Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8223658.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Mummy_Series, The_Mummy_(1999), The_Mummy_Returns_(2001)
  Relationship:
      Evy_Carnahan_O'Connell/Rick_O'Connell, Anck_Su_Namun/Imhotep, Imhotep/
      Alex_O'Connell
  Character:
      Jonathan_Carnahan, Imhotep_(The_Mummy), Alex_O'Connell, Ardeth_Bay, Anck
      Su_Namun, Seti_I_of_Egypt, Nefertiri
  Additional Tags:
      Slow_Burn, i_just_needed_a_reason_for_him_not_to_be_the_bad_guy, Past
      life, Reincarnation, Visions, Dreams, movie_plot, with_side_story, or_is
      it_a_back_story
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-06 Updated: 2017-07-18 Chapters: 3/? Words: 10633
****** On Warm Sands ******
by RiceQueen
Summary
     Alex has been having strange dreams for the last while. They feel
     real, as though they are actually happening. He has no control, but
     lives through them. In them, the monster his parents defeated years
     ago exists as but a man untainted. He wonders if perhaps there can be
     salvation for him.
     Then he accidentally puts on a bracelet, and everything goes to shit.
Notes
     Please know that any non-con does not occur between our main
     characters, and that it will be handled well. I will warn before that
     chapter approaches. I've been dying for more of these two, and Pakeha
     is such an inspiration honestly.
     This will play through the second movie in the series, but there will
     also be bits of the past like this one scattered through the story.
     Mostly this is to gage reaction and thoughts or suggestions from
     anyone interested.
***** Chapter 1 *****
1290 BC
Aleksandar runs through the streets of Memphis, a load of scrolls in hand and
more bursting from the satchel over his shoulder. Sandaled feet slapped against
stone steps as he raced for the temple at the top of the hill. Imhotep would be
waiting for him no doubt, late from a negotiation with their builders. The
vizier had made plans for a vast temple to be built, and had offered a hefty
sum to any who would lend themselves to build it. One man in particular decided
the sum wasn’t enough, and threatened a riot should their pay not be doubled.
Aleksandar had been charged with negotiations, since violence was not desired
but neither was raising the payment. Unfortunately things hadn’t gone well, and
it was not up to the pupil to decide further action.
The desert had cooled from its daytime heat, and despite the chill in the air
the boy felt a sheen of sweat adorning his skin. Dashing passed the guards of
the temple, he gave a small wave in greeting. One of the guards rolled his
eyes, but both smiled good naturedly. It was not uncommon to see the young
priest in training running through the temple on one errand or another.
Aleksandar burst into his rooms, shared with his master, scrolls scattering
across the floor as he did so. “Master!”
Imhotep looked up from his work with a raised eyebrow. He sat at a carved
wooden table, parchment stacked high on either side of him. A torch stood close
by as the main source of light, and the warm glow bathed the man in gentle
heat. “Aleksandar,” he greeted his ward with an inclination of his head,
setting down his quill with a sigh, “You are late.”
The boy had flushed furiously, collecting the scrolls from the stone floors and
dropping more in the process. “I am sorry master!” After a few more moments
struggle, he had the required papers and moved towards the desk. He quickly
fished out the scrolls with signatures, and the one the man had torn in half to
place in front of the High Priest. Imhotep did not glance at the torn pieces,
but did pick up the others to inspect. Still out of breath, Aleksandar stood
and tried to calm his heartbeat, glancing at the floor where several scrolls
still lay. “I take it negotiations did not go well?”
“No master,” the boy shook his head, “he seemed interested at first, but
hardened towards the end of our meeting. He will not take less than two times
our agreed amount.”
Imhotep hummed in acknowledgment, eyes dancing across the page. “It is a shame
we must take actions against him,” he murmured quietly, waving his hand in a
dismissive gesture towards the boy. Grateful, Aleksandar ducked down to collect
the rest of the papers, taking them and the others to the shelves against the
far wall.
Their rooms were spacious, so to accommodate the High Priest and his pupil. One
side lay open to the night air, thick pillars of stone and light sheets giving
the privacy the vast space required. It led to a balcony, which overlooked the
Nile and let the cool breeze of the desert inside on warm nights. Two beds
rested close on the wall opposite the entrance, and many shelves lined the
walls. Imhotep was not vain, and kept very little gold and jewels about him. A
pitcher and bowl sat by the door, ready to collect water. They often took their
meals here, and were served by Pharaoh’s own servants.
Careful to keep them organized, Aleksandar finished putting the scrolls away
and returned to his master awaiting orders. He waited patiently for nearly half
an hour, before Imhotep looked up from his work with an apologetic smile.
“I am sorry, Aleksandar, but I find myself unable to focus.”
“Is there anything I can do, master?”
The boys eagerness never ceased to make the man proud, and Imhotep forced his
weary body to stand. “Finish signing these in my name, if you would. Some
require my seal.” His back popped as he moved, and he winced as he straightened
his posture. He looked down into the bright eyes of his pupil with
appreciation, before heading towards the balcony for some much needed
relaxation. Aleksandar was only too happy to sit in his masters place, readying
the golden signet ring he wore at all times. Legally speaking, he was allowed
to make decisions on his masters behalf. He wouldn’t dream of it, however,
knowing the sort of power that gave him. He read over the documents carefully.
This pile had already been looked over, but he had to learn.
When Imhotep returned it was a great deal later, and Aleksandar stood at the
entrance to their rooms with a bundle of parchment in his hands. An old courier
stood at the doorway, nodding and accepting the bundle with a bow. Aleksandar
gave him a gold coin for his trouble, and turned back to the rooms with a
stretch. When he saw his master he bowed his head, averting his eyes out of
respect. “Easy, young one,,” Imhotep said softly, making towards his bed
slowly. Aleksandar looked up with a smile, turning to his own not four feet
away from his masters. They changed out of their day clothes in comfortable
silence, the boy wearing a thin loincloth and the man deeming similar attire
appropriate, though with the addition of a wide shirt. Aleksandar sat on the
edge of the bed and waited for Imhotep to finish dressing. When he did, they
stood and turned towards the carving on the wall above their beds; a great sun
and moon with various figures chiselled beneath them. Imhotep lead them in
prayer, and afterwards got into his bed. Aleksandar doused the torches in their
rooms, leaving only the one at the entrance and a small candle at his bedside.
“Thank you for that, Aleksandar.”
“It is not difficult to put out fire, master.”
Imhotep clucked his tongue at the cheek, but did so fondly.
“In terms of the signing, young one.”
“Anything, master.”
With that, Imhotep rolled away from the boy facing the balcony, neglecting his
blankets in favour of the cool air of the night. Aleksandar covered himself
with a thin sheet, and drifted off to sleep quickly.
