Chapter Text
Heralded by a mist so dense it was almost a low fog, a dark figure floated slowly across the deceptively still surface of the lake. Stood tall atop the boat as he steered it in the direction of the dock, its bow long and low enough to the surface of the water that it looked almost as if he were riding the mist itself. Atop the docks on the lakeshore, it was not uncommon for those who were unaccustomed to blanch at the first sight of the figure’s slow approach. To lose their color and look around themselves, succumbing to the instinct to breathe and make sure that they were still as alive as they had been just a moment before. As if for just an instant to them they thought they had been transported to the shores of Hades, waiting to be collected by a much different ferryman.
But this lake was no river Styx, and the boatman no Charon, as akin to the chthonic being he may have felt. Rather than the mourning spirits of the dead, the passengers of the undine Crowley were most often fishers or merchants, traveling either to or from the village Taddesfield. Cradled between a large lake, a mountain range, and a beach that surrounded all three, the village made its living taking the goods it could gain from the ocean and selling them farther inland, where they were harder to find. Their usual trade route to do so took them around the shore of the lake, a journey that took sunrise to sunset should the weather allow. However as the days passed and skies began to darken earlier, the lakeside community grew more dangerous.
A large herd of minotaur set up their camp along the same route traveled by those going to and from the village. Since before he was born the herd would show up for two seasons at a time, effectively trapping the villagers in their own homes. Raised in the seaside village, Crowley's mother had given a promise to the people to protect from the threat of brutality from the minotaur, one that was left unfulfilled by her death. The responsibility of that promise and the boat he would use to keep it were almost all that he inherited from his mother.
As soon as he had the ability to grasp his oar with both hands, the other undine rid their hands of both him and the distasteful promise they had made to his dying mother. They must have felt some sort of sick glee when they informed him that the village was now his problem and disappeared for their cove in the nearby mountainside, only returning when they felt the urge to flaunt their perceived superiority. Still, Crowley understood the necessity of his job, of keeping the village safe while also keeping it running, and so he did it without complaint. The villagers took to the change easily, some even treating him with a slight respect, even if at ill ease after being faced with a face obscured in a deep shadow cast by the hat the undine wore.
A rare few took the “mask” he wore as some sort of challenge to discover what was behind it; an even rarer few went on to succeed in finding out. His hat served a very specific purpose in keeping Crowley and his passengers separate, as well as shielding his sensitive eyes from how bright the world around was, to remove it would mean he was comfortable in that passenger’s company. Once he began to recognize who was using the summons and did not dread the commute that summons meant, then he would consider removing his hat, and through that his mask, around that person. If he did so and nothing was done to ruin the experience he would forgo wearing the hat almost entirely, and the effect it had was near immediate each time.
Something about seeing his eyes put the mortals at ease, an effect that baffled Crowley, for all his eyes were no less dark than the shade that usually hid them. Something that they did not miss, with how his first reaction was usually first confusion followed by a look that meant they thought they understood. But it made no real difference to him if the tar pits of his eyes were caged by hair like rusted seaweed or hidden by his hat’s veil of shadows. Still, it was no skin off his back to provide what meager comfort he could offer to those who earned it achieving their goal to befriend him.
And though alone that may not have been worth the amount of patience put in, the personalized protection he gave those he cared for was another story. By virtue of him actually knowing his passenger and caring whether or not they were hurt, he put more thought into their protection that he didn’t for others. The swirling mist that rose around him served to muffle their scent from the wind blowing down the mountain, sharing some odd, magical properties with the lakewater it was made of. It hid them from the notice of the minotaur herd as they would pass through the area near where the camp was set up without Crowley having to do anything at all, but a little extra effort to be just that much farther away from shallow waters didn’t hurt.
Effort that, of course, was worth entirely nothing if those he was protecting made the decision to stop and have a nice chat with the exact creatures he was tasked to protect them from. A scene he had been entirely unprepared to be faced with, given how well aware the village was of the savagery of the minotaur. And yet, as Crowley headed in the direction of Taddesfield to make what he had assumed would be a regular pick up, he could see the unmistakable shape of a minotaur on the small dock. Though he was not entirely sure that was what he was seeing at first, the pale hair of the bull reflected painfully into his eyes.
