’re going to be my primary conversation partner until that death.”
Shax blinked at him, surprised enough to temporarily stop cleaning up Crowley’s wound.
“I suppose that is true…”
“Why bother curing me though? That’s the part I don’t understand. If you’re to kill me, what is the point?” Crowley mused.
“The Prince and the Count always insist on everyone being healthy before they’re broken.” Shax explained as she finished cleaning the wound and began to apply a salve.
“Ah, so it’s to be torture then? I can cope with torture.” Crowley’s words held more confidence than she actually felt, and yet Shax only looked at her with pity and shook her head.
“What, you don’t believe me?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.
Shax sighed as she began to wrap the wound.
“You survived the fire swamp, which means you are either very brave or very stupid. But no one withstands the Machine.”
Crowley looked away from Shax, instead focusing on her surroundings, her mind spinning a thousand miles a minute as she began to plot her escape.
—
Elsewhere, Aziraphale’s mind was also whirring a thousand miles a minute, and although her face was exhibiting nothing but sorrow her mind was calculating. She passed an open corridor where Gabriel and Beelzebub were standing, and pretended not to notice as Gabriel told the count that it was his father’s ailing health that bothered her. As if she did not have much larger worries.
Aziraphale’s favorite place in the palace was, without a doubt, the library. When she had believed Crowley to be dead, the small part of her that was still capable of finding happiness did so through the means of literature. Even after months of being betrothed to Gabriel, she still had yet to explore its depths. As she made her way to her favored reading spot, she was pleased to see that one of her favorite people was already there.
“Ah, I thought I might find you here.” Aziraphale hummed as she sat down next to the person who was perhaps her only friend in the castle.
“My lady! I apologize, have I missed—”
“Please, Muriel.” Aziraphale held up her hand. “I do believe I’ve told you that when we are alone you are more than welcome to call me Aziraphale. Now, what have you been reading?”
Muriel’s shoulders relaxed as they began to feel more at ease.
“Thank you my la— uh, that is to say, thank you Aziraphale. My reading has gotten much better since you began teaching me. Right now I’m working my way through one of the royal history books. It’s all stuff that we were taught young, but I was thinking about what you said, about how history is told and written by the victors and no one is unbiased. So I decided to read up on it more than just what people say happened.” Muriel replied enthusiastically, and Aziraphale could not help but smile.
Muriel had been assigned as her lady-in-waiting when Aziraphale had first come to the castle, and had slowly come out of their shell as they spent more time together and learned from each other. For all that Aziraphale’s family was wealthy and well-respected, she had not grown up involved with the Royal Court and Muriel had been invaluable as she helped the newest Princess learn how to function as a member of court. They complimented each other well, for Muriel had grown up in the court and knew all of the rules spoken and unspoken, but relatively little of the world outside the castle.
A month into their acquaintance with Aziraphale, Muriel confessed that they were surprised to be given such an important role in guiding Aziraphale, as their parentage was unknown. As the story went, a stablehand working on Count Beelzebub’s country estate found Muriel, who appeared to be less than a month old, swaddled in a blanket with their name and tucked in with the horses. For the first few years of their life Muriel was raised by the kind servants at the Count’s estate and presumably would have stayed there as a mere servant, where it not for the fact that Count Beelzebub, who had no heir nor any interest in having their own child, had taken an interest in Muriel, deciding to raise them as their own.
Aziraphale listened with half an ear as Muriel went on about the book, humming and nodding in all of the right places, but her mind could not help but wander elsewhere. As much affection as she had for Muriel, and for the King and Queen, with whom she amicably conversed daily, she had no desire to stay in the castle now that she knew Crowley was alive. Still, her escape would have to be planned carefully. She still had no idea who had hired Sandalphon to kill her, and the castle provided protection. She needed to create a plan where she could find and be with Crowley without alienating the people who were protecting her from the unknown assailants.
“—which really is quite sad if you think about it.” Muriel finished, looking at Aziraphale expectantly. For a moment Aziraphale did not register what had been said, or how she was supposed to respond. Guiltily she scrambled backwards in the conversation and what Muriel had been talking about. Something about Prince Gabriel’s older brother? Aziraphale shook her head.
