A/N: Hello readers, it's been far too long! This is my first fanfic in quite a long time and since I have a bit of spare time on my hands, I thought I'd do a fanfic on Hush Hush, as you do. I am quite team Pora or Natch (Both sound EXTREMELY bizarre) or whatever NoraxPatch related mooshy ooshy name thing y'all wanna call them.

Which is why I thought, what if the story was set back in the olden days? So here it is, and I hope you all enjoy the story!

Loire Valley, France 1565

The boy watched the nephil from the monument he was perched on while the rain pelted down his torso went unnoticed. His dark eyes took in a farmer's daughter emerging from behind Chauncey, scurrying off through the grassy banks of the Loire River, mud slinging on her skirt as she hurried off. The boy's mouth curved into a sinister half grin as he watched the nephil slug on his boots and made his way back from which he had come; the Chateau de Langeais.

It'd been months since the boy first laid eyes on Chauncey. The days turned into weeks, and finally into months by the time the boy was certain that Chauncey would make a fine vassal for the upcoming Cheshvan. A fine one indeed.

As Chauncey ranged closer, he stepped easily over the sunken graves and humus of the cemetery. The boy knew Chauncey ventured out from his chateau and returned through the thickest of fogs without the issue of getting lost. He knew his lands well, having grown up in this part of the countryside.

The rain started to pour and the boy lifted his hand to wipe the rain clear from his face and in that moment Chauncey snapped his head in the direction on the monument. The boy's hand froze as Chauncey's eyes raked on his body, deciphering whether or not the boy posed as a statue of the monument. An almost inaudible chuckle escaped the boy. To appear as an angel on a monument? The irony caused the boy to grin through the rain at Chauncey before dropping to the ground, his black hair dripping from the rain.

Chauncey's hand crept to the hilt of his sword. "Who goes there?"

The boy's mouth hinted at a smile. It'd take a lot more than a blunt sword to end him.

"Do not play games with the Duc de Langeais," Chauncey warned. "I asked for your name. Give it."

"Duc?" The boy leaned against a twisted willow tree. "Or bastard?"

Chauncey unearthed his sword. "Take it back! My father was the Duc de Langeais. I'm the Duc de Langeais now," he added clumsily, and cursed himself for it. Another grin almost escaped the boy, but he pushed his inner amusement aside.

The boy gave a lazy shake of his head. "Your father wasn't the old Duc."

Chauncey seethed at the outrageous insult. "And your father?" he demanded, extending the sword. He didn't yet know all his vassals, but he was learning. He would brand the family name of this boy to memory. "I'll ask once more," he said in a low voice, wiping a hand down his face to clear away the rain. "Who are you?"

The boy walked up and pushed the blade aside. It must have dawned on Chauncey that the boy was older than him because his eyes briefly widened. Chauncey must have also made the assumption that the boy was of poor class due to the peasant trousers hanging low on his waist. And because of the lack of footwear.

"One of the devil's brood," the boy answered.

Chauncey's face whitened a touch. "You're a raving lunatic," he said through his teeth. "Get out of my way."

The boy was losing his patience. The boy's eyes held Chauncey's and for a brief moment, because of the boy's hesitation, Chauncey's guard was down, allowing the boy to have full access to his mind. The boy planted an image of the ground suddenly tilting in Chauncey's head. He hunched over, his fingernails grinding into his thighs, and looked up at the boy, blinking and gasping, clearly trying to make sense of what was happening.

The boy crouched down to level their eyes. "Listen carefully. I need something from you. I won't leave until I have it. Do you understand?"

Gritting his teeth, Chauncey shook his head in disbelief. He attempted to spit at the boy, but it trickled down his chin.

The boy clasped his hands around Chauncey's, making him believe that the boy's hands were scorching him. Chauncey cried out.

"I need your oath of fealty," the boy said. "Bend on one knee and swear it."

Chauncey choked on a laugh and the boy planted an image of someone kicking his leg from behind. Chauncey's right leg bucked and he stumbled forward into the mud. He then bent sideways and retched.

"Swear it," the boy repeated.

Chauncey suddenly laughed, but there was no humour. The boy continued causing Chauncey to suffer from nausea and weakness and made sure he sensed it as well. Or else where would the fun be in that?

"Lord, I become your man," Chauncey said venomously. And it was finished.

Inside, the boy's dark heart pumped rapidly, the excitement proved too great. The yearning of being able to feel someone's touch or even the feel of this forsaken rain was what the boy had dreamed of since his fall.

The boy raised Chauncey to his feet. "Meet me here at the start of the Hebrew month of Cheshvan. During the two weeks between new and full moons, I'll need your service."

"A…fortnight?" Chauncey's whole frame trembled under the weight of his rage. "I am the Duc de Langeais!"

"You are a nephil," the boy said with a sliver of a smile. This exchange proved too amusing to hold back any further.

"What did you say?" he spoke with icy venom.

"You belong to the biblical race of Nephilim. Your real father was an angel who fell from heaven. You're half mortal." The boy's dark eye's lifted, meeting Chauncey's. "Half fallen angel."

Chauncey looked paler than before. "Who are you?"

The boy turned, walking away. He heard Chauncey falling to his knees. Now, as the boy had planned, Chauncey was able to witness the two thick black scars on the back of the boy's torso as he walked away.

"Are you – fallen?" Chauncey called. "You're wings have been stripped, haven't they?"

