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Alleras takes an immense interest in observing what Nochtli is or is not surprised by. Their horses for example: when he first sprang Nochtli from that dungeon and they first took those horses from Castle Starfall’s stable Nochtli was positively terrified of the creatures. Alleras remembers how even in his injured state Nochtli recoiled when Alleras brought their horses around, his eyes wide with fear. Even now, as they ride their two modest and docile palfreys, Alleras looks over to see Nochtli unusually stiff in the saddle, his off hand locked on to the pommel for stability.
Nochtli is bemused by flowers. His attention does not linger on them but they prompt him to loll his head to one side in contemplation like a dog. When they stumble upon an apple tree Nochtli picks one up from the ground and examines it over and over again, rotating it every which way. He doesn’t take a bite until he sees Alleras do so. Across the vast green grass fields of the Reach Nochtli is always peering out onto the landscape, looking for something. What he could be searching for Alleras hasn’t the slightest idea. While they can communicate somewhat, the language barrier between them is still too vast for any complex conversation.
Nochtli is delighted by salted beef and bread. When Alleras offered him some of his wineskin Nochtli took a drink and gave Alleras a bemused, but pleased look. When Alleras cooked up some bacon one day he remembers himself taking in the rising smell of the meat and fat cooking in the pan, only to look over to Nochtli to seem him watching with horror. Nochtli would not eat the bacon. He was uncomfortable around Alleras for a time after this until Alleras introduced him to the wonders of aged cheese, at which point he returned to a more upbeat demeanor.
What will the maesters think of all this, wonder Alleras to himself. Though increasingly, he also wonders: what will they do to Nochtli? Although the maesters do not enjoy speaking of it, vivisections are carried out in the Citadel, not just of outsiders' corpses but of each other's too. Would they want to pry open Alleras' companion, in the pursuit of knowledge? Probably, thinks Alleras to himself, but probably not while he's still alive.
Alleras once felt - still feels - consecrated to the principle of intelligent inquiry, of not foregoing knowledge in order to bow to the sacred. That is why he left kin and country, that is why he now brings this highly - historically - unique foreigner to the Citadel. Simple to apply these principles to history, to mathematics, or to ravenry. More difficult to apply these to people.
Well, in any case, it will be weeks till then, thinks Alleras to himself. More than enough time to formulate some plan.
The hour of the bat comes earlier and earlier in recent weeks and the nights now have a chill to them. Starfall equipped them well to handle the cold but not to nurse Nochtli’s wounds. After starting the campfire, as he finishes now, Alleras goes to see the state of his one time captive. They’ve been on their slow journey toward the Citadel for weeks now and Nochtli’s leg will take at least another month to heal at best but the bleeding from the wound on his side has subsided. Seeing that he is being looked over, Nochtli gives Alleras a slight nod to indicate to him that he may proceed with their usual ritual.
Nochtli winces as Alleras refastens the splint on his leg.
[[Didn’t feel a thing,]] says Nochtli.
“Your side,” says Alleras. He points to the side in question and Nochtli lifts up his tunic and sits up straight for rebandaging. From this pack Alleras produces his acolyte’s medicine kit and begins with the mortar and pestle.
[[Doesn’t even hurt that bad anymore,]] says Nochtli. Alleras knows that Nochtli knows that he can’t understand him, but Nochtli seems to like talking anyway. In any case Alleras doesn’t mind. He likes the sing-song sound of his language.
As Alleras removes the bandages to apply the clean ones Nochtli says:
[[See? Hardly any blood at all.]]
“Hold still,” says Alleras. He then motions for Nochtli to remove the tunic to allow him to better apply the bandages.
After a moment Nochtli chuckles to himself and adds: [[If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were only interested in getting my clothes off, sweetling.]]
He laughs at his own foolishness but this only agitates his wound and causes him to wince once more. Alleras gives him a puzzled smile, wondering what his jest could be.
[[How long until we get to your place with bed and food?]] ask Nochtli.
Recognizing some key words, Alleras responds: [[Yes, bed, food,]] he says, “Citadel.”
“Sih-tah-dell,” says Nochtli. His accent is thick enough that Alleras sometimes wonders if he’s mocking him. “Citadel, distance time?”
“Weeks at this pace,” says Alleras. Then, on seeing Nochtli's confused look, he adds: “many days.”
Alleras finishes wrapping the last of the clean bandage around Nochtli’s abdomen. As Alleras runs his hands across his torso to ensure the tightness of the wrap he notes how little give there is to Nochtli’s frame, lean and strong in the style of long voyage sailors or young soldiers, his darker skin giving greater contrast to his muscles. When Nochtli looks up and notices this admiration Alleras quickly looks away.
The crickets begin their evening songs as the sun dips under the horizon. Their campfire appears to brighten as the dark envelopes the landscape around them. Looking at Nochtli now in the firelight there are so many things Alleras wishes he could ask him. Why did his people kill one of their own? What does this mean where he is from? What is it like where he is from? What are the people like? What do they eat? What do they do? Why did he come to Westeros? What do his tattoos mean?
Alleras also thinks on how, aside from his uncle Doran, Nochtli is the only one who knows that he is also Sarella. A necessary secret; even in permissive Dorne this changing of being is seen as trespass. He recalls how his uncle, a kind hearted man who could not deny the needs of his family, looked at him askance, as if he was guilty of something criminal. He recalls so many times in this life in which he’s seen a boy be mocked for being girlish, or a girl for being boyish. And he recalls how Nochtli seemed…unbothered.
