Chapter Text
“I still can’t believe they didn’t believe me,” says Sarella.
In the mornings Nochtli thinks of her as Sarella. At this time of day her speech has a higher lilt to it, as if before she dons her acolyte’s robes her voice has yet to bear down on the problems of the world.
Sarella also takes to sleeping in a threadbare shirt, which reveals her curved form in a way her acolyte’s disguise does not.
“I can,” says Nochtli, “I am only a man.”
His accent in the common tongue is thick, but with their practice he speaks now with passing fluency.
“Even if they didn’t believe the stories,” says Sarella, “the tattoos! The clothes! These are clear signs of a new culture!”
Nochtli lifts himself up from the bed and rubs some of the sleep from his eyes.
“And Perestan - I can’t believe he would doubt me like that!” says Sarella, “I have a copper link!”
“Are we going to talk to them again today?” asks Nochtli.
“No,” says Sarella, “not we. I need to start attending archmaester Benedict’s lectures - his mask is tin, language.”
“I think you have language already,” says Nochtli.
“No,” says Sarella, “other languages. And rhetoric.”
“What is ‘rhetoric’ mean?” asks Nochtli.
“How to convince people,” says Sarella.
Nochtli nods.
“Benedict is going to deny your story as well,” says Sarella, “You have to beat the grey sheep about the head with proof or they will not move an inch. Once I am a student of tin I can get access to the archives, the language books, then it’s just a process of elimination to show that your language is not like the others.”
“How long will that take?” asks Nochtli.
“I’m not sure,” says Sarella, “no longer than a month. Your tongue is not like the others.”
“No, it isn’t,” says Nochtli, fluent enough now for word games.
Sarella rolls her eyes but still smiles.
“I need to get ready,” she says.
Sarella gets out of bed and starts rummaging through the closet of their rented room.
[[And me?]] asks Nochtli.
[[And you?]] asks Sarella.
[[Well,]] says Nochtli, [[do I just wander the city all day?]]
“You could,” says Sarella.
She finishes donning her brigandine and her breeches. Her form hides now and she makes a slight change in her composure. When she speaks again she is different.
“Just don’t get lost,” says Alleras, “and don’t spend any coin.”
“How am I supposed to build us a home without any coin?” asks Nochtli in a sarcastic tone.
Alleras gives him a quick kiss.
“I’ll meet you at the southeastern bridge in the evening,” says Alleras.
And with that he is off.
In Nochtli’s opinion, Oldtown is a modest town. His own home village - a sleepy town halfway up the Cloudtop mountains - is a bit smaller, but was itself near Opal Lake, a main trading city noticeably larger than Oldtown. Or so it seems in his memory.
Nochtli walks down one of Oldtown’s avenues in some district of flower merchants or of rich upper class indigene, he isn’t sure which, where flowers and trees have been planted amongst the cobbled stones to create a kind of green tunnel out of the street. The floral aroma wafts through the streets, carried along by a pleasant breeze that ensures it never becomes too thick. Smallfolk wander here and there on their own business as foreign birds can be heard chirping in the distance. Sometimes at these moments Nochtli feels he must have died in that dungeon back at Castle Starfall and that all that has followed is the dream of his final moments.
Since then any sense of a plan for his life has left his thoughts. All those hopes of returning home from the Horizon Voyage in one piece seem so distant now. How could he possibly return home now? How long will it take him to find the expedition - or for the expedition to find him? Perhaps more importantly: does he want to be found? He will be pressed back into service. If anything, this journey into the interior of Westeros will make him a rare individual among his Atlacal brethren, they might even go so far as to reshape him into a Needle now that he can speak the common tongue.
But what is the alternative? Live the rest of his life out here in this foreign land? Never to see the Cloudtops or anyone he ever knew ever again? A recusant, hunted by the empire for his dereliction of duty…
It’s at this moment that Nochtli walks by a bakery. He can smell it before he sees it - the warm smell of the indigene bread that they make out of wheat. When it is fresh the bread is soft and airy, much lighter than the maize meal back home. A girl sweeps the streets and the steps before the bakery door, humming a tune to herself. After a moment she realizes Nochtli is passing by and a look of confusion overtakes her face as she takes note of the shade of Nochtli’s skin and the obsidian band high on his ear.
