âNeed I remind you I wear primarily all black?â
âYeah, but you seem to dress well regardless of the damn color. Unless someone picked out all of your clothing youâd be better than I would.â Amir followed contently behind Mordred as the man decided the route that would best take them to some sort of fashion district. They walked in silence for the most part as they made their way through the large city of Amstra. The sheer amount of people was staggering as Amirâs home of Gnaji Town only housed a permanent residency of about two thousand with another two thousand, give or take, of nomadic tribes and merchants migrating through everyday to sell wares or replenish supplies. He watched as every once in awhile a citizen would give their regards to Mordred and Amir took note that he seemed to be well known in the city.
As they passed a second gate the atmosphere of the city once again gave way to something completely different to that of the other side of the wall. It was as if each section of the city housed a different ecosystem, carefully separated by large walls and heavy gates. This side was much less residential and much more artistic. The color, the mood, the people were lighter than that of the previous. The most significant change was the sudden wafting smell of cooking food. It made the emptiness of his stomach suddenly apparent and the boy found himself wishing he had picked food first over clothing, but he wasnât about to change his mind now.
âThrough here, it should bring us closer to the nearest clothing district.â Amir nodded, assured by Mordred of their route even as it turned off the main roads. It wasnât until they got deeper into the alley, and farther from the main road, did the mood change. Amir could feel the eyes on them as they continued, bearing down on them like they were prey. He felt Hassan bristle against the back of his neck, the fire surrounding them brightening ever slightly. The boy felt his hand rest against the hilt of his sword that rested at his hip, but was stopped from taking action by Mordredâs hand.
The man with an unflattering smile and a portly stature reminded him distinctly of a farm pig, and he couldnât keep his upper lip from curling in disgust. The pig man did himself no favors as he approached them, he must have felt brave surrounded by his lackeys, and if not for Mordred already waving him down the boy would have showed the pig the sharp end of his blade. He couldnât help as his hand grasped the hilt of his blade so tightly his necks turned white as Pig addressed him as strumpet. It was a blast from the past he didnât need and it took Hassanâs calming whispers to keep him grounded in place. The Pig reminded him of the low tier gangs in The Cape that thought themselves so high and mighty because Amir hadnât found them yet when in actuality they werenât important enough for Amir to turn his attention to them.
The actual comments were nasty enough, and though the boy had been putting together Mordred leaned towards the company of men, for some stranger to throw it in their faces was revolting. He was getting ready to discard Mordredâs original gesture to stand down in favor of crippling the lot of them when they boy began a verbal counter attack.
Amir felt his grip on the sword lessen as his glare morphed to a confident smirk as Mordred turned the tides of the confrontation with his words alone. As the thugs retreated at command of Pig Man, Amir flipped the bird at their backs as they left. He turned with a huge smile and was going to congratulate the boy on his total annihilation of the pig man when Mordred seemed to completely deflate once they were alone.
âAh, fuck, Mor you good? That was fucking sick, but are you feeling right?â
âPlease, forget what you heard them say about who I prefer to bed. Such things are not exactly forbidden in Amstra. But the higher born one is, and the higher in the line of succession the greater the disgrace if it is discovered. It is one of the reasons I am seen as a failing by many, not just Trytheus. There are none other in this country that could be more disgraced for it... And I am... A failing.â Amir felt his fists clench at his side. Trytheus was constantly voicing his opinions of good and âdoing the right thingâ, but he always seemed to conveniently forget these long and drawn out lectures when situations became more complex, as they always did. âGentle Amir, be gentle.â
He reached up and grabbed the boyâs hand that was covering his face. Amir dragged it down so they were making eye contact, his brown eyes meeting the otherâs icy blue ones. Amstraâs culture had driven the boy into this spiral of self hatred, and Trytheus seemed personally responsible for a lot of the boyâs turmoil. Yet another reason to dislike the hulking hunk of armor.
âFuck all that shit Mor. Firstly, it shouldnât matter which genitals get you going. Does it affect your personality? No. Your job performance, or skill set? No. So how are you failing, because you wonât have a fucking small thing full of your blood? Because you are Morrela? The Rider reincarnation is fucking random, human bloodlines play no part in it so you shouldnât have to feel a responsibility, thatâs fucking stupid. Did you even witness how you fucking just used your words to fucking ruin Pig Man? I was getting ready to fucking cripple the lot of âem, no way I could have done what you did. Plus, I know I donât give a damn if you like dick, and neither does Hassan, so donât worry about what we fucking think.â
âNow come on, letâs go fucking shopping.â
âAmir, that was not gentle.â