“Sorry my dear, it appears that my mind wandered away from me at the moment.” Aziraphale bit her lip. “Would you mind repeating that again.”
“Oh, it’s nothing important. I’m not surprised that you are feeling out of sorts.” They patted Aziraphale on the back of her hand sympathetically. “You have said very little about what happened after you were taken by the assassins from Guilder.”
Aziraphale thought carefully about what she was to say next. Muriel had been there immediately once she had gotten back from her tumultuous adventure and had been careful thus far to let Aziraphale speak about what happened at her own pace. Nevertheless, curiosity was a large part of Muriel’s inner nature, and Aziraphale knew that they had to be buzzing with the need to ask questions. Still, the library was not exactly a private space, and this was not a conversation she would like to have overheard.
“My dear, would you accompany me to my rooms?” Aziraphale stood up and brushed imaginary lint off of her dress. “I would appreciate your assistance with one of my dresses. I’m afraid it has a few tears, and your needlework is immaculate.”
“Oh! Of course milady. I’d be happy to help.”
—
Aziraphale closed the door to her rooms carefully, subtly engaging the lock on the door so as not to be disturbed. Muriel looked around expectantly as they waited for Aziraphale to bring out the dress, and was surprised when Aziraphale simply slumped wearily onto the chaise lounge in front of the fireplace.
“Aziraphale?” Muriel asked hesitantly. “What’s wrong?”
Aziraphale sighed again as she cradled her head in her hands. “Remind me, what have I told you about Crowley?” Aziraphale’s question was filled with a misery familiar to Muriel.
“Well,” Muriel paused for a moment as they thought how best to phrase their reply. “You’ve told me quite a bit, though not everything.” Muriel squeezed next to Aziraphale on the couch, touching Aziraphale’s shoulder gently. “You told me that the two of you grew up together, that she was your true love, and that she died at sea by the hand of the Dread Pirate Lucifer.” Muriel paused again as they observed the unshed tears in Aziraphale’s eyes. “Did he— that is to say, I know that Lucifer is one of the people who captured you yesterday. Did he say anything about her?”
Aziraphale began to laugh, but it was not a nice laugh. It was a laugh of pain, a laugh of the person who has discovered something both horrible and wonderful, the kind of laugh that dissolves into an uncontrollable sob. Muriel produced a handkerchief that Aziraphale took gratefully as she steadied her breath.
“This whole situation is a bit of a mess I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted with a brittle smile. “I have encountered a truth that brings both hope and despair as I wonder at the best path forward. They say that the course of true love never did run smooth, but I never expected things to be so complicated.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Muriel admitted as they stared worryingly at Aziraphale.
“Crowley lives, Muriel.” Aziraphale stated simply. “My true love lives, and yet I am slated to marry another. True love let us save each other in the fire swamp, and here I am, having thrown it away, treating it like garbage. I can only hope one day to apologize, to beg forgiveness, to right all of these wrongs.” Aziraphale whispered, wringing her hands together.
“I— but how? I thought that the Dread Pirate Lucifer took no prisoners?” Muriel asked, a mixture of hope and confusion warring within her. She knew how deeply Aziraphale had mourned Crowley, how deeply she had loved her. This should have been joyous news, and yet Aziraphale looked wretched.
“That’s what I thought too, but that’s not what happened. And now I don’t know what to do. I never found out exactly what those assassins wanted, and until I know, to expose myself by leaving the castle would be foolish, if Gabriel would even be content to let me leave. He still demands that I marry him, despite my explanations. I do not know what else there is to be done.”
Muriel drew Aziraphale into a proper hug. “I have never been in love, I do not understand what it is like. But I will support you however I can. I might not ever have experienced true love, but I know that it is rare and wonderful and precious, and not something one should give up.”
—
It was twenty days until the wedding, and less than three since she had been, briefly, reunited with Crowley. But they would be together again much sooner if she had anything to say about it. She and Muriel had crafted a plan, which after some pushing from Muriel about the need for another accomplice they incorporated Eric. But first and most important step to put in place, which would affect all others after it, she had to enact alone.
Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale threw the door open to the Prince’s chambers, where she found Gabriel and Beelzebub with their heads together standing over the desk. Before either of them had a chance to speak the words came pouring out of her.