After a moment the girl says:
“Hello.”
“Hello,” says Nochtli in his thick accent.
“Are you looking to buy any bread?” asks the girl.
“No,” says Nochtli, “I don’t have any coin.”
“Oh,” says the girl, “why not?”
“I am not from here,” says Nochtli.
“Where are you from?” asks the girl.
“Ayamictlan,” says Nochtli.
The girl nods.
“Is it far?,” she says.
“It is,” says Nochtli. Then after a moment he says, “they do not have bread like this in my land.”
“Oh,” says the girl, “do you want to try some anyway?”
Nochtli is surprised by the question, but before he can answer the girl ducks inside. She returns with a small round loaf of bread with onions and herbs baked onto the top.
“But I have no coin,” says Nochtli.
“You can have it anyway,” says the girl, “everyone should try it. It’s my favorite.”
Nochtli thanks the girl and continues on his way with onion loaf in hand. The bread has a pleasant savory flavor, with a crunchy crust and a soft inside, and he finishes it in a few bites. Would it really be so bad to stay here?, he asks himself. The people seem nice and the food is not bad. True he can probably never return east to the territories of Starfall, but surely there are other places to go and see than that fortress. Westeros is not Ayamictlan, it’s not the Empire of the Place of Reeds, but it’s not as if the Empire was without its problems anyway.
As the afternoon rolls past Nochtli looks forward to seeing Alleras in the evening. Alleras is so curious about Nochtli’s homeland and telling him stories of being back home relaxes Nochtli. It is freeing - with Alleras Nochtli can speak his mind about the Empire, can talk about how much he disliked having to serve, of how the snooty imperials from the core irritate him, how he’s started to think, like some in the Empire think, that the gods no longer speak to the Emperor. That this has something to do with the Ivory Mask’s strange notions, such as the insistence on sending out the Horizon Voyages for so long.
These and other thoughts does Nochtli mull over as he makes his way through the streets of Oldtown, taking care not to wander too far from the inn where he stays with Alleras. As the sun begins to dip toward the horizon the streets begin to thin out and Nochtli makes his way to the crossing the locals call the Northstar Bridge, so named for the pattern engraved into the keystone. As he makes his way closer he can see him: Alleras is on the bridge leaning against the balustrade, watching as this side stream of the Honeywine makes its way downriver.
“There’s my pretty boy,” says Nochtli.
Alleras turns to see Nochtli walking up the bridge toward him with a grin.
“Stop,” says Alleras in a hushed tone. He turns shyly away but cannot hide his smile.
Nochtli approaches him and puts his arm around his waist.
“Stop what?” asks Nochtli. He moves his hands up to Allera’s rib cage and tickles him a little.
Alleras giggles.
“Come on,” says Alleras, “let’s get back home first.”
Nochtli gives him a kiss on the cheek.
“I’m going to wear you like a bracelet,” whispers Nochtli.
“You ought to be ashamed!” cries a distant voice.
Nochtli and Alleras look over to see a man, middle aged and a bit portly with a basket of apples in his arms, shouting at them.
“I knew you acolyte types were boy fuckers,” says the man, “disgusting foreign mongrels - you ought to be ashamed!”
A deafening silence falls over the empty bridge street, interrupted only by the soft noises of the water passing underneath.
“You have something to say? Coward?!” yells Nochtli.
“What did you call me?” asks the man.
“Do we need to do this?,” asks Alleras.
“Coward!” yells Nochtli, “you understand my words? Coward!”
The man starts mumbling to himself angrily and walks up the bridge toward them. Alleras takes one of Nochtli’s arms to pull him back but Nochtli simply slips his arm free.
