Tight Trouser Never Won Fair Angel

Chapter Fourteen (No Wonder People In Deserts Find Religion)

Aziraphale gains the last piece of the puzzle.

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Beyond the eastern gate to the park was a series of tunnels that cut down into the deep stone the labyrinth was built on. They formed a maze of their own sort, but not an intentional labyrinth: just the unavigability of a house that one is unfamiliar with. It seemed there was a main tunnel that cut straight through, though, and Aziraphale did his best to stick with this one.

Along with the smaller offshoot tunnels, there were also cavern entrances dotting the tunnel. Aziraphale chanced a peek into some of these; they were round, with smoothed walls and flat floors, and little vents in the roof that he could sense fresh air passing through.

Once you strip away the layers of culture, there are actually very few fundamental differences between fairies and goblins. One of these is their wings, which fairies are born with but goblins lack. [1] The other main difference is how they make their homes: goblins burrow, but fairies nest. It is for this reason that Aziraphale can be forgiven for how long it took him to realize the purpose of the tunnels he was walking through, and once he did, he came to a halt, realization freezing him to his middle.

Homes. Goblin tunnels, enough to house a vast swarm, and only one goblin resident.

"Dear Crowley," Aziraphale murmured, placing a hand over his heart as a wave of environmental loneliness washed over him. "Oh, my dear Crowley."

Aziraphale picked up his pace. He wasn't sure why- he knew, now, that there was no way Crowley would allow him to fail, would not keep a child from their champion once one came for it.

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An hour passed as Aziraphale made his way through the tunnels, and and still no end in sight. Aziraphale tried not to fret too much. The tunnels had been meant to house a vast swarm; it would naturally take time to pass through them. But the longer he went without any sign of an exit, the more he began to doubt. Not Crowley's intent; rather, he doubted his own judgment. Should he have taken a turning at some point?

But if he tried one now, would he lose time? He couldn't be sure, had no way of knowing.

He was starting to miss the labyrinth being able to help him. Its complete control over the space in it had been a boon to him, he realized.

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Another hour passed by before Aziraphale reached an actual change in the path. The corridor he'd been walking down had opened out into a wide cavern. At the end were two identical doors, one at either end of the wall; in front of them, chained to a spot equally between them, a-

Aziraphale's instinctive word for the creature was dog, but this was not entirely accurate. The being was as much a dog as a pomeranian was a wolf, and as like as a wolf was to its much more vicious pre-historic ancestors. The humans called them hellhounds, because only hell could spawn something so carnal, but it was really just another sort of Fae creature.

And it had spotted Aziraphale. It rose to its (enormous) paws and padded slowly between the two, keeping equidistant between each as it slowly came to the end of its chain, growling low in its throat.

Two doors, firmly guarded. Aziraphale could only choose one; he would have just enough time to reach one before the hound's jaws closed on his throat, and he wouldn't have the option to come back in and try the other once he'd passed through. But which one?

Probably there were some clues, but Aziraphale was getting antsy. He checked the timer. An hour. He didn't have time to look for answers.

"All right then," he murmured. "Where are you, Crowley? Which door will take me to you?"

He closed his eyes; he felt a pull to the right.

He wasn't sure. He couldn't be sure.

He took off running toward the right-hand door.

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Aziraphale could feel the hound's hot breath on his heels as he flung himself through the door, slamming it behind him before the creature could wrap its fangs around his leg and drag him back. He leaned back against the door, panting, and listened as the dog scrabbled at the door for a moment before letting out a snapping bark and walking away.

He gave himself a few more seconds to still the pounding in his heart, then stood and moved forward to see where he'd come out at. A stone awning sheltered the doorway, but it looked as if he was in a desert of white sand that almost glowed in the darkness beyond the doorway.

The tower was just visible in the distance, and the air was hot and dry. This was the heart of the labyrinth, then- the space that the rest of the labyrinth spawned from. Aziraphale stepped out from under the awning-

-his knees hit the hot sand as his legs folded under him in absolute awe. He'd thought to see more of the leafy canopy over his head, or just an empty space, but the sky over the labyrinth's heart was a brilliant tapestry of stars, the arm of their own galaxy stretching across.

It all seemed so close. Aziraphale had seen the night sky uninterrupted, of course; he had existed in this world for six thousand years, long before light pollution was even conceivable, but here, in the labyrinth, he felt as if it would only be a matter of a few wingbeats to reach out and touch the stars, to hold them in his hands.

Perhaps it would, he thought. Perhaps Crowley had created a place where he could do that. Why not? What was stopping him? He'd already done so many other amazing things with his labyrinth-

"Adam," Aziraphale said, remembering why he'd come here. He levered himself to his feet and spread his wings for balance, then took off across the sand.

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[1- Crowley was a bit of an outlier in this case. Not in that he had wings at all- it was not much for a goblin king to imagine himself up a pair of wings if he should want them. No, Crowley had wings because he would like to have wings- or rather, he'd felt he ought to have wings, and where he hadn't before he suddenly had. Were he anyone else he would have had to put some effort into creating them, deciding what they'd look like, etc, and then in maintaining their existence while he had them. Instead, it was more like he'd always had them and they'd been waiting for him to draw them into reality.

It's probably for the best that Crowley doesn't know this is unusual, because if he stopped and thought about the implications of it, the realization that he had effectively been abandoned not once but twice would probably break him.]

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