“It comes to this: I love Crowley. I always have. I know now that I always will. If you tell me I must marry you in twenty days, please believe I will be dead by morning.” Aziraphale had no intention of killing herself, of course. Not that she had not toyed with the idea previously, particularly in the days quickly following her receiving notice of Crowley’s presumed death. But especially now that she knew her true love lived, Aziraphale had no desire to perish herself. The actual plan was to have Muriel and Eric fake her death while she herself escaped the castle in search of Crowley herself. Or at least that was one of them. They of course had many others in place. Still, Aziraphale was a better actress than people gave her credit for, and her gaze was piercing as she stared into Gabriel’s eyes. The Prince looked stunned, and said nothing for a moment as he was caught in her stormy blue eyes before he looked away and back at the papers he had collected on his desk.
“Very well.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “I could never cause you grief; consider the wedding off.” Turning to Beelzebub, he continued, “you returned this Crowley to his ship?”
“Yes,” Beelzebub nodded, looking carefully at Aziraphale before returning their gaze to Gabriel. “He sailed off that night.”
“Then we will simply alert him.” Gabriel clapped his hands expressively before turning to Aziraphale. “Beloved, are you certain he still wants you?” Gabriel asked, doubt and a slight pity coloring his voice, though his eyes remained kind. “After all, it was you who did the leaving in the Fire Swamp. Not to mention that pirates are not known to be men of their words.”
Aziraphale bristled at the insult, and straightened her shoulders. “My Crowley will always come for me.”
Gabriel stroked his chin thoughtfully before replying. “Well then. I suggest a deal. You write four copies of a letter. I’ll send my four fastest ships. One in each direction. The Dread Pirate Lucifer is always close to Florin this time of year. We’ll run up the white flag and deliver your message. If Crowley wants you, bless you both. If not … please consider me as an alternative to suicide. Are we agreed?”
Aziraphale nodded, doing her best not to let her anxiety bleed through. Crowley would undoubtedly be cross with her, but there was no way that he would give up on their love. Crowley had always had multiple schemes up her sleeve, and her time as the Dread Pirate Lucifer had likely only honed that even sharper. Aziraphale would write the letters, of course, but she doubted that Gabriel would actually send them. She would just have to make sure to put her own plans in place.
—
Gabriel and Beelzebub walked through a copse of gnarled trees in the forest that existed on the outskirts of the castle. Making sure to look around to verify they were alone, Gabriel joined their hands cautiously. Beelzebub looked down at their intertwined fingers, surprised, before giving Gabriel a small smile.
“Your Princess really is a winning creature. A trifle simple, perhaps, but her appeal is undeniable.” Beelzebub teased gently.
“Oh I know. The people are quite taken with her. She’s not really my type, but you are well aware of that of course.” Gabriel replied with a smile. “You know, it’s odd.” Gabriel stopped, letting go of Beelzebub’s hand, only to cradle their cheek. “When I hired Sandalphon to have her murdered on our engagement day, I thought that was clever. But it’s going to be so much more satisfying where I strangle her on our wedding night.” Beelzebub surged up, pulling Gabriel down into a kiss. He picked them up easily as they wrapped their legs around Gabriel’s waist, their hands grasping at his hair as he backed them against a tree. This kept them occupied for a few moments before they pulled away, and Gabriel began to kiss Beelzebub’s neck as he continued speaking. “Where the deaths of Samael,” Gabriel’s breath hitched for a moment “and his family were not enough, this will hopefully push the feelings of the nation over the edge, and we can finally wage war to destroy Guilder.” Gabriel pressed against Beelzebub more firmly before a stray elbow hit a knot that caused the tree to open. Only Gabriel’s strong arms kept Beelzebub from fully falling in.
“That is the third time you’ve done that.” Beelzebub scowled as Gabriel placed them back on steady ground. “That knot is somehow impossible to find except by accident. We made it too secret.” Beelzebub smoothed down their clothes and ran a hand through their hair, making sure that it was free of any bits of tree. “Well, are you coming down into the Pit?” Beelzebub asked. “Crowley’s got his strength back. I’m starting him on The Machine tonight.”