The man tries for one big full armed slap but Nochtli ducks under and lands a left against the man’s jaw. There’s a quick exchange of blows that ends with the man reeling and stumbling against the balustrade, at which point Nochtli shoves the man with his shoulder, pushing him over to the other side.
“Gods above,” whispers Alleras.
The man yelps and scrambles as he tumbles and manages to grab onto two stone rails of the bridge, dangling some fifteen feet above the water below.
“Shit!” cries the man.
Nochtli takes a step back as if to assess his work.
“Hmph,” says Nochtli. Then after a moment he says to Alleras: “let’s go.”
“Wait,” says the man, “I’m going to fall!”
Nochtli continues walking away.
“You’re going to leave him there?” asks Alleras.
[[You heard what he said to us,]] says Nochtli.
“Please!” cries the man, “I can’t swim!”
Alleras gestures toward the man with a hand palm face up.
“River not that deep,” says Nocthli.
“How do you know?” asks Alleras.
Nochtli opens his mouth to give an answer but, unable to find one, he only sighs.
“Help me lift him up,” says Alleras.
After a moment Nochtli acquiesces and returns to the spot where the men tipped over the edge.
“You’re lucky my boy is a milk-sop,” says Nochtli, “I would have let you learn to swim.”
Not without some trouble, they pull the man back up and he tumbles back onto the bridge. He looks up at them with a look of panic for a moment then he picks himself back up and walks quickly back to his basket of apples.
[[He didn’t apologize,]] says Nochtli.
“Leave him be,” says Alleras, “he’s not worth the trouble.”
This last part Alleras says loud. Though the man doesn’t turn back to acknowledge it it’s clear that he’s heard.
Nochtli is still flush with blood from the fight but as they walk back home he feels a strange calm wash over him, as if he had let go of something, some great tension, some weight he’d never felt until he could sense its absence.
The setting sun casts long shadows as they walk north along the river. Alleras takes him by the arm, his chain rattling a little with every step.
“You shouldn’t be getting into fights,” says Alleras, “you’re too rare to lose like that.”
“Did you not hear what he said?” asks Nochtli.
“I did,” says Alleras, “and I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it - he did - but I worry that-”
“Alleras,” says Nochtli, “I am a Shield of the Empire, I know how to fight.”
“All it takes is a single stone to kill a trained man,” says Alleras, “and -”
Nochtli does not interrupt him, instead Alleras stops walking of his own accord and takes Nochtli’s face in both hands, examining him.
“What?” asks Nochtli, “a bruise?”
“Your eye,” says Alleras.
“My eye?” asks Nochtli.
Nochtli goes over to the edge of the river side street where the water of the Honeywine begins. The water sloshes about distorting his reflection, but he can see what looks like the beginnings of a dark mark on his face
[[A bruise,]] says Nochtli, [[he must have got me better than I thought.]]
“Is that a bruise?,” says Alleras.
“Do they teach you how to fight in the Citadel?” asks Nochtli.
“No, but I have a silver link, I know what a bruise is,” says Alleras.
Nochtli shrugs and pulls away from the waterside, returning to his walking.
“I’m serious,” says Alleras, “ it could be serious.”
“I think you want to play nursemaid,” says Nochtli, “come on, we have to get back to the inn either way.”
As they make their way back Nochtli begins to feel that peculiar light, empty, feeling from before, though he dismisses it as some piece of the onion bread that’s disagreed with him. It isn’t until they near the light of the inn that Alleras pulls Nochtli away from its entrance with a hard jerk.
“Nochtli,” he whispers, “your eyes!”
“My eyes?” asks Nochtli.
“They’re...black…,” whispers Alleras.
A thought appears in Nochtli’s mind that he dares not touch.
[[No,]] says Nochtli, [[no that’s…no-]]
He starts looking around in a panic.
[[A mirror,]] whispers Nochtli, [[I need a mirror.]]
“There’s one in the room,” says Alleras.