-
Their days moved by in similar a similar manner. An early morning for prayers
and breakfast among themselves. Next came paperwork, and travel across Memphis
to various construction sites, Imhotep giving orders and talking over the plans
with the overseers. Aleksandar spent most of his time as his masters shadow,
carrying the required materials and answering questions when his master was too
busy to do so. He was an adept learner, and Imhotep often asked him questions
in front of other viziers if only for him to prove his intellect. He was
immensely proud of his ward, and though he saved saying such things for the
privacy of their rooms, it exuded from him nonetheless. In the evenings, they
would have supper with the Pharaoh and speak lightly. Seti would take Imhotep
aside if there were any truly important matters, though the High Priest would
typically inform Aleksandar of the goings on as soon as they were back in their
rooms.
Today it seemed was to be no different. Aleksandar stood to the side of a long
table covered with parchment. Various architects were arguing over Imhotep’s
instructions, clear though they were, as his master spoke with the chief. The
sun had only just reached it’s highest point in the sky, and Aleksandar stepped
out from beneath the cloth canopy to feel it on his skin. The chief was dumb,
he had decided that from their last two meetings. He didn’t seem able to read
diagrams half as well as his delegates, and they weren’t allowed to see them.
The temple was designed to be open to the sky, enabling the gods to see into it
as they crossed the sky. It was meant to be beautiful, and the smooth sandstone
they were going to use would no doubt be so. The entrance would be nearly as
high as three men, and the floor a rare limestone. Aleksandar has enjoyed
watching Imhotep draw up the plans, speaking with such passion and fire in his
eyes.
The boy returned to the shade before sweat could form on his forehead, and
entered in time to see his master being yelled at by the chief. The man was
smaller than his master, with a great beard and a wiry frame. Imhotep did not
look imposing on the daily, but as he lost his own temper he seemed to grow
four feet. The High Priest glared down at the man, standing to his full height
and squaring his shoulders. A silence fell, as the chief trembled beneath
Imhotep’s shadow.
“These instructions are clear. I have rewritten them two times for you now,
Chief.”
Imhotep lifted a hand out open palmed to Aleksandar, never once breaking eye
contact with the smaller man. The boy pulled a scroll from his satchel and
handed it to Imhotep wordlessly, grazing his fingers against his master’s skin
for just a moment too long. He swallowed as he watched the scene unfold.
“You have proven yourself illiterate on many occasions, and useless as the
leader of this project.”
Aleksandar bit his lip, turning his gaze to the ground in embarrassment for the
man. It was unlike Imhotep to shame his people publicly. He must be well and
truly angered. He looked back up, unable to keep his eyes off the debacle.
“This is your contract, and it is herewith terminated.” Imhotep held up the
scroll, and neatly tore it down the middle. “You are dismissed. There are other
jobs which are more suitable for a man of your stature.”
Spluttering, and somehow grateful that he kept his head, the chief was escorted
out by a fellow architect. The air seemed breathable again, as Imhotep handed
the diagrams to the next in line for chief. After a brief discussion and some
nervous smiles, Imhotep swept his robe about him and strode out of the canopy
and began the trek down the sandy hill. Aleksandar gave a curt nod to the
architects, collecting their papers from the table and running to catch up to
his master.
The return to their quarters led them through the market. Their quick pace and
turned leisurely now, and though Imhotep did not speak, he seemed to have
calmed down. Aleksandar knew of his masters temper, though it had never been
directed at him. He was grateful for the lifting of spirits.
“Master?”
“Yes, Aleksandar?”
“I wondered if I might pick something up. It is supposed to have arrived from
the south today. “
“Certainly. I have no more scheduled meetings today. Shall I accompany you, or
let you be?”
“Do not waste your time with such a simple task, master,” Aleksandar responded
shaking his head, “You have had enough stress today, if it is not too bold of
me to say so.” Imhotep regarded his ward fondly, before giving a brief smile
and nod, “As it is. I return to our rooms before supper. Do not be late.” The
boy watched the priest until he disappeared into the crowd, before grinning and
turning in the opposite direction. Making a dash towards the river, he made for
the wharf.
Some time later, Imhotep was resting at his desk after a bath. His skin
remained damp from the warm water glistening in the torchlight. The sun had not
yet gone down, and supper was to be had within the hour. He trusted Aleksandar
would have returned by now, and as he had not a seed of worry sprouted in his
mind. His apprentice was talented and intelligent, never would Imhotep argue
otherwise. But the boy had very little grace, and was often clumsy in
situations calling for precision.
“Master!”
Speaking of which.
Imhotep lifted his gaze from the parchments in front of him to see his ward
with a large basket in his arms. A slave behind him carried another, larger
than the first. Aleksandar thanked the man without setting his own basket down,
and sent him away without flourish. Turning back, he seemed almost hesitant to
approach Imhotep, and the man was curious instantly. His ward was never shy
with him. What could be the cause of such a response?
“Aleksandar.”
“Master,” Aleksandar repeated, shuffling his feet before walking forward to the
desk. He placed the basket on the floor, and looked up. He opened his mouth as
though to speak, and closed it again. Twisting his hands together, the
talkative boy was at a loss for words.
“Aleksandar,” Imhotep stood to circle the table, “What has made you so nervous
to speak? Surely my earlier outburst has been forgiven.” Brow furrowed, the
elder man stood in front of the basket on the opposite side of the boy, who was
looking up at him sheepishly. He seemed so young now, instead of being sixteen
summers old.
“It isn’t that, master,” he said quietly. “It is only that I know what today
is.”
Imhotep cocked his head, but now he understood. “And what is today, young one?”
“Today is the day of your birth. I know you do not celebrate it, but…” Slowly
he knelt down to the basket, and grasped the woven handle as he looked up
again. “I thought perhaps you deserved a gift after so many years of service.”
“Being a High Priest is gratuitous enough on it’s own.”
The boy hesitated even more, but swallowed before speaking boldly. “That is
fair to say. Then take this as a gift from me, for what that is worth.” He
opened the lid and lifted out a small bundle of fur, which meowed meekly at the
sudden light.
The kitten was large for a domesticated feline, and it’s short hair appeared
soft as down. A mottle of sand and brown tones, faint stripes on it’s back
dubbed it a wild cat breed, with even darker stripes framing it’s bright green
eyes and light footed paws. It mewled again, and Aleksandar scratched it gently
beneath the chin before holding it out to his master. Imhotep took the cat
carefully, noting that it’s claws were sharp. He said nothing but began to pet
the small creature gently, not able to resist the thrum of it’s purrs.
“Her name is Henutsen. I thought maybe…” Imhotep did not stop stroking the cat,
but looked up with an unreadable expression to hear what the boy had to say. He
seemed to be vibrating with nerves, “I thought you might enjoy her company on
slow days.”
