Lava: The Legend of the Volcanoes

F I F T H E R U P T I O N: T H E A N N O U N C E M E N T

"Oh, only for so short a while you have loaned us

to each other, because we take form in your act of drawing us

And we take life in your painting us,

And we take life in your painting us,

And we breathe in your singing us

But only for so short a while have you loaned us to each other."

-A Z T E C    P R A Y E R

The months went flying in a blur of joy for Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl. Their influence was so great that the people who watched them together were suddenly happy and, so they said, blessed, and the pair shone in their midst like a sun.

With everything, the city was in its golden age.

The night was fresh as Popocatépetl made his way to the Chief's home, almost his own, dressed with his best clothes.

He didn't feel nervous, but at the same time he did. It was weird.

Zyanya opened the door for him and he thanked her, doing a once over of the room. The house was too quiet, the kind of ominous quiet that made your mood drop inmediately. Popocatépetl crossed the room, searching for signals of Iz or her father's presence.

A hand pulled him to the hall.

"Shh," whispered Iztaccíhuatl. "I think something has happened."
The princess seemed worried, her brow furrowed in a way that made him want to smooth it inmediately. He stuck his body against the wall next to her, ears pressed on the stone.

Whispers. The Chief and someone else.

"What have you heard until now?" he asked Iz quietly.

"The date to the Empire's tribute* is becoming near," she answered, brow still furrowed, lips forming a frown. "We lost 120 last year. Dad is tired."

It was the first time he ever heard her call the Chief "Dad".

"Declaration of war?"

"Just sent," finally, she sighed. She turned to hug the warrior with all her might. "You will fight, won't you?"

"Hey," he made her raise her head with a finger delicately. "They're the aztecs, true, but they are afraid of us. We prefer peace, yet we know how to fight. They are afraid of us."
She ended the hug to look at him with fake severity-or maybe not so fake. Her slight crisis had ended.

"You better get out alive, alright?" she demanded.

Popocatépetl grinned.

"For you? You don't even have to ask."

"You have been listening."

The Chief's deep rumble of a voice came from behind them, where he was standing with an unreadable expression.

"Are you going to deny it?" he demanded when they stayed silent.

Iztaccíhuatl looked at him gravelly, almost as if she had overheard someone's death.

"I couldn't help hearing it. I thought there would be no problem if he knew too."

The Chief nodded, leaning his shoulders against the wall.

"Yes, yes, that is fine," he sighed. "Popocatépetl. You will lead the batallion."

"Yes, sir."
"Perfect," the Chief nodded and walked out the hall. "Let us have dinner then."

Their dinner that night was the most awkward, quiet, silent and worrying one of each of their lives. Citlatépetl had also been invited, and he, Popocatépetl and the Chief had been discussing strategies ever since the first serving. Under the table, Popo's hand stroked Iz's.

"They will be waitng for us," Citlatépetl said. "Maybe a surprise attack would have been better."
"And were is the honor in that?"

"Sir," Popocatépetl cleared his throat casually. "If I win the war for you, will you allow me to marry your daughter?"

Iztaccíhuatl almost choked on her food, and the warrior gave her a few pats on the back. Their eyes met, shining with happiness.

The Chief studied them for a moment, while Citlatépetl just threw them a dark look."
"Count on it," he finally said.

*The story is set in Tlaxcala, and the tlaxcaltecans (? were Tenochtitlán's (the Empire's) greatest enemies. The tributes were a common demand of the Aztecs.

SORRY JABS

I KNOW YOU LOVE POPO JABS

AT LEAST YOU BROKE UP WITH HIM JABS

DON'T KILL ME JABSSSSSS

-IAmACaticorn *running for her life*