“Beez, you know how much I love watching you work. But, I’ve got my country’s five hundredth anniversary to plan, my wedding to arrange, my wife to murder, and Guilder to frame for it. I’m swamped.” Gabriel shrugged, briefly taking off his crown to smooth down his own hair.
“Get some rest— if you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything.” Beelzebub replied, caressing Gabriel’s cheek and giving him a soft kiss before entering the tree.
—
Crowley had taken the opportunity to study his surroundings carefully in the time that he had been held captive. Shax had been careful to tend to his wounds, and he was allowed small breaks from being tied down to relieve himself. He could have overpowered them, but it served his interests better to lure them into a false sense of security. If they assumed he was weaker than he actually was, they would let down their guard and it would be even easier to overpower them.
Her primary worry was whether she would gather the strength before they began on the torture, which would be a major setback. He did not know exactly what “The Machine” did, but it was certainly ominous.
Unfortunately for her, the same night that she decided to escape was the night the torture started. She had been resting, trying to save up energy for her escape when she was roughly awoken as Shax forced her into the machine. Count Beelzebub stood behind them, and Crowley realized that weak as she was there was no point in fighting back. She would simply have to endure, as she had many times before.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Count asked, gesturing to the Machine. Their voice had an underlying buzzing lilt to it. Crowley was paying rather little attention to their words, though, confused as Shax had begun to attach suction cups to their person.
“It’s taken me half a lifetime to invent it.” The Count settled in at the desk as they continued, shuffling through some books and papers until making a triumphant noise in finding the one they were searching for. Crowley narrowed his eyes at them, unable to speak as Shax had just jabbed a thick leather gag into their mouth, securing it around the back of her head. “I’m sure you’ve discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain.” Crowley lightly tested the thickness of their bonds. Too thick to break through easily. They had to grudgingly admit that Shax was annoyingly good at their job. “At present I’m writing the definitive work on the subject.” The Count’s voice was almost a purr, and Crowley fought not to roll her eyes at them. “So I want you to be totally honest with me on how the Machine makes you feel.”
Setting aside the notebook, the Count moved toward a dial attached to the machine with numbers ranging from a low of one to a high of fifty. “This being our first try, I’ll use the lowest setting.”
Crowley said nothing, not that he could with the gag in his mouth. Soon however, he realized that the gag was actually a mercy, as The Machine was turned on, and a pain different from he had ever experienced began. He bit down on the leather even as aching screams were wrought out of him, sounds he did not realize he was capable of making. After what felt like an eternity, but was in reality only about thirty seconds, The Machine was turned off. The gag was ripped out of his mouth as he began gasping, his throat completely raw. His mind was in turmoil, and he was dizzy like he never had been before.
Blearily she opened her eyes to see that the Count had settled themself back at the desk with their notebook and quill.
“As you know, the concept of the suction pump is centuries old. Well, really, that’s all this is. Except that instead of sucking water, I’m sucking life. I’ve just sucked one year of your life away.” Beelzebub sounded almost dreamy as they continued, and Crowley was disgusted with just how enthusiastically the Count seemed to embrace his torture. “I might one day go as high as five but… I really don’t know what that would do to you. So, let’s just start with what we have.” Leaning forward, Beelzebub’s eyes gleamed as their gaze met his. “What did this do to you? Tell me. And remember, this is for posterity, so be honest— how do you feel?”
Crowley said nothing, only staring stonily at the Count, who sighed and gestured to Shax. They smiled— it was not a nice smile— as they turned the knob again, and Crowley’s pain began anew, and his eyes began to tear up as he screamed once more. Despite his tight bonds, his thrashing was fierce enough he may very well have broken them with enough time.
“Hmmm, interesting.” Beelzebub buzzed, making a note in his book.
—
Gabriel shifted through the numerous piles of papers on his desk. Despite the fact that they were meticulously organized, there were so many of them that he sometimes struggled to find what he was looking for right away. A small irritation in the long run, but still an irritation nevertheless.
A soft knock sounded at the doorway to his office and he looked up.
“Eric.” Gabriel beckoned them forward and Eric bowed hurriedly before dropping to a kneel next to the desk.
“Sire.”