It was a blond paler than he was aware bulls could be, dwarfing Anathema where she stood beside it and chatting amicably as she waited for him to arrive. Curiously, it looked almost as if it were making itself seem smaller as the two talked, as if worried about her comfort when faced with its massive bulk. Having been on the receiving side of the woman’s social tenacity before, the only aspect of the scene that was truly surprising to him was how peaceful and accommodating the minotaur seemed to be acting.
“Raised” by the other undine on the lake adjacent to where they made their annual camp, Crowley was not entirely ignorant to the minotaur. Hulking, beastly hybrids of man and bull, they have come a far way from where their progenitor was first imprisoned in the labyrinth. From his spot on the water, he had occasionally built up his courage to watch them on the shore. Though they seemed organized enough in the way they set up camp and their social structure, the stories from the others whispered in his ears. Stories from the other undine and villagers both of the horrors committed by roaming herds who come across unfortunate villages. Men, women, and children all slaughtered, or worse; casualties of the minotaur and their alleged curse to never find satisfaction.
In his casual observance he had yet to have seen such violence in person, but Crowley could see the potential for it clearly. In every interaction they had both with each other and their environment he could see that barely-there edge of savagery itching to rear its head, making every movement too rough and every voice too loud. It had been luck up to this point that had helped him avoid the notice and wrath of the minotaur he lived so close to, and that luck was about to run out. That, however, was the last thing on his mind as he opened his mouth to yell at the forms of his friend and her odd new companion.
"Oi!" Crowley’s shout was heard well over the soft whispers of his boat over the water, and the two jerked their attention to him at the call.
He gave Anathema a quick once-over to assure that she was sound of both mind and body, before meeting the large, cornflower blue eyes of the minotaur. It had frozen upon hearing him, and as he slowly approached he watched pale pink nostrils flare as it tried to smell him out. It couldn’t smell anything thanks to the mist still circling him, however, and Crowley very nearly allowed a smirk of amusement when the bull’s ear flicked, discovering just that. Anathema beside it seemed almost put-out by his arrival, as if she truly wanted to stay here and continue talking to her friend longer. His curiosity over the scene he’d found doubled, even as his worry for her safety rose with it.
As he docked his boat he wondered briefly how this pair had come to be, even as he questioned them in a flat tone, “Might I ask why it is you’ve decided to make my job harder? What is the point of summoning me to protect you lot if I’m just going to find you here with the exact thing I’m meant to protect you from ?”
Well used to Crowley’s dramatics by now, Anathema rolled her eyes at the questions as she stepped slowly into the skiff one foot at a time, “Because you’re not protecting us from this minotaur. Aziraphale would never hurt me, he’s been friends with some of the villagers for years now.”
Her tone suggested that this was common knowledge, as if word had already spread of a minotaur that was unique in his lack of beastly behavior. If that were the case Crowley would have long heard of it though, with merchants as regular passengers in his boat. Unbelievable gossips those merchants were, gathering all the most scandalous information they could find. They would usually hide their best gossip behind paywalls but because Crowley didn’t charge them, they did the same. Having heard no such tales made her attitude unappreciated and her story unbelievable. His skepticism must have been apparent from the look he gave her, as Anathema gave a huff and gestured towards the minotaur in frustration.
“Think about it, would I be anywhere near as calm as I am otherwise? I’ve been friends with him for years now, if he were going to be a danger to the village it would have already happened! He’s harmless!”
Already pushing off from the dock with his oar, Crowley looked once more at the minotaur that had still yet to move. It hadn’t spoken since he appeared, and neither had it stopped watching him. He took that as permission to watch it back, looking over its large form where it stood on the dock. Covered in a thin layer of fur, he was built like the strongest Athenian soldier as all his kind were. Still, in all Crowley’s time watching the bulls from the water, he had never seen a minotaur so light in color. There seemed to be no part of the bull that wasn’t pale, from the ivory rings at the base of its large horns to the blond hair they disappeared into, only a few shades darker than the rest of it. The bull’s pink nose had a golden ring hanging from it, and long ears held a smaller one where they sat under its horns. The coloring made it seem softer than the rest of its kind, more innocent, but the scars that littered its body were the palest part, and they told a much different story.
“No one is harmless.” Crowley’s tone left no room for further argument as they sailed farther and farther from the village, and in turn, the minotaur.
