Work Text:
The hardest part, he believes, of his entire plan is pretending that he doesn’t care.
He stands on the remains of the Olmec giant, staring out to sea, lost in his thoughts. He thinks about the things he has done, and the things that must still be done, and he has to take a moment to close his eyes and draw a deep breath. The very air feels heavy in his chest.
His mind trails back to the time when Yaotl summoned him, asking for guidance and reassurance. He remembers how easily he slipped into the skin of an arrogant, indifferent god: purposefully unhelpful, uncaring and unsympathetic. He spoke of the previous human incarnations as if it were a half-remembered story that he heard once, long ago.
As if his memory weren’t the stone tablet on which all history was written. As if it weren’t his fate, as god of knowledge, to remember all these things.
But Yaotl had believed him, accustomed to the haughty manner of the god he served. Tezcatlipoca is his dark reflection in an obsidian mirror; Quetzalcoatl knows him as well as he knows himself. He spoke to Yaotl as Tezcatlipoca might, but without any of his love.
Tezcatlipoca has a deep affection for his emissaries, and as such became quite affected by Yaotl’s actions, which he interpreted as betrayal. It was painful to watch them both: Tezcatlipoca’s destructive anger, and Yaotl’s agony. It was painful, but it had to be done.
Quetzalcoatl cares about Tezcatlipoca as well. He wishes it were different, but Tezcatlipoca is only ever satisfied when he’s challenging others, and nothing puts a bigger smile on his face than winning one over his rival. Quetzalcoatl keeps the memories of their few collaborations close to his heart. But then, there are also things that he will never forgive him for. Perhaps it is better like this.
When all this is over, he reminds himself, none of this will matter. His feelings, as well, are pointless in this endeavor.
His thoughts drift to another memory, one from long ago: the last time he saw Xolotl in the underworld, as Quetzalcoatl pitifully attempted to drag himself from the deepest pit. Bloodied and broken, struggling to crawl away on fractured limbs, he remembers the great wave of fondness and relief he felt when he saw his twin’s face look down at him in the darkness.
His own title is that of Precious Twin, but Xolotl is more valuable to him than any treasure. No harm is allowed to befall him. He doesn’t think he could bear it if anything happened to his twin.
If he closes his eyes, he almost believes he can see them now: his loyal brother and the five young heroes he’d picked, descendants of the humans he created with stolen bones and his own blood, facing the remainder of their quest in Tenochtitlan with hopeful eyes.
He scoffs aloud. How could anyone be fooled by him? How could anyone see the way he looks upon humanity, and believe that he doesn’t care?
They should have been able to see right through his subterfuge, his fellow creator gods. Only Tezcatlipoca had the good sense to distrust him, but Quetzalcoatl’s heart has always been an enigma to him, so despite their bond as members of a duality -control and chaos, mercy and revenge, clarity and obscurity-, Quetzalcoatl will be able to lie to him again and again.
He knows his plan will work. And he knows that the road ahead is long and twisted, and he knows that the hollow, hungry pain in his chest is more agonizing than he anticipated, and he knows that there are still many obstacles in his way. But his plan will work. There is no other option.
And when it is all done, when everything is over, and they are all gone, then will he be allowed to rest.
And all will be well, in the end.