notapaladin

55 (acatl – narnia crossover pt 2; aslan is not a tame lion & christianity is the religion of conquerors)

Oh giver of life! Who could conquer Tenochtitlan? Who could shake the foundation of heaven?

Acatl is an old, old man. He's seen much in his life—many horrors, yes, but many wonders too. (His nieces' and nephews' births. The dedication of the new Great Temple, shining with blood and light and life. Teomitl's smile, radiant as the dawn.)

When he sees the pale men in their great boats, with their moon-shining armor and their shorn priests in heavy robes, he does not see horrors. He sees only men like other men—foolish, greedy, grasping men, but men that can bleed and die. Men whose hearts will feed the Sun if they dare lift their swords against his city. The beast that stands at Cortes's side, the golden shaggy-maned cat they call a lion (though he has seen miztli, the puma, and they are much sleeker than this one) is only a beast, as their giant dogs and great hornless deer are only beasts.

And then

the Lion

speaks

Acatl goes to one knee, reeling from the pain of it, and reaches for his gods.

Lord and Lady Death do not answer. They are too busy screaming.

Acatl grimaced as he stepped from the coolness of his home into the day’s bright, punishing sunlight. Today was the day the army was due to return from their campaign in Mixtec lands, and so he was forced to don his skull mask and owl-trimmed cloak on a day that was far too hot for it. Not for the first time, he was thankful that priests of Lord Death weren’t required to paint their faces and bodies for special occasions; the thought of anything else touching his skin made him shudder.

He’d barely made it out of his courtyard when Acamapichtli strode up to him, face grave underneath his blue and black paint. “Ah, Acatl. I’m glad I could catch you.”

“Come to tell me that the army is at our gates again?” They would never be friends, he and Acamapichtli, but they had achieved something like a truce in the year since the plague. Still, Acatl couldn’t help but be on his guard. There was something...off about the expression on the other man’s face, and it took him a moment to realize what it was. He’d borne the same look when delivering the news of a death to a grieving family. Ah. A loss, then.

He’d expected Acamapichtli to spread his hands, a wordless statement of there having been nothing he could have done. He didn’t expect him to take a deep breath and slide his sightless eyes away. “I have. The runners all say it is a great victory; Tizoc-tzin has brought back several hundred prisoners.”

It should have pleased him. Instead, a cold chill slid down his spine. “What are you not telling me? I’ve no time for games.”

Acamapichtli let out a long sigh. “There were losses. A flood swept across the plain, carrying away several of our best warriors. Among them...the Master of the House of Darts. They looked—I’m assured that they looked!—but his body was not found.”