He relaxed more the longer they were on the lake, until they were far enough away that he could fully let down his guard. A few minutes still passed before Anathema felt sure enough to begin a conversation with him, unused to the undine being genuinely upset with something she had done. She made sure to keep the conversation away from the confrontation on the dock to be sure, instead talking about the fisherman’s apprentice that she had gone to the village to visit. The inane topic helped soothe Crowley further, and though he did not completely forget about the lone minotaur, he was content to leave the problem for a future day.
𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝
Long before Crowley had begun to call the lake his home, a kelpie roamed the dark waters of the area. With maps to avoid its territory, the villagers coexisted much easier with the beast than they did the minotaur, leaving him to believe it had been there for much longer. For a time he had even thought it was fake, the kelpie having avoided him entirely for his first few years on the lake. It was not happy with his perceived invasion of its territory, and it would make that fact known to him in a very quick and effective manner.
It appeared to him suddenly on a foggy day, creeping closer as he sat carving a snake into the pole of his oar. As a younger and more naive undine he believed that, as a fellow water-denizen, it would treat him kindly. The kelpie’s deceptive nature only lent to this assumption as it acted docile to lure him closer and lower his guard. He was just able to recognize the trap for what it was before it was too late; only narrowly able to escape his fate as the main course of the creature’s next meal. After he proved himself too clever for its tricks, Crowley’s mere existence seemed to annoy the beast. Aside from acting aggressive when he’d sail too close to its nest while ferrying passengers, it would otherwise leave him largely alone as he traveled over the water. Perhaps it believed that if they ignored his existence long enough he would actually vanish.
Unlike the minotaur, the kelpie was largely a non-issue to the villagers, and in a way almost acted as an added layer of security for Taddesfield. As tucked away as the village was, knowledge of its existence was a rare thing and those traveling there, whether it be for business or pleasure, often had to request a map to find their destination. Included on the maps to the village, made by the villagers themselves, were the details of locations of the kelpies’ nest and hunting grounds, though not labeled as such. The vendor who sold them the map would simply explain to avoid those areas, and warn of the kelpie loose in the area. It was by using that method that they ensured the only victims to the water-bound equine were those who either didn’t have a map or didn’t heed the warning. By no means was it a perfect solution, but it was one that kept the villagers safe and the kelpie well fed enough it had no need to risk hunting closer for more food.
Crowley was not actually aware of how the village had gotten information for their maps, having been given one not long after he was almost fish food himself. The maps made for the villagers themselves had much more detailed information; the specific locations of its nest and hunting grounds that one may need to know if they lived in the area, for a start. He had asked once how they had gotten the information, as it proved itself highly accurate, and was only told the first map was made long before he was born. Never receiving a more detailed answer than that, he eventually dropped the issue, as the map worked whether he knew who made it or not. It helped him to do his job, allowing him to only have to focus on the danger presented by the minotaur.
Something that he was grateful for when he heard the unmistakable shout-splash-whinney-snarl of a kelpie attack in the water somewhere nearby. It was one of what he called his “off days”, when the villagers didn’t seem to need him as much and he didn’t receive too many summons to either dock. Crowley was fully taking advantage of that fact, using the time during which he would usually be working to relax. He enjoyed lounging peacefully in his boat as it floated aimlessly atop the water, and he wasn’t going to let a random dying stranger ruin that. If they had fallen for the kelpie’s tricks they obviously weren’t from the village, and thus weren’t his problem. As vicious as the beast was, it wasn’t picky when devouring its prey, so at the very least the attack would be over quickly for the poor sap.
But, as Crowley waited with what he didn’t want to admit was bated breath, the attack seemed to go on for much longer than a normal kelpie feeding. The sounds of the struggle continued, causing the nymph to rise into a sitting position, and he waved away a portion of the mist to examine the waves that were lapping at his boat. His curiosity was beginning to peak, and the noises that he could hear from the commotion were only fuelling the fire. As his eyes found what direction the waves were coming from, his hands began to itch for his oar as he counted faint seconds between each crest.
Eventually Crowley found himself scanning the lake in the direction of the disturbance, as if through the trees and hanging vines he could see what was happening from his boat. Once he had caught himself doing that, he gave in to the curiosity he felt, knowing that there was no way he’d be able to let it go now. What kind of monster was it, that it could last this long against a kelpie? A demigod, perhaps? One of those hero types on some inane quest? Hoping maybe to gain fame and fortune by taking down the famed, bloodthirsty water horse? Whoever it was, the undine found himself eager to catch a glimpse of the fight in progress, regardless of who turned out on top. Instead of a heracles-hopeful, however, Crowley was shocked and almost disappointed to find the pale minotaur from before had been the one to have fallen for the kelpie's trap.