Henutsen meowed loudly, nuzzling into the High Priest’s chest and continuing to
purr. Imhotep cupped her in his large hands, feeling her seek an escape he
smiled and rewarded her with a scratch behind the ear. “I thank you,
Aleksandar. This is a fine gift. One which means much to me.” Relieved to hear
it, the boy smiled and relaxed. He picked up the empty basket and placed it
beside the other against the wall. “I’ve already bought the things she needs. I
will care for her in your absence, master.” He again moved to stand in front of
the man, this time relaxed and happy. Imhotep seemed at ease with the kitten,
and head already placed her on his bed. She nestled into his pillow as though
she had always done so, and blinked up at him lazily. “She has an old soul,”
Imhotep observed, moving to change for supper. “You should bathe quickly,
Aleksandar. There is little time before we must meet the Pharaoh.”
“Yes master.”
Aleksandar left with a smile on his lips and a spring in his step to fetch
water for a bath. Perhaps his master’s day had a few bumps in the road, but now
at least, he had something to smile about.
***** I Know *****
Chapter Summary
     Alex is having some dreams that seem real... and he knows things he
     really shouldn't.
     Meanwhile, Aleksandar gets drunk in front of Pharaoh and really, he's
     lucky his Master is as caring as he is.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Alex woke with a spring in his step. His dreams as of late were like reading a
storybook, something he very much loved. Reading was only a small part of
himself he owed to his mother. Their vast libraries of ancient tomes and modern
books about history and politics left him wanting more still; he picked through
them like he was starved for things to read. Even Evie hadn’t read them all,
and he was very close to completing another shelf.
Without a yawn, he jumped up out of bed and got dressed for the day. He
preferred lighter clothing, but the England weather was not on his side as of
late. Cold rains dowsed the city and drenched anyone who wandered outside
without an umbrella. And even then, he recalled a time the wind and stolen his
right out of his hands.
Some archaeologist he’d made someday, if he couldn’t even hold an umbrella in a
rainstorm.
But fighting mummies and outrunning ancient curses ran in his blood, he knew.
His parents had told him of their encounter with the mummy from long ago, and
what a horrible apocalypse they had stopped. Alex tried not to think too much
about what would have happened, since it hadn’t, and finished dressing to head
downstairs.
“Mum,” he said down the hall, stopping at one of the many study doors. She
wasn’t there, so not studying hieroglyphs today. He slid down the bannister to
the main floor, grinning from ear to ear as his dad rounded the corner.
“Ey!” Rick said with a return smile, carrying what appeared to be a small
chest. “Did we wake you up? Figured you wouldn’t be up for another hour,” he
set the chest down on the heavy wood table, patting the top of it. “Maybe
tomorrow. I’ve been sleeping real well lately,” Alex responded, touching the
box gingerly, “Is this the Ankh from the museum?” Rick nodded secretly, looking
around to make sure Evie wasn’t around, “I’ll show it to you later, as long as
you keep up your reading today.”
Alex scoffed, looking at him with a hurt expression, “Why father,” he lifted a
hand to his chest, “How could you say such a thing? Like I wouldn’t do my
reading.” Rick laughed and tussled his hair, gesturing towards the foyer, “Your
mum’s over there. I think she had something to tell you.”
“Alright!”
The day went by without much event; his mum just wanted to make sure he knew it
was his Uncle’s birthday in a few weeks. Uncle Jonathan was a bit difficult to
buy for, since he liked expensive things. She promised to take him shopping
next week. By the time he was ready to head to the library, he had eaten dinner
and the sky was glowing a vibrant orange on the horizon. Sunset was his
favourite time to read, when the ground was still warm and the cool night
breeze had started to creep into the air.
“Alex!” He was already down the white gravel driveway, backpack hiked up high
on his shoulder. He turned, cocking his head in a similar fashion to his
father. “Yes, mum?”
“Make sure you’re back by 11. No more overnights there, okay?” Her curled hair
was freshly washed, towel dried and still dripping over her shirt. Alex jogged
back to give her a hug anyway, but made no promises.
By the time he got to the library, most everyone was gone. It suited him just
fine, and he made his way to the Egyptology section with the quick efficiency
of a return reader. Without looking too much into it, he pulled out two books
at random and headed to his favourite corner.
It was, as library’s go, not an uncommon set up. Beside a tall, slender window
sat a big red armchair, a table beside with a fake flower plant in a glass vase
and the short table in front littered with books that hadn’t been put away. He
didn’t bother to draw the blinds closed, and curled up on the chair with his
books and set down his bag beside him. An easy and frequent routine. Alex
sighed as he opened the book, handling the book carefully. He’d read this one
before about a year ago; it was about temples and the priests of Egypt. As far
as information the well was dry, there were newer books in his home that held
more viable information. Even still it was nice for a fresh read and a fresh
thought.
The priests of Egypt were in a position of great power while their title
remained. Gods and Goddess’s had their needs tended to in their temples, all
built specifically for them. A Head Priest tended to all these temples, and is
in direct position above the priests of their respective lands, and only below
the Pharaoh.
He turned the page.
Alex couldn’t really remember what book he’d read or when, but as he continued
to read he found that he knew what was written. Knew what was true and what
wasn’t. Typically he was really good at remembering the things he read and
where; it came with learning how to properly code and categorize the library at
home. (Evie had no choice but to do it when he was young, but now since he was
usually the one to take out books and not put them away, she had taught him.
Painstakingly) He knew the locations and the priests who were mentioned by deed
and not name. Alex kept reading.
Taking on a disciple was something common. Many young Egyptians wanted to
become part of the Priesthood so they could better serve their Gods. Not
surprisingly, because of this many priests became corrupt as they lied to raise
themselves above others, and were not below using bribery. Commonly used were
sacred animal mummies, gold and jewels, and children used as slaves.
Alex slammed the book shut, his heart beating very quickly. It was touching a
nerve with him and he didn’t know why. Reading about something was one thing,
but experiencing it was another. As a kid he had learned how to distinguish the
two, after reading about a murdered woman and grieving for a fictional
character. His mother had to explain to him that these people aren’t real. But
these… he trailed a finger carefully across the cover of the book, all yellowed
from misuse and poor treatment. He wiped tears from his eyes, not knowing he
had started crying, and put the two books in his bag and put the others on the
table. Usually he’d put them back, but as he bolted from the library to get
home, he found that today he didn’t care.
He skipped by Evie and Rick easily, claiming his eyes were hurting from reading
in the dark. Evie had started to scold him but Rick had pulled her attention
and honestly Alex had never been so grateful for his dad then at that moment.
After kicking off his shoes he crawled into bed, not bothering to change.
Shaking and rubbing up and down his arms, he found himself in another place
entirely.
--
Imhotep stood at the front of the temple of Ra, speaking with the priest who
ordinarily took care of the ancient building. Aleksandar bowed at the base of
the stairs to the top, eyes closed and mouth murmuring quiet prayers. When his
Master rested a gentle hand on his shoulder, he finished quickly and stood up,
a soft smile on his lips. “Master.”