The boy didn't turn back, his eyes narrowing at the mention of his scars. At the mention of the only pain he ever felt.

"This service I'm to provide," Chauncey shouted. "I demand to know what it is!"

At that, the air resonated with the boy's low laughter.

A century later

Chauncey felt his own feet trudging down the damp hills of the Loire Valley, exhaustion eating away at his mind, his breaths hollow and dry. His clothes were ruined, his hair in a mess and he was missing a shoe. Clearly the angel saw fit to leave him in the fields unequipped with his belongings for his own amusement. What stories would he tell his fellow companions? How every time he came to collect his service Chauncey would fight with all his might to remain in control?

The angel commanded Chauncey's body to continue on walking towards a small tower left in ruins for centuries. Mosh and weeds covered the ruins, just as it always had. Chauncey remembered this site; he used to play fort here when he was just a boy.

The tower was always abandoned, never touched. Until tonight. A body lay face first into the earth in front of the ruins. A streak of cold blooded fear rushed through Chauncey as the angel made its way toward the body.

From what Chauncey could make out, the body belonged to a man. His hair was damp, his coat hanging unto his frame, however was ripped apart in certain areas. Like Chauncey, he was missing his footwear. He had a tall, lean body – and then recognition dawned on Chauncey. Inwardly, Chauncey was shaking his head in horror, unable to believe the site before him.

Chauncey stopped a couple feet away from the body – and like a swift never-ending nightmare, the angel released him. Chauncey was unable to hold his weight on his weak legs and fell to his knees before crashing the rest of the way to the earth along with his fellow companion.

Although Chauncey laid on his side, mixed between consciousness and the darkness, he could hear the angel clearly.

"He provided the service quite well," the angel remarked, and Chauncey could feel him smiling.

"As did mine," said another, familiar voice. He was another angel, one that Chauncey's angel saw frequently every Cheshvan. They were close, as if they were brothers.

The angel dug his boot into Chauncey's side and he cried out. The angel leaned down far enough so Chauncey could hear him whisper, "Until next time, Duc."

The angel released him and he, along with his companion, disappeared into the mist.

A brutal cough racked his body before Chauncey was able to speak. His mouth was dry, hoarse from the lack of being able to speak for the entire fortnight.

His friend moaned and Chauncey's head shot up. The man was awakening!

"Barnabas," Chauncey said roughly. No answer. He swallowed and tried again. "Barnabas," he spoke clearer and louder.

The man turned on his side and slumped back so that he back was against the earth. He turned her head and faced Chauncey.

Barnabas had tears in his eyes and a deep cut to the side of his head. His lip was busted and there were bruising on his left cheekbone.

"Chauncey," he whispered in pain. He squeezed his eyes shut from the obvious pain racking his body.

"You will heal," was all Chauncey managed to say. His own rage was simmering inside him. The vile fallen took what they never intended to return. They stole, gambled, cheated and whored while possessing nephil bodies. For a bloody fortnight.

"Chauncey," he said again, his face noticeably starting to heal. "The fallen are clever. They don't make mistakes. Our fallen, anyway. I-", Barnabas broke off, violently coughing, his entire frame shuddering.

"We need not speak of this now," Chauncey muttered. He needed to be informed but it wasn't at the cost of his first lieutenant's life. At least not until when they were searching for did truly exist.

After a few shallow breaths, Barnabas continued. "I witnessed nothing. Not a clue, or a tease of information. I don't think they know-"

"Oh, they know," Chauncey's tone was dark. "They're aware of it, they just won't speak or acknowledge it because of the power it can manifest."

"We must contact Blakely," Barnabas suddenly said.

"He no doubt is on his way. He knows they dump us off somewhere near the chateau," Chauncey said, convinced that their dear friend would find them soon enough.

"Are you aware of what it is called?" his lieutenant asked, changing the subject.

"Yes."

"What do they call it?"

Chauncey hesitated. Just speaking the word give him the unwanted shivers down his spine. He looked over at Barnabas and whispered Devilcraft through his mind.

Barnabas's eyes widened a fraction.

It is from Hell itself?

Chauncey nodded. It's said that the form can be manipulated – in ways I'm not clear on, however if we gave it to Blakely, I'm sure he'd be able to figure it out.

Barnabas nodded. "Can you stand?"

Chauncey looked down at his feet and tried to wriggle his toes. They cooperated. Chauncey then tried to move in a seated position, and although it took a few tries, he managed it at the end.

Chauncey blew out a breath. "They're stronger than us, no doubt, but there must be a way."

Barnabas nodded in agreeance. Then he grimace, his emotion shaded with doubt. "What are the side effects to it?"

"I don't know."

The silence thickened with a sense of dread. Barnabas and Chauncey planned to pay the upmost attention during the past Cheshvan to see if the angels were aware of the form, however things didn't turn in their favour. Chauncey had been a slave to the service for more decades than he could count and yet the angel still surprised him on occasion.

He felt his sanity waning and saw devilcraft as their only retribution towards the fallen. Chauncey would take the Nephilim under his wing and with Barnabas by his side, he would rule their race to freedom. The cost may be great, but nothing compared to getting a hold of devilcraft now. He just needed to know how.

A/N: I'll attempt writing up another chapter by the end of this week. Reviews are greatly appreciated! Even if you can't be bothered signing in (Don't worry, we all have those days), I'd love to read reviews whether you writers/readers leave your name or not.

Thanks again and remember to leave a review please :) and have a good day!ForsakenValkyrie7