Fighting valiantly to free itself from the grip of the kelpie, its blunt nails tore off skin and bits of dark hair as it clawed at the beast’s head and neck. Sharp teeth were sunk into the minotaur’s meaty forearm, the beast’s body halfway submerged as it attempted to drag the bull into the depths. Blood dripped from the bite and down its lower jaw, staining the water a faint pink where it dripped into the lake off of dark hair. As Crowley approached the two had been locked in what seemed like a stalemate, before the kelpie suddenly jerked and began to wrench its head, digging its teeth in deeper as it tried to make the other lose its footing so it could drag the bull into the water. The bull bellowed in pain through clenched teeth, the ring on its nose being pushed by the force of the air it forced out from the pain of the wound.
The reeds and large trees that hung over the lake from the nearby shore hid Crowley from view of the two as he silently watched the spectacle they were making. He wasn’t sure, as he watched them grapple for advantage, who he wanted to come out on top. Aside from being unreasonably annoyed by his existence and the one attempt on his life, the kelpie was not a threat to him. He couldn’t say the same for the minotaur, even with the assurances Anathema had given him. He had come to the realization not long after their first encounter that, because it had been her to summon him, Crowley had not been wearing his hat during the confrontation on the dock. That realization, that such a dangerous stranger had seen more of him than all but his closest friends, was terrifying to him. Briefly, he had even considered seeking out the minotaur while it slept, peacefully unaware as the nymph slowly filled its lungs with water.
He talked himself out of it, in the end. Though the act may have probably been insultingly easy to do, it would not have been worth the inevitable fallout. Anathema had a distinct lack of fear in the face of those not entirely human, something that had endeared her to Crowley quickly. And though the trait was the origin of his current predicament, it was also singular enough to be a trait he highly valued. If he wanted to keep the girl’s friendship he unfortunately could not harm the minotaur, as she had warned him specifically against doing so at the end of their last ride together. If anything were to happen to it, whether or not it truly was the fault of the nymph, Anathema would assume that was the case.
With a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach, Crowley realized now that he had seen the minotaur being attacked, he had an obligation to help it. The discovery of the bull’s entrails along the lakeshore would probably be enough to convince her that it was truly the kelpie that killed him. But the mortal had an annoying habit of easily seeing through him when he wished to keep something to himself. Should she inquire as to what he knew of the attack, his turmoil over having sat back and done nothing would have given him away in a heartbeat. To her, allowing it to happen would be the same as if he killed it himself. His inability to leave things alone, his ever-insistent curiosity, had cursed him.
With a silent sigh of reluctance, Crowley began to creep slowly closer to the scuffle. As much as he was able to see where he had been, it was not so much he could spot an opening so that he might help. Quiet as he attempted to be, he drew the attention of the captive minotaur, eyes previously roving for an escape now trained steadily on him. The nymph froze upon realizing he had the other’s focus, meeting its gaze and feeling an uncomfortable trickle down his spine. He wanted desperately to disappear behind his mask of shadows, but there would have been no point in doing so. Regardless of his feelings on the matter the bull had seen his face, and was now aware of his presence nearby. Its eyes almost look red where they were trained on him, going bloodshot from tension and fear even as they didn’t waver from his own. The minotaur was still now, even in the kelpie’s grip, almost as if waiting to see what Crowley was going to do.
Taking immediate advantage of the distraction, reversed hooves tried to rear up and throw off its captive’s balance so it could submerge them both. Shouting in pain, the bull manages to just stop it from dragging him under, seeming to find his footing at the last moment. Taking a brief moment to mourn the death of the relatively peaceful life had had before, Crowley recognized that this was his best moment to act. Bracing himself, the nymph jumped up and began shouting loudly, pushing off so he was moving towards the pair. Thinking quickly, he swiped his oar up in the trees above him a few times, collecting vines in an attempt to make himself look bigger and more intimidating. The minotaur moved as soon as the distraction did its job, lunging backwards towards the shore for a dagger that rested there.