The priest returned the smile, folded his hands behind his back and began
walking down the stone path towards the city streets. Aleksandar fell into step
beside and slightly behind Imhotep, not saying a word as they continued to the
next temple. Together the two assured the other priests were doing the proper
upkeep, taking care of the Gods every desire. The gold and gems had to be
replaced each day around the foot of the statues so they did not get bored of
their luxuries. Proper food was to be made and given to their fires, to burn
hot and feed their mortal desires, as much as their immortal forms did not need
them. All in all everything was as it should have been, though Imhotep had to
change the designated incense for two temples, and make sure one particular
priest would do a more thorough job of cleaning the statue of Horus every
morning. It was with a half day left to them that they found themselves in
Imhotep’s rooms, the High Priest taking a bath with the help of his young ward.
Henutsen meowed and rubbed up against Aleksandar’s leg, and he gave her a
scratch behind the ear. He knelt beside the stone indent in the floor, raised
edges holding the in the steaming water. Lye soap set unused on the side, and
Ihmut incense burned on the far side of the bath. Imhotep only took private
baths when he was feeling in a particular mood for solitude. Most of the time
Aleksandar was requested to leave, but today he sat alongside his master, ready
to pass him anything he needed and sit quietly otherwise.
“Aleksandar, there is something I wish of you.”
The boy perked up, cocking his head at his Master in an unvoiced question, “Yes
Master?”
“There is a Priest who requires…” he paused, looking into the bath water a
moment before back up at his ward, “reminding of his duties and tasks. I will
need to tend to this myself.”
“I see,” Aleksandar responded, nodding to himself, “Is it a long distance,
Master?”
Imhotep nodded, sinking a little deeper into the warmth wearily, “It is,
regretfully. I shall need seven days worth of provisions to go one way. It is
amazing what sort of gossips Priests subject themselves to,” he added
scathingly, snatching the soap from the side of the bath. Aleksandar shifted
slightly, watching his Master curiously, “You heard of his misdeeds from
another Priest?” Imhotep nodded, the lather on his arms growing until it was
time for his back. He twisted to do this himself, muscles straining against
dark skin. “It is regretful, but I must leave our temples and the Pharaoh in
anothers hands. And leave you to guide this Priest in our daily activities.”
Aleksandar felt himself flush with pride, but he nodded solemnly. The water
ceased movement and the boy looked up with wide eyes as Imhotep levelled his
gaze.
“I would not entrust the Gods, and our Pharaoh to any other, Aleksandar.”
Aleksandar bowed his head low, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the
burning in his face. When he sat back up, he couldn’t meet the other mans eyes.
“How long will you be gone, Master?”
Imhotep stood in the water, now only submerged to his calves. Aleksandar
ignored the stirring in his gut and maintained his composure, shoving down the
feelings he had been fighting for nearly a year. He had talked to Imhotep about
them, and the Priest had become very guarded before speaking to him of what it
meant to be a man, and what sort of things he could do to help himself. It
wasn’t hard to fight the urges anymore, but every now again, like now, his self
control fluttered. Sixteen years was an awful long time to wait for such a
thing.
The Priest began washing his legs and replied only after he had sat back down
in the water again, now starting to rinse himself of the suds. He smelled still
of papyrus and the Nile after the rare rains. “I will be gone for no more than
two weeks, Aleksandar. The Priest I have assigned to you is named Harwa. You
have met him on several occasions during our brief travels.”
Aleksandar did remember him, and also that he did not like the man. He was not
only ten years Imhotep’s senior, but also kept a ravel of young priests with
him nearly constantly. Having been made to converse with them on one occasion
or another, Aleksandar remembered how withdrawn the boys had been. A chuckle
brought him from his thoughts, and he blushed a brilliant shade of red when
Imhotep reached over to tussle his hair briefly. “You show your displeasure
openly. Learn to be composed.” Aleksandar looked down to his hands on his lap,
feeling as though he’d been whipped. “Yes Master.”
Imhotep stood out of the bath and Aleksandar fetched him a soft towel, stepping
back while the Priest dried himself off and headed for his fresh clothes that
Aleksandar had laid out for him. “It is not your dislike for him that I scold,
merely your showing of it.” He looked up from behind his bangs, wringing his
hands a little as Imhotep dressed into his robes. “I trust your judgement, but
you must understand there is little I can do. He is the most qualified, and
most willing to come to us in this time.” The man came to stand in front of the
boy; rather, the man he continued to call boy. Aleksandar had grown, and soon
with full priesthood he would be made to shave his head, and join the ranks
properly with Imhotep and the others. The Priest brushed a hand through the
light hairs on his wards head, admiring the softness. “Soon you will carry this
burden that I do. Decisions must be made objectively. Do you understand that,
Aleksandar?”
“I do.”
“I know. “
Later that night, they joined Pharaoh for dinner as they so often did. Seti was
a fair King of Egypt, and sat with his daughter Nefertiri on one side and
Imhotep on the other. Aleksandar sat beside his Master, and beside a member of
high society he did not recognize. They feasted on warm, soft breads and sweet
wines made from grapes and pomegranates. Veal was served still dripping, and
after making sure Pharaoh and Imhotep had their share, Aleksandar too happily
filled his plate. The wine made his head fuzzy, and though he rarely allowed
himself this indulgence, it seemed a good idea to him then. He made small talk
with the man beside him, enjoying a conversation involving court and the way it
seemed the economy was going. Before he knew it one cup of wine had turned into
many, and the fuzz turned into something else entirely.
The man beside him continued to talk, quite animatedly, while Aleksandar felt
himself spinning down slowly. Trying his best to keep composed, he reached for
his cup of water and downed it quickly, realizing just how warm he felt in the
robes. His breathing was faster, harder, though he wasn’t sure if it was just
because he could hear his blood in his ears or if everyone could see him
trembling. Oh, Gods what had he done. Allowed himself to drink more than he
should have. With the Pharaoh no less, and his daughter, who appeared more
beautiful every time he saw her. He knew her somehow, and he very much wished
to ask her about it someday. Now felt a good time to him, but something held
him back. It was not proper to ask such a question over the table.
A hand on his thigh kept him grounded. He did not need to look down at it to
recognize the reassuring grip, and sighed through his nose when it began to rub
soothing circles into the cloth and into his skin. Imhotep for his part
continued his conversation with Seti, entirely ignoring his ward and discreetly
continuing the motion. Aleksandar left his wine cup empty for the duration of
the meal, and spoke only when he felt he had to. Which was not much, as his
conversation partner loved to talk.
When Seti came to his feet, many of his guests left and Imhotep pulled him to
his feet easily, appearing to lean on his ward for all it was the opposite.
“Are you well, Imhotep?”
“Forgive me, my friend, it seems sitting for such a long time does not bode
well for my knees.”