“You know I’ve always appreciated your work. You are young, but work hard, and I trust you with so much responsibility. Don’t make me regret it.” Gabriel warned, and Eric nodded hurriedly as Gabriel continued. “As Chief Enforcer of all Florin, I trust you with this secret: killers from Guilder are infiltrating the Thieves’ Quarter and plan to murder my bride on our wedding night.”
Gabriel’s serious gaze met Eric’s, which made them hesitate before gently pushing back. “My spy network has heard no such news.”
They were interrupted when Aziraphale glided into the room.
“Any word from Crowley?” She asked lightly. She gave no notice to Eric, as keeping the fact that they were acquainted a secret was key to part of their plan.
“Too soon, my angel. Patience.” Gabriel replied, all saccharine patience, and a large part of Aziraphale bristled, though she took care not to let her inner scowl appear on her face. Only one person was allowed to call her ‘Angel’ and it most certainly was not Gabriel. Still, the irritation must have shown on her face somehow as a crease appeared on Gabriel’s face.
“He will come for me.” Aziraphale sniffed before gliding back out. It seemed that Gabriel was still intent on pretending that he had sent the letters, despite Eric confirming for her that no couriers had been sent and all of the ships in their navy were accounted for.
Back in the office, Gabriel was speaking to Eric in a harsh whisper. “She will not be murdered. On the day of the wedding, I want the Thieves’ Quarter emptied and every inhabitant arrested. Eric hesitated again before responding.
“Many of the thieves will resist. My regular enforcers will be inadequate.”
“Form a Brute Squad, then! I want the Thieves’ Quarter completely empty before I wed.” Gabriel snapped.
Eric looked down, doing his best to bite his tongue at the audacity of the Prince. “It won’t be easy, sire.”
“Try ruling the world sometime.” Gabriel huffed as Eric left, and Eric was glad that his back was to the Prince, which hid the way his eyes rolled in exasperation.
—
As the wedding grew closer, Aziraphale, Muriel, and Eric worked harder than ever to hone their plan. She had the utmost faith that, were Crowley able, he would have come for her already. Which meant that it was incredibly likely that he was being held captive by the Prince. She had faith that he was not dead, that he couldn’t be. Do you not know, true love is ineffable. Death cannot stop it, only delay it for a while. So, if Crowley could not come to her, Aziraphale would simply have to rescue them herself.
Her main concern was the supposed threat from Guilder. Someone was trying to start a war that didn’t need to happen, and she had a sinking suspicion that she knew who. Aziraphale and Muriel were sitting in Aziraphale’s quarters reading quietly when Aziraphale broke the silence, looking up from her book that she had hardly been reading at all. “Muriel?”
“Yes, Azi?” Muriel looked up from their own book with no small amount of curiosity.
“I am considering what Eric said. How the Prince is obsessed with Guilder wanting to kill me.” Aziraphale stared out the window, noting the cloudy sky. No stars were visible despite the dark night.
“Yes? It is definitely a concern, Florin and Guilder have been enemies for centuries. It is part of why we have to be careful once we leave the castle grounds.” Muriel’s brow furrowed.
“Yes well, why is the Prince so convinced that it is Guilder who wants to kill me. Those people who took me before were not working for Guilder directly, but instead trying to stir trouble. To make me an inciting incident. So who is it that wants the war?”
“You suspect it isn’t Guilderians?” Muriel asked in surprise.
“It might be. They are our enemies. But something about it just doesn’t seem right. And the Prince is more paranoid than I think is warranted. There’s something missing here.” Aziraphale hummed.
“Well it probably has to do with his brother. After what happened to his family, he’s worried about the same thing happening to him.” Muriel replied, reaching towards her wine that had been neglected in favor of reading.
Right. Aziraphale had almost forgotten. Gabriel was never supposed to be King.
Endnotes: The torture scene takes place in the pit of despair. Crowley is bound to a machine that uses suction cups as a form of torture. While Crowley braces themself for the pain, it is still worse than they expected, though they remain relatively calm when they are not actively beeing tortured. There is mention of Crowley’s screams, as well as their diminished physical and mental states because of the torture. Beelzebub takes a sadistic pleasure from the torture, and informs Crowley that this is being done in part as an academic study on the nature of pain.
Note: if you do not think that this warning is sufficient for the content above, please let me know so that I can make any necessary adjustments.
See you next week for Chapter Six!