Crowley had startled the kelpie just enough that he was able to reach it, letting out another huff of pain and effort as he gripped it with the very tips of his fingers. Flipping the knife around in his large hand, he sunk the knife into the shoulder of the beast, the nymph watching nearby with wide eyes at the unexpected violence of the action. The kelpie let out a bray unlike any he'd ever heard before, jerking away from the minotaur so quickly the knife stayed buried in its side as it did so. Fresh blood sprayed from the bite mark as it did so, not completely willing to relinquish its catch even then, and Crowley winced in sympathy as the bull let out a pained cry. Still, the equine monster retreated, sinking below the water to escape further harm.
With the immediate danger neutralized, the nymph and minotaur were left alone. The bull was panting softly, trying to catch his breath after having a prolonged fight for his life. His gaze had returned to Crowley in the relative silence, watching to see what he would do now. A valid reaction to what seemed to be a sudden attitude shift, with how the undine did not try to hide his dislike upon their first meeting. He did not have an explanation, however, and the bubbling awkward tension was mercifully broken by a sudden hiss of pain from the minotaur. He brought his arm up to get a better look at the bite wound, and Crowley winced from what little he could see of the mess of mangled flesh and fur. Going off the pile of items on the bank from which he had retrieved the dagger earlier, the bull was attacked in the middle of a bath. That made sense, really, but also unfortunately meant that any supplies he may have had to tend his wound were not here.
“Why would you choose to bathe here with how close it is to that thing’s nest?”
The minotaur’s eyes returned to him in response as he made his way to the lakeshore, and Crowley realized suddenly that it was the first time he’d spoken to the other directly. The question went unanswered for a short time; the only sound was that of movement in the water and bugs in the reeds. Still, the bull eventually answered as he reached the embankment where his belongings were piled. His voice was soft and obviously intelligent, but still held the gruffness that was expected when one speaks using a mouth not built to be spoken through.
"I have been bathing in this area for quite a long time now, and it's never approached before. Truthfully, I was unaware that the kelpie's nest was nearby, as my own home is a short walk away."
Crowley hummed in place of responding, recognizing that the minotaur likely would not have access to a copy of the villager's map of the Kelpie's territory. His words intrigued the nymph, though, as he was previously unaware of its habit of avoiding the minotaur herd. Perhaps it did so out of a natural instinct? Under normal circumstances a single minotaur would be more than enough to defend against a kelpie, and it must have been aware of that on some level. Which meant, for whatever reason, the kelpie had somehow come to the conclusion that this minotaur was weaker than the rest. And it had been right to an extent, the bull seemed to be struggling before Crowley stepped in to help.
That left the question of what. What was it that the equine witnessed to convince it that the bull was an easy prey? If it was the difference in color, as Crowley had considered, the attack would have likely come long before then, as he doubted the shade was a recent change. No, it would have to have been something that happened recently, if the minotaur had been bathing in this same area without incident. As far as Crowley was aware, the most recent thing to happen to the minotaur prior to this was the introduction to him , the undine realized as guilty feeling made itself known in his gut. Truthfully, Anathema had not been particularly quiet when confronting him over his attitude towards the other during their first meeting, and they had not been too far from a hunting ground. It was not too far a stretch to imagine the kelpie was in the area at the time, it could have easily listened to their conversation.
The bull let out a low huff where he was dressing on the shore, wincing as he flexed the injured muscle when slipping his chiton over himself. He didn’t say anything about the pain, a quick shake of his large head was the only sign it had bothered him as he continued to dress. All Crowley needed was another glimpse at the blood leaking down the minotaur’s arm for him to huff annoyedly at himself and went looking for his own small bag of medical supplies. He kept it in the boat for emergencies with his passengers, but it would appease the guilty worms eating their way through him. Finding the small bag under the seat he had left his hat sitting on, he tossed it onto the shore in front of where the other was changing.
"Use it, you need it more than I do.” Crowley is already attempting to make a swift exit as the minotaur looks over to him with wide eyes.
He wanted to escape and avoid the inevitable attempt at awkward words of thanks, unearned gratitude always making him feel uncomfortable. The interaction so far had been far out of both of their comforts, and the sooner he could escape the sooner he could go back to avoiding this strange, pale minotaur. Before he could fully escape however, he was stopped by that soft voice speaking up in an inquiry rather than to offer gratitude. Despite his recognizing the distinction, the words disquieted him just the same.