Seti chuckled, patting his own and giving the Priest a knowing smile. “That is
age, something we all must meet with grace. I shall see that your pillows are
replaced with some akin to my own.”
“Your generosity is much appreciated, Pharaoh.”
With that, Aleksandar allowed himself to be led out the dining hall and through
the dark passages to their room. Once out of sight Imhotep stopped pretending
to limp and pulled him quicker, one hand around his shoulders and the other
clutching his arm. When they returned to the room, He let Aleksandar fall onto
his back on the bed, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling. Imhotep
watched him from the end of the bed carefully, before getting a bowl of cool
water and a linen cloth. “Oh, Aleksandar,” he murmured softly, disapproval and
something like admiration flooding his tone. He carefully took of his wards
clothes, leaving him in his underclothes, before dabbing his body with the wet
cloth.
“I am sorry, Master,” he garbled back, turning his head and mashing it into his
pillow with determination to cool himself. “I know, dear one,” Imhotep
responded, nodding idly and continuing his work slowly.
“I think Nefer-“ he hiccupped, “Nefertiri likes me.” Amused, Imhotep fought a
smile and hummed his acknowledgement, wordlessly urging Aleksandar to continue.
“She looks at me som-sometimes.” He shivers as the cloth touches his leg. “Like
she wants to talk to me.” Imhotep pauses, but nods knowing Aleksandar can’t see
him through his closed eyes. He refreshes the cloth and continues, “Indeed?”
The man under him groans and pulls away from him at the sudden chill on his
abdomen, “S’cold, Master.” “Yes,” Imhotep agrees, continuing to do it despite
the complaint, “It will help, Aleksandar. Trust me.”
“I do.”
“I know.”
The exchange is familiar to them both, and even through his drink-addled brain
Aleksandar finds himself appreciative of his Master. He begins to cry. He
doesn’t know when he sits up, or when he finds himself in Imhotep’s arms, the
Priest holding him through his sobs and continuing to dab the cloth along his
brow. He shushes him gently, saying things that Aleksandar wishes he could
commit to memory, if only he could understand the words. “Yo-u’re so nice, Ma-
aster,” he hiccups, clutching the robes in front of him for dear life. “M’so
sorry.” Imhotep smiles faintly, and before he can convince himself not to,
places a chaste kiss on Aleksandar’s brow. “Hush, Aleksandar. Sleep.”
--
Alex wakes up panting, clothes too hot and itchy against his skin. His dreams
were becoming more and more vivid lately. He got up, ignoring the clock that
said it was just passed three in the morning. He shed his clothes and tossed
the comforter off his bed, opting for a throw blanket that was still cool from
the night air. Swaddled in familiarity, he was suddenly nervous to go back to
sleep. Dreams were only dreams. But, and here he reached up to touch his
forehead reverently, they felt so real.
Chapter End Notes
     Hey guys! I've got a really crazy chapter coming up next, this one
     involves non-consensual sexual activity, and I will place warnings at
     the start of the chapter It isn't graphic, and really it's more the
     threat of it happening than it actually happening, but it's better to
     over-warn than under-warn.
     Thanks for sticking with me! Hopefully I get the next part out soon.
     Please let me know what you think! If you want more, maybe a side
     story, I'm always here for prompts. Thanks for your patience!
***** Friends in High Places *****
Chapter Summary
     A sudden change at home leaves Aleksandar in hands with vile purpose.
     Nefertiri becomes involved.
Chapter Notes
     Warning: Non-consensual touching.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Aleksandar carefully ties the satchel closed, bringing the belt over the top to
secure it further. The camel snorts and shakes it’s head, scaring the flies
that had settled on it’s neck. They settle again just as quickly and Aleksandar
pats them away with a feeling of sympathy.
“Aleksandar.”
He turns with a smile that is both excitement and trepidation, looking up at
Imhotep as the priest approaches. He returns the smile and dips his head,
sandaled feet sweeping over the sand and travel robes ghosting above. He cut
quite the image, and Aleksandar put his hands behind his back to fiddle with
the sleeve of his robe absently. Imhotep didn’t like fidgeting. Imhotep stopped
in front of his ward and waited patiently, raising an eyebrow as the boy
continued to stare up at him in adoration. He clears his throat to lessen the
others embarrassment, but his grin only widens when Aleksandar begins to flush,
turning in every direction at once to explain where everything has been packed.
“These are your provisions. It’s a seven-day trip, and I know you said only to
pack for two weeks, but I imagine you’ll stay there a night. And you can
replenish supply in the city. It should last you and the guards well until you
get there.” Aleksandar points to several different bags on three separate
camels, all of which are well watered and rested.
“I thank you Aleksandar.” Imhotep inclines his head, eyes sincere and all but
glowing in the sunlight. The boy feels the flush on his cheeks deepen, but
returns the smile. His master has always been generous, and kind, and lately he
finds himself noticing it far too much. Aleksandar watches as the man mounts
the camel, black robes billowing behind him in the desert winds. Imhotep pulls
his hood and mask up over his face in preparation for the journey, and
Aleksandar can hear the metallic clangs of weapons and armour behind him as the
guards mount their own animals.
He steps closer, absently checking the ties on the bags and refusing to look up
at Imhotep. “Master,” he begins softly, looking up after a moment’s hesitation,
“I find myself unable to smile at your leaving.” With the mask on, he can only
see Imhotep’s eyes, but for all that Aleksandar can’t see, he suddenly sees
much more in that steady gaze. “You need not smile now,” the priest murmurs,
and brings a hand to rest on Aleksandar’s head briefly. “Do smile when I return
safely, Aleksandar.”
And then the camels are walking, and Aleksandar finds himself taking a few
steps to follow them before remembering his duty. This journey is for Imhotep
alone, and this time it isn’t his place to accompany him. Swallowing thickly,
Aleksandar allows himself a moment to watch the figures become a mottled haze
in the heat that rises from the sands, before turning to solemnly return to
Imhotep’s rooms.
Priest Harwa would arrive later that day, and Aleksandar had much to do in
preparation for that time. First Henutsen needed feeding and attention,
followed by a small amount of paperwork. Documents from the architects needed
looking over and confirming, specifically the new temple. Afterwards he would
show Harwa the various temple sites that were to be his responsibility to
oversee, and introduce him to the Pharaoh and Nefertiri. A welcome dinner was
to be held for the man and this time Aleksandar swore off the pomegranate wine
no matter who offered it to him.
As he walks back to the temple, Aleksandar feels a curl of unease grow in his
stomach at the idea of working beneath anyone but Imhotep. Especially Harwa. He
wonders if he will bring the other priests in training with him, some six boys
around his own age. Imhotep had always been very insistent that he train under
no other, and that itself was a testament to the seriousness of the situation.
The gods and goddesses had to be top priority, and Aleksandar understood that.