[[It was only jest you know,]] says Nochtli, noticing how he is being watched, [[the sweetlings from before.]]
Alleras catches a word.
[[I didn’t-]]
“What does [[sweetling]] mean?” asks Alleras.
[[Sweetling?]] asks Nochtli, “ah…you. You are [[sweetling]]. Is…how you say [[flirtatious]]”
[[Flirtatious?]] asks Alleras.
[[Yes,]] says Nochtli, [[but it was only jest. I might die from blood loss out here, I’m just talking, you know?]]
Of course, none of this helps Alleras.
“What is [[flirtatious]]?” asks Alleras.
Nochtli thinks for a moment.
“Small word, small word for…,” says Nochtli, “for liking.”
“You like me?” asks Alleras.
Nochtli lets loose a chuckle, controlling himself enough that he doesn’t agitate his side.
[[Well, yes, sweetling,]] says Nochtli. There is an easy air about him now, as if he were drunk or deeply fatigued.
“You like me like this?” asks Alleras. He motions to himself, his clothes.
“Like this?” asks Nochtli.
“Like this,” says Alleras, “a man?”
“I like both,” says Nochtli.
Alleras feels goosebumps on his arms.
“Do you want to?” asks Nochtli. His eyes darken a little as he says this.
“I, ah,” says Alleras, “you’re injured, no, we shouldn’t…no.”
Nochtli raises an eyebrow.
“Alright,” he says with a shrug.
His gaze returns to the campfire.
The next day Alleras is full of regret. He used the word ‘injured’ instead of ‘wound’ - does Nochtli know that word? Did Nochtli think he was rejecting him, or did he understand that it was due to Alleras not wanting to hurt him? Should he say something to him to make sure he understands?
As they travel on horseback all that day Alleras has trouble meeting Nochtli’s eye. Whereas before they might point at one or another thing to try and make some attempt at conversation now Alleras finds himself taciturn. When they stop to rest or eat from their rations Alleras is just as incurious to Nochtli's thoughts on food. When Nochtli looks over to see what’s the matter, Alleras pretends not to notice.
What is this foolishness? Alleras thinks to himself. Even as Sarella he’s never been so bashful about the act. A youth in Dorne has a way of preparing someone. Then from whence this shyness? Does Nochtli really have such a hold on him? He starts to think he might. Against everyone else in his life Alleras has kept his duality a secret, but now this man knows, can see him in a way others cannot. When Nochtli smiles at him on their journey he smiles at Sarella and Alleras both. He smiles, and he desires.
That day goes on in the same monotonous way against the backdrop of the Reach, except now Alleras awaits the evening with a sense of anticipation.
The fire lit and the day done Alleras once more goes to check Nochtli’s brace and asks him to remove his tunic to check his bandages. Whereas just the day before Alleras approached this with a clinical detachment now he feels the blood rushing to his face. In the chill evening air, when he gets close to apply the bandages, Alleras can feel the heat radiating off of Nochtli's body. This time however Nochtli does not wince and indeed his wounds look better healed.
[[Like I said, I don’t feel a thing,]] says Nochtli.
Alleras smiles.
[[Strong,]] says Alleras.
[[As a jaguar,]] says Nochtli.
[[Jaguar?]] asks Alleras.
“Animal,” says Nochtli, “big animal.”
Alleras giggles.
With the bandages wrapped Alleras once again checks them for tightness. He runs his fingers over the bandages and then over his skin, over the tattoos, his touch lingering for long enough that Nochtli notices. They exchange glances that stay on each other's eyes, then each other's lips.
Alleras sits on his lap facing him and removes his brigandine. Nochtli takes Alleras in his arms and pulls him close, his strength faltering for a moment as his injuries flare, a pain dissolved in an instant by a kiss. Alleras presses his chest hard against the firmness of him, desperate to feel the rich sensation of flesh against flesh. His body is warm like a fever and he feels the breathe of a gasp on his neck. Alleras pulls away and goes to remove his trousers - the gods gave him a woman’s tools but he can find a way. He helps Nochtli remove his own, taking care to move slow around his braced leg and, once free, tosses the leathers aside.
The night is deep and Alleras can feel the fatigue under his eyes but he doesn’t care. Nochtli lays on his bedroll without defense, and without hesitation Alleras lays over him, spreading himself over Nochtli’s body as if trying to meld into one. By now Nochtli is swollen hard and Alleras can feel him pressing against his thighs, can feel the dew forming at the tip smearing across his skin. With one hand he guides him inside and their faces wince from the sweetness of it. Alleras finds a slow rhythm to start and then pushes the tempo, pressing on Nochtli’s shoulders as he begins to take longer strides, pretending to hold him down as his lover pretends to fight back. This is not like other times - Alleras hands falls away from his shoulder in the throws of it when Nochtli takes it and places it back pressing down against him - here, like this, more - and it drives Alleras wild, his hips moving of their own accord as his mind goes blank at the edges, his eyes fixed on the way Nochtli’s lower lip trembles just before he seizes, his heels press into the bedroll covered earth as he bucks, Alleras pushing down with as much weight as he can, over and over without end.