With his head low and his hand covering his face Nochtli barges into the inn and sprints up the stairs with Alleras close behind. They lock the door behind them and Alleras retrieves the small silver mirror. Nochtli takes it in hand to see his own reflection staring back at him. A cold, hollow feeling fills his chest -
The eyes of the eclipse.
[[The mirror is warped,]] says Nochtli.
Alleras says nothing.
[[It’s the lighting!,]] says Nochtli.
He stands up. There is a small candelabra that provides all of their light and he moves closer to it, recoiling when he can see it changes nothing.
[[We’re seeing things,]] says Nochtli.
“I don’t think so,” says Alleras.
But how can it be otherwise?, thinks Nochtli, if these are his eyes…that feeling in his chest from before-
[[The curse,]] says Nochtli.
[[Rotted One...,]] says Alleras, “it’s real.”
Nochtli hands the mirror back to Alleras and looks down at his hands. For what feels like a long time he sits silent.
“What happens now?” asks Alleras.
[[You are supposed to report yourself to the nearest imperial official,]] says Nochtli, [[they lead you to the Filth Eaters, they are the ones that find you people to…]]
[[...to consume?]] asks Alleras.
Nochtli nods. He will not meet Alleras’ eye.
“What happens to those that don’t report themselves?” asks Alleras.
[[They are hunted,]] says Nochtli, [[either they will kill innocents or they will try to abstain and become Putrid.]]
“What is [[Putrid]]?” asks Alleras.
[[They're the ones that have lost all their memories,]] says Nochtli, [[all they do is kill and eat.]]
Nochtli looks at Alleras now and sees his eyes dart slightly to the left and right as they examine his own eyes.
“How long do you have until…” says Alleras.
[[Three weeks,]] says Nochtli, [[three weeks or else you start to forget things. That’s what the codices say. A year without eating and you go Putrid.]]
There is a look of shock on Alleras face now.
“We can find some cure,” says Alleras.
Had he heard this being said about someone else’s putrefaction Nochtli might have laughed.
[[There is no cure,]] says Nochtli.
“The maesters-,” begins Alleras.
[[There is no cure,]] says Nochtli.
"You don't know that," says Alleras, "you underestimate-"
[[My people have looked for a cure FOR CENTURIES!]] shouts Nochtli. Alleras takes a step back from him, with a fear that Nochtli has never seen before. Nochtli pulls away from him, repentant. He sits down on the bed now and allows his gaze to extend out for miles. [[There is no cure for this.]]
Nochtli looks at his hands again, rubs them together, feeling them, and realizes that there is a certain numbness in them he hadn’t noticed before. He puts his head in his hands and begins to chuckle.
[[And you were worried a stone would kill me,]] says Nochtli. He laughs at his own statement, though there is a shakiness in his breathing and a glassyness to his new eyes.
Alleras sits next to him and wraps his arms around him.
“We’ll figure something out,” he says.
[[Do you think this will help your case with the maesters?]] asks Nochtli with a tremble in his voice.
“You don’t have to go see them again if you don’t want to,” asks Alleras.
Nochtli lets out a sob.
[[I will forget you,]] he says, [[I will forget everything-]]
“I’ll remind you,” says Alleras.
[[I will outlive you,]] says Nochtli.
“But you haven’t yet,” says Alleras.
Nochtli feels as if he is watching himself and Alleras from somewhere outside himself. The thoughts race past him like a swarm of insects, too fast and too many; he can see only a roiling black wave.
[[When the expedition finds me…,]] begins Nochtli.
Alleras waits for him to continue but Nochtli cannot bring himself to form the words.
“Come on, it’s late,” says Alleras gently, “and the day has been long. I have no lectures tomorrow, I can bring you food - or, well…we’ll figure something out. Things will look clearer in the morning, they always do.”
They crawl into bed together and pull the blanket tight around themselves in the cool night. Nochtli does have the heart to tell Alleras that he will no longer need sleep. He closes his eyes anyway hoping that he will drift into a dream - any dream.