Even so, he thinks as he passes into their rooms, he wishes someone else were
qualified to correct the priest instead.
Henutsen greets him by running over, looking up with golden eyes and a gentle
mewl. Aleksandar scratches her head and lets her rub against his legs before
putting food on a plate for her. She is by no means a large cat for one of her
breed, but Imhotep spoils her when he thinks Aleksandar isn’t looking, and she
has a round belly from the treatment.
He goes over the papers and diagrams given to him by the architects, fidgeting
with the ring that is Imhotep’s seal. Under no circumstance was it to be given
to anyone else, especially Harwa, Imhotep had cautioned. As such Aleksandar
flipped it around, hiding the seal in his palm and making it appear as though
the ring was merely a golden band. Along with the signet ring, Imhotep had
offered him a piece of information in complete confidence. That if something
were to go wrong, he was to go to Nefertiri immediately. Quickly followed with
assurance that Imhotep had every ounce of faith in Aleksandar’s abilities, but
no so much in others.
The wax dripped hot onto a roll of parchment, effectively sealing it.
Aleksandar used the ring on it, tied a piece of string for good measure, and
set towards the architects quarters. Typically sending a courier was more
common, but Aleksandar found he wanted to keep himself busy until Harwa
arrived.
Not long after the delivery, two guards met him in the sunny hallway, bowing to
him lowly. Aleksandar returned the bow in half, and smiled brightly at them. He
recognized most of the guards, if not their names. “Farid. Abasi. How do you
fare?”
Abasi stood easily six feet tall, white cloth and gold armour a stark
difference to his skin. He returned the smile easily upon standing up straight
again, chuckling at the easy way their young priest greeted them. “Very well,
Young Priest.”
Beside him Farid looked around them warily, still uncertain such familiarity
wouldn’t be punished. Not quite as dark as his companion, Farid was far broader
than his companion, and visibly scarred from battles outside the city. One
wound seemed new, and Aleksandar gestured to it curiously. “You hurt yourself
Farid. Were you sent for?” He reaches out towards the wound carefully, but
Farid twists away slightly.
“No, no, this is not a war mark.” He cocks his head and grins, knowing they are
alone, “It is from bandits not far out the city. They attacked a caravan under
my watch four nights ago.”
Aleksandar’s brow furrows, and he finds himself scowling at the horizon over
the corridor railing. “They think they can come this close without
consequence?”
Farid nods, the grin fading into a fiercer smile, “I said something similar
when I executed them.”
Abasi puts a hand gently on Farid’s shoulder, looking pointedly at Aleksandar.
“Ah, Young Priest,” Farid says suddenly, standing at attention, “Priest Harwa
has arrived at the docks not moments ago. He wishes to see you at once.”
Aleksandar feels the scowl deepen, but remembers Imhotep’s teachings and
quickly relaxes his features. Open dislike often leads to open argument. He
bows to the guards and moves between them back the way they had come, and he is
grateful when they see fit to accompany him.
Abasi is the younger of the two, a fresh warrior in training to Farid. The two
are palace guards now, and while Imhotep has no control over who guards his own
rooms, Seti has seen the clear amicable interactions and set it so. It is not
the first time the Pharaoh has been so kind to them. The three travel the
sandstone halls quickly, largely ignoring the beauty around them in favour of
swiftness. The walls are painted in red and blue and gold, and ordinarily
Aleksandar has an appreciation for such colours. This particular hall had just
been re-painted not long ago, vases of clay filled with beautiful ferns and
blossoms from the Nile. Aleksandar makes a mental note to ask what the blooms
are, so he might have some in their rooms.
Walking down to the docks takes less time that he would have liked, and all too
soon Aleksandar finds himself standing in front of Harwa. The man is old, his
grey hair going white and skin sagging with age. Two servants hold palm leaves
over his head to hide him from the harsh sun, and behind Harwa stand two other
boys, priests-to-be like himself. He greets the man with no small amount of
distaste.
“Priest Harwa, the ward of High Priest Imhotep greets you in our fair city.”
Aleksandar bows deeply, and continues, “My name is Aleksandar, and I will be
your guide and council while you are here.”
Harwa barks a laugh, and stands with a nimbleness that is shocking. He
decorates his robes with flowing gold jewellery, rubies and lapis wrapped
around his wrists and neck.
“It is a great honour to be welcomed to your city, boy. Memphis is a fair
place, and Seti a good Pharaoh.” He pauses, as though considering how to phrase
his next words, “Where is Priest Imhotep? I’d like to speak with him.”
“High Priest Imhotep has already left to see to his duty. It is why you were
called here, Priest Harwa.”
“I know why I was called here,” he snaps, sending a glare towards Aleksandar
before looking up and behind him. Aleksandar has no doubt his guards are on
edge, sensing Aleksandar’s own unease. “I understand,” Aleksandar responds,
unable to keep his tone from clipping at the end. He closes his eyes briefly to
help relax, and then offers a smile, “Will you come with me to see the temples
you will be overseeing? There are several very close by.” Harwa doesn’t seem
pleased but nods his assent, calling to his servants to drop their fronds and
collect his things. Aleksandar notes the heaviness of the expensive wooden
trunks, and leans towards Abasi, “Please find a suitable cart and mule for
this,” he murmurs, “and find them some new clothes.” The guard nods, whispers
something to Farid, and then disappears somewhere behind them.
Aleksandar leads Harwa through the city, listening intently to everything the
old man has to say. He stands tall and clasps his hands behind his back,
looking every bit the priest Imhotep was grooming him to be. The walk takes
longer than it should have, and by the end Aleksandar is pleased with the
results. Harwa is puffing heavily beside him, standing in front of the palace
sweating even as the night breeze begins to blow. The sky has darkened though
it is only evening, and Aleksandar offers no words of comfort to the old man.
If he doesn’t have the energy for a mere walk, he wonders how he’ll fare with
the workload tomorrow.
“This is where we will dine tonight,” Aleksandar glances at the sky, “In about
an hour. I will show you to your rooms, if it would please you, Priest Harwa.”
“It would.”
“Then this way,” Aleksandar nods his head and extends an arm towards a well-lit
path through the gardens. Their procession takes another ten minutes, but
finally they are at the guest quarters of the palace. It is a whole other
building, sitting beside Imhotep’s quarters on the Nile, separated from the
palace by a vast garden and pond. Aleksandar holds open the wooden door leading
into the building, allowing Harwa entry. His two priests follow him, and
Aleksandar notes they seem rather skittish for priests. They seem relieved when
they see the room, but for the life of him Aleksandar cannot fathom why. Farid
stands close beside him, and grasps the door with a firm hand to let Aleksandar
inside without closing the door.
