A/N: I thought this up one night and had to put it down. I originally wanted to do a drawn out, chapter story about this, but /shrug/ stuff happened. So, I figured that maybe in the future, I would just do a chapter story about the events of her life between the ending of this and the assassination of the Queen of the Nile. We'll see, though.
History Notes:
1. The Greek (and proper) way of spelling Kleopatra is with a "K". The Romans rarely used the letter "K" and spelled this sound with a "C". Because most of our knowledge about Kleopatra comes from Latin sources, most people are more familiar with the spelling of "Cleopatra" with a "C". Because this story is told from a Greek-Egyptian's point of view, I'm using the proper spelling.
2. Kleopatra VI Tryphaena was originally thought to be the eldest daughter of Ptolemy XII Auletes, however, recently we've begun to doubt this due to some references of him only having three daughters (Berenice IV Epiphaneia, Kleopatra VII Philopator and Arsinoë IV.) I have Kleopatra VI Tryphaena listed as a 'mother-aunt' meaning that she is both the sister and wife to Ptolemy.
The Hidden One
A one-shot back story of Amunet, the Egyptian who would eventually come to assassinate Queen Kleopatra VII.
- One Shot -
I wish I could say I did not remember the night my mother-aunt, Kleopatra VI Tryphaena, died, but that would be a lie. That night would haunt me forever, not because of what I had witnessed, but because of my own disregard for the seriousness of it. True, I was a young child at that time, but-truth be told-I still felt nothing about her death. No pain, no sadness. Nothing. It was like she never existed at all. Sometimes, I wish it were so, but had it not been, I would never had met the Eagle-eyed assassin in white.
The year was 57 BC, I was but five years old, too young to be at one of my mother-aunt's parties. However, my mother-aunt queen had insisted upon I being there, a substitute for her own child, my sister Berenice, wanting to sleep. My nurse-maid and all of my usual companions had not been allowed entry, so I was alone with my