"Why did you save me?"
Crowley stuck the paddle of his oar into the floor of the lake, stopping himself at the same spot he had been hidden before. He opened his mouth, as if to give a reason, but nothing came. A full minute passed of that silence. He could give the reason that he would be considered to be at fault by his friend, but it almost seemed disingenuous now. It wasn't the entire truth, not really, but he didn't know what was. In the end, he left the clearing without answering.
𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝
Rather than living in the village like the majority of his regulars, Anathema lived in the large city across the lake where the merchants boarded. She had met Crowley when visiting family in the village, and had hit it off well both with him as well as a boy her age from the village. The fisherman’s apprentice Newton was an awkward boy, but it was him to thank for the nymph’s friendship with the mortal girl. But Anathema had responsibilities that left their meetings few and far between, as she lacked time to put away for both her friend on the lake and her beau in the village. Crowley last saw her in the days before he had come across the kelpie attack, having taken her to spend a week in the village that he was now to return her from.
“Newt says hi,” Anathema chirped as she hesitantly allowed the boat to hold her weight and stepped down, “And that he’s so sorry that he could not make it to see me off, as usual.”
The undine snickers at the boy’s obvious attempt at avoidance, untying the boat from its brief place at the dock, “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”
Having taken a seat as he readied to push off, she raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him in response to the remark, “You did push him into the water the only time the two of you met face-to-face.”
“I maintain that I did not touch him and he’s so skinny the wind just carried him off,” Crowley said in a way that made it completely obvious he was not lying at all, and causing Anathema to laugh despite herself. “Anything interesting happening in the village?”
As one of the only people to regularly come to and from the village using Crowley’s boat, as well as his friend, Anathema gave the nymph regular updates on little bits of village life. Things that the merchants he spoke to wouldn’t be familiar enough to know. The girl sat back on the boat’s bench seat with a heavy sigh though, looking out at the forest as they passed it quickly over the water.
“Not very much, no. Tracy and Shadwell finally seem to be getting somewhere, Newt says. And those hunter brothers, Cain and Abel? Apparently they’re trying to make the boundary where the villagers can go in the forest smaller. The older one says he’s seeing more minotaur sightings closer to the village.”
“Maybe they’re catching glimpses of your little minotaur friend,” Crowley offers half-jokingly, and Anathema gives a short shrug in response.
“I know they haven’t met him before, so it’s possible.” She gave him a suspicious look out of the corner of her eye, “Unless you’ve gone back on your word and killed him after all.”
“The accusation!” Crowley stuck his tongue out at the mortal girl playfully, but her words reminded him of something he was meaning to ask about the minotaur in question. It had been stewing in his thoughts since he had last seen the bull, four days after the kelpie attack.
He was on a return trip with two women from the village who went on a date to the city, the two chatting about all they had seen as Crowley pulled them into the dock. Sitting there as they did so was the pale minotaur, a wooden fishing pole in his hand and a crate beside him that was inevitably for the fish he caught. He didn’t seem to be having a good day of it, as the container held hardly anything inside. And yet you would never guess from how he greeted them as they docked, one large hand raising in a friendly wave. Once both women had exited the boat and were safe on the dry land, they approached with little hesitation.
The undine assumed they were previously acquainted with him, judging by the easy way they began a conversation. Seeing that everything was fine, Crowley began to unhook his boat from the dock so he could return closer to the center of the lake. As he did so, he glanced towards where the minotaur was talking with the mortal woman and found himself locking eyes with him. He wore his hat at the time, so the eye contact could not be shared, the bull looking into the shadows cast by its brim. Still, they shared a brief nod and the contact was broken, both returning to their previous actions.
Laying the rope on the floor of the boat, Crowley pushed off the dock with his oar to get himself moving away from the dock. As he did so, the undine found himself glancing back at the empty crate of fish where it sat beside the chatting minotaur. The sight of the crate, of the bull himself fishing on the dock, there was something about it that didn’t sit right with him. The minotaur herd fished in the oceans off the coast, using large nets to catch large stores of fish so they could feed everyone.