“These will be your rooms, and I do hope they are satisfactory. The Nile smells
sweet with flowers this time of year.” Harwa seems happier now that they don’t
need to walk, and further pleased at the sight of a large bathing bin resting
against the far wall. He looks passed Aleksandar and snaps his fingers. In an
instant the boys behind him are unpacking his things, one placing fresh clothes
on the bed while the other brings forth luxurious towels and incense. “I will
send a servant to you when Seti is ready to begin our feasting,” Aleksandar
say, and then adds as an afterthought, “He appreciates punctuality.”
When the door closes heavily behind him, Aleksandar wipes his forehead and
sighs softly, staring out at the dark gardens for a moment. Farid stands beside
him, not saying a word, and begins walking only when Aleksandar does. When they
stand in the gardens alone, Farid stops, and lays a gentle hand on Aleksandar’s
shoulder to get him to do the same.
“Young Priest,” he begins slowly, “I do not like that man.”
Aleksandar can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, but he sobers quickly
enough underneath Farid’s serious gaze. “I know Farid, I don’t like him either.
I’m not even sure what his wards names are. Hardly one for propriety.” The
guard leans in, and whispers carefully, “I don’t know that those boys are
actually training to be priests, Aleksandar.” The boy cocks his head in
thought, “They are imposters?” Farid looks uncomfortable, shaking his head,
“No, Young Priest. They are his wards as you say. And perhaps he uses that as
his cover. Did you not see their necks?”
Aleksandar nods, “Of course I did.” And it was true, he did see them. There was
nothing remarkable about them. They wore crisp white sheets at Harwa did,
though with less jewellery, still with some. A jewelled band had been clasped
around their necks, typically to show that they were wards to someone else. He
told Farid as much, but the older one shook his head solemnly. “They are used
on animals, Young Priest, to show ownership. A ward is not owned by his
guardian. Those are collars.” Aleksandar feels a chill run down his spine. He’s
only read about such a marking, but nods along easily, “Of course. Someone like
Harwa would want everyone to know who he owns.”
Farid looks at him sadly, “Imhotep has kept many things from you, Young
Priest.”
Bristling, Aleksandar glares and turns to keep walking, “Keep such things to
yourself, Guard.”
Farid is unused to such treatment, but sigh, resigned, and continues on with
Aleksandar quietly to Imhotep’s quarters. He stands by the door as Aleksandar
tries to relax before dinner. He sits on the bed with Henutsen in his lap,
staring unseeing at the floor.
Abasi comes to the door not long after, his lips a grim line. One of the
servants he had gifted with new clothes threw himself off the balcony shortly
after, while the other simply sobbed into the food he had been offered. Farid
opted to keep this from Aleksandar for a while longer, and told Abasi to keep
his mouth shut. “Abasi,” he whispered softly, “It would be wise for us to keep
an eye on our Young Priest for the many days to come. He is fresh in the
business of priests, and I fear Imhotep has kept him too well shielded from the
dark of it.” Abasi doesn’t understand, but nods anyway. “As you say, Farid.”
The two guards stand watch, and when the time is up and Aleksandar stands
behind them in formal robes and brushed hair, they follow quietly to the
palace. Aleksandar sends a servant to tell Harwa it is his time, and slips him
a silver coin. Behind him, Farid gestures to a single guard to follow the
servant, and together the three enter the palace for a dinner with Seti,
Nefertiri, and Harwa.
 
The dining hall was set as it always was. Elegant music from the harpers filled
the hall, and the servants had already laid the table with foods. Harwa had
arrived promptly it seemed, with the two boys who were his wards. Aleksandar
entered the hall on edge, but had schooled himself into looking relaxed. Part
of his training as a priest was the ability to socialize, and socialize with
people he didn’t like.
He stopped in front of the table, uncertain where he should sit. Harwa had
taken the seat nearest to Seti, where Imhotep typically sat. It was unorthodox,
but Seti found it strange he hadn’t said anything. The two boys sat at another
table with others Seti had invited, not high class enough to sit with Pharaoh.
Aleksandar bowed low in greeting, and smiled at Nefertiri. “Pharaoh,” he
greeted as he stood.
“Ah, Aleksandar!” Seti stood and gestured to a seat beside Harwa, “Priest Harwa
was informing me of your tour of our city today.” Aleksandar did not hesitate
to go sit in his usual seat, but he did hesitate to smile about it as he
usually did. Nefertiri frowned, but soon their thanks had been given to their
gods and they ate peacefully. Seti conversed with Harwa easily, and Aleksandar
began to wonder if he had misjudged Harwa. Seti was very gifted when it came to
getting a sense of someone’s character. Aleksandar sipped his water and poked a
berry around his plate. He was inexperienced compared to him. Though Imhotep
had said his feelings were justified. So-
He froze when a hand found its way to his thigh.
So strange to think of weeks ago, when such a hand was welcome and a comfort.
Now it brought him nothing but confusion and an inherent sense of dread. He
looked at Harwa, but the priest was still deep in conversation with Seti, and
did not spare him a glance. Aleksandar didn’t want to embarrass himself,
embarrass Imhotep and betray his training. He trembled when the hand crept
upwards, soft cloth the only barrier between skin. He stared at the berry on
his plate intently, trying to maintain his demeanour.
Harwa started to move back and forth slowly, the hand heavy and hot against his
flesh, and it was suddenly in a very personal space. Aleksandar had never had
someone else touch him like this. He did sometimes, as he had been taught it
was natural and not a rarity in young men and women. It was encouraged that he
find someone to spend his life with, someone who could provide him with this
physical relief. But if this was what the feelings of relief were he didn’t
want them. Vaguely he registered that he felt sick. He couldn’t be Imhotep
while he was away. He couldn’t do this.
He felt himself flush as the feelings started to coax his body into pleasure.
He hated it. Every second he sat there taking it but his cock was half hard
under the unwanted attention. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes and he
stood from the table abruptly, nearly spilling drinks and plates of food.
Harwa looked up at him with a lecherous grin, while Nefertiri had also come to
her feet, and Seti looked up confused. “Aleksandar, is something amiss?”
Aleksandar struggled to look up at Pharaoh, not daring to peek out from behind
his bangs. His chest rose and fell harshly and he found it suddenly difficult
to speak. “No Pharaoh, only that I,” he cut himself off, swallowing heavily, “I
am not well this night. I apologize and ask for your forgiveness and leave.
Selfish as it is.” Seti simply nodded, and turned to look up at Nefertiri. She
grasped his shoulder briefly and leaned down to whisper something in his ear.
She turned and left down a hall on the far side of the room, while Aleksandar
left escorted by Abasi and Farid.
“Young Priest, please, what is it?”
Abasi sped up to match Aleksandar’s pace, but the boy simply shook his head,
staring forward and heading towards his rooms. When he arrived he ordered the
guards to stand outside, and not let anyone in to see him unless it was Seti
himself. Aleksandar brought down all the curtains against the balcony,
fastening them properly so the night was blocked out. When he was certain he
was alone and there was no way someone could get in without a fuss, Aleksandar
began to cry.
He felt disgusting. The man hadn’t even looked at him for any sort of reaction.
What gave him the right to assume Aleksandar was his to touch? Nobody touched
him. Imhotep had always made certain of that. Familiarity was something
afforded for his master, and the guards. Even then only because it was Imhotep
who selected them.
And then he realized just why he was crying. It wasn’t because of Harwa or what
he’d done. It was the feeling of absolute revulsion and not being able to hide
it. It was because he had stormed out and left a dinner with the Pharaoh and
his daughter. Because Imhotep would never have stood for it unless it was an
absolute emergency. And this….
Aleksandar wiped his eyes, even as more tears came. His breathes came out in
ragged sobs, and he drifted from standing alone to the bed nearest to him.
Instead of calming him like he thought it would, it only made him cry harder.
The scent of Imhotep was here, lingering from only this morning. He clutches
the sheets to his chest and inhaled deeply, choking back his tears and slowly
beginning to relax.
It took a long time. And when he had stopped crying he still shook.
What Harwa had done was wrong. And he would confront him about it when the
priest returned to his rooms.
“Ah, Young Priest?”
Aleksandar flew to his feet, staring at the man who had entered his rooms
unannounced. Abasi looked concerned, and Aleksandar realized what he must look
like. A child. His face and eyes red, resting on his masters bed. “What is it,
Abasi?”
“I know you said not to let anyone in unless it was Seti. But,” and here he
scratched the back of his head, “She is royalty, if not the Pharaoh.”
Nefertiri entered the room then, soft linen robes flowing over her like a
waterfall. She appeared every bit as in control as always, her eyes dark and
mysterious. “Forgive my intrusion, Aleksandar.” She came to stand beside Abasi,
who bowed to her first, then Aleksandar before leaving.
“No, please forgive me, Princess. I left suddenly and without good reason.”
“Good reason.” She repeated slowly, walking towards him. She sat on the bed
across from him, his own bed, and patted it beside her. Aleksandar had never
been wary around Nefertiri before, but with things the way they were. He
hesitated and she smiled kindly, “If you’d prefer something less personal, we
may sit on your cushions.” He looked over at the sitting area, a chaise, and
many cushioned seats around a small wooden table. Relieved, he nodded and
waited for her to take the lead and followed.
“Thank you.”
She chose a pillow died a brilliant red, and Alex decided on the blue across
from her. He bowed lowly to her, suddenly remembering he hadn’t greeted her
properly. When he raised his head Nefertiri was still smiling gently, though it
did not reach her eyes.
“Aleksandar. I’ll be up front with you, if it is suitable.”
Aleksandar looked at her curiously, steadily feeling less manic in her
presence. Someone he knew and trusted, if they didn’t often speak much. He
nodded and then remembered his voice when speaking to royalty, “As you wish,
Princess.”
She cocked her head at him slightly but then sighed, looking at her lap and
fidgeting with a ring. “It was brought to my intention by Imhotep the sort of
man stepping in to fill his roll. He is a,” she paused, considering her words
carefully, “capable priest, Aleksandar. He has accomplished much in his
lifetime, and it is not over yet.” Her eyes met his and held them steady, “This
says much for his ability. And yet his actions speak little for his character.”
There was no way she had seen what happened tonight, was there?
He steadied himself before replying, “What exactly are you referring to?”
“To put it straight, Aleksandar. None of the boys he brings with him are
intelligent enough to be his successors. If he is looking for someone to share
his title someday, he has chosen poorly. On the other hand,” her gaze turned
hard, “if he is looking for someone to share his bed, he has chosen wisely.
They are too meek to say anything, and he maintains that. Already one has
killed himself this night. I’d heard he goes through slaves like the Nile in
the wet season, but…” She opened her hands before clasping them together again,
“It is quite absurd.”
Aleksandar let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Right, though
to my understanding he hasn’t broken any of our laws. This is considered a
common practice.”
“It is.” He watched her face twist painfully, and she looked away, towards the
balcony curtains. He regretted closing them. The stars surely would have been a
comfort for her. She turned back to him after straightening her posture,
brushing the cloth over her knee of some invisible dirt. “I was going to wait
until after dinner to see you, but the opportunity to be entirely undisturbed
was too good to waste. Harwa and my father will be quite busy speaking of
business this night. I come to you to give you warning.”
Aleksandar felt himself shiver, but licked his suddenly dry lips to speak
despite it. “A warning for what, Princess? I have heard of Harwa’s…
mannerisms.”
“Yes, I suspect you’ll experience them as well. Assuming you haven’t already,
Aleksandar.” He held her gaze and made no moves until she went on. “I come not
with just the warning, but with help.” Nefertiri reached into her dress, a slit
in the side concealing a pouch tied fast to her thigh. She held up a small clay
jar, no bigger than her palm and flat on two sides. She handed it to him, and
he unstopped it with an obnoxious ‘pop’. He inhaled it, and found he smelled
nothing.
“It is odourless, though it does taste sharp if taken alone. It’s a drug.” He
pressed the stopper back into the jar and turned it over in his hands as she
spoke. “It affects men only. A few drops is sufficient to put a man…. Out of
commission for a day.”
“He won’t be able to do his work if I give this to him.”
“Oh, he will certainly be able to do his work. Only part of him will be…” She
sighed, looking at him imploringly. When Aleksandar only tilted his head, she
sighed again and finished, “limp.”
A flush rose to Aleksandar’s cheeks faster than any had before, and he looked
at her helplessly. “Princess Nefertiri, I am sorry.”
“It’s nothing.”
“I am also sorry to ask this, but how did you come by this drug?”
Nefertiri stilled, rubbed one of her arms up and down before looking at him
sadly. “As a royal, a female no less, my maids are well versed in the
affections and advances of men. Not all are desired. This is a small trick to
help us. And now you.”
“Just because he isn’t… in working condition,” he swallowed, “doesn’t mean he
won’t come for me.” Again.
“No, it does not. Which is why my next piece of advice comes as serious as the
rest.” Nefertiri stood up, smoothing out her dress, “Should anything happen
without your consent, you are to come directly to me. If not me, I’ll have the
names of trusted people who will come to me in your stead. New guards will be
assigned, more, if you so choose.”
Aleksandar nodded, and then looked out towards the hall. He didn’t have to
think hard. Abasi and Farid are the only guards I will need. They have
Imhotep’s trust. And so they have mine.” She smiles, and Aleksandar stands to
lead her out of his rooms. When she has said her goodbyes, and Aleksandar is
again alone in his rooms, he rolls the jar in his hands again.
He decides just this once, just for tonight, he can be allowed the security of
Imhotep’s bed. When he is there, in his bedclothes with Henutsen curled behind
his head, Aleksandar falls asleep.
Chapter End Notes
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