Years before they had done the same in the lake, leaving barely anything left for the villagers to catch for their own dinners. Crowley would have to keep track of when and where they were fishing so he could avoid them on the lake, his mist a near constant presence over the water. It had been irritating, having to do an extra layer of work each day that he would rather do without. Until he had gotten an idea one day while attempting to free a fish that had gotten caught in some reeds and then managed to wrap itself around his oar. He could simply use the fact that he already knew the areas where the minotaur fished and guide the fish to avoid them.
Once he did so for long enough, they believed that there were no more fish in the lake, they had eaten them all out. They moved to the ocean next, where there were much more fish and their method was much more effective. The herd was able to catch more than enough fish to feed everyone, at least as far as Crowley was aware. So why was this minotaur sitting on a small dock fishing for his food, as he doubted the bull was doing so for fun. Why wasn’t he fishing and eating with the other members of his herd? Something about it didn’t sit right with him, the image of the lone, pale minotaur fishing on the dock.
The image had stuck in his mind for a while after, though he wasn’t quite sure why. He had sent a few fish in the other’s path after taking his leave, waiting long enough that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious they were from him. The good deed did nothing to erase the bull from his mind, however, and so he had resolved to see what Anathema knew. Perhaps she had an answer as to why he seemed to be so isolated from the rest of his kind, spending all his time along the shores of the lake.
Mood sobering slightly, Crowley shook his head at the mortal girl, “No, I didn’t kill him. As a matter of fact, I stopped the idiot from getting himself killed.”
Anathema was understandably confused by his words, her brows wrinkling as she looked at him with slight suspicion, “What exactly do you mean by that?”
Explaining how he had been floating nearby, Crowley tells her how he heard signs of a struggle and went to investigate. Anathema’s expression does not change as he tells her how he discovered the origin of the sound was a minotaur being attacked by a kelpie. She listens to him detailing how he realized it was her friend and stepped in to help save him, but as he does she only seems to get more confused and concerned about the interaction. Despite the relatively good note the two had left it on, she still seems to look troubled by what he had told her, the furrow in her brow even deeper.
"Strange… the kelpie has never come anywhere near him before. Aziraphale wouldn’t have even known about the kelpie if I hadn’t mentioned it to him before."
While the explanation certainly cleared up a few things, it wasn't the point he was trying to get to, "Wasn’t the last time I’ve seen him, though, he was fishing the docks a few days ago. Didn’t seem to be having much luck.”
Crowley hoped that even if he didn’t ask directly, he might still get all the information he wanted. It had worked for him before with other villagers who frequented his boat, but in this instance it did not work in his favor. Anathema only hummed in response to his words, not seeming as surprised by this as she was the news of the attack.
Able to recognize that she was aware she knew something he didn’t, he dropped the faux-coy line of questioning and asked directly. "Why is he fishing in the lake? The minotaur herd fish out of the ocean, why doesn't he go with the rest of them?”
Anathema blinked once at Crowley in confusion, before visibly coming to a realization, “Do you not know? Aziraphale is no longer a part of the herd.”
When he looked at her blankly, she shook her head at him instead of providing more information, "It's recent, but that's all l know of what happened. It's a sensitive subject for him, because of how recent it was, but I believe it has helped him. "
Crowley doesn't say anything in response to that, too shocked by what he’d heard. The fact of his leaving being a sensitive subject caused him to suspect that the change had not been his own choice. The scenario was something that hit a bit too close to home for the undine, mirroring his experience with his own kind. In that way it more than answered his question, as being exiled from his herd meant he would likely not be able to access the same resources they controlled. Any lingering worries he may have had about helping him were more than diminished with that knowledge, and he debated sending more now that he knew the bull didn't have a stable food supply.
"Like I said, he's not a threat to us, you don’t have to be so up in arms around him,” Anathema spoke with a reasonably even tone, an attempt to soothe the nymph that was no longer needed, "To be honest I believe him to not feel attraction at all for all he reacts when human women speak with him. "
Unlike the other times he had been told such a thing, Crowley was beginning to believe her words. With everything he’d been told and that he’s seen himself, he had little reason to believe the minotaur would give up the location of the village to his former herd. Something inside of him seemed to unclench at that realization, and it felt like he took his first full breath in days. And in the place of those fears, a curiosity began to blossom for the absent bull. Turning to his mortal friend, Crowley asked Anathema if she might have any more information she would be willing to share. He was more than ready to accept the new resident to the lakeside community, if only to learn more about the bull whose experiences thus far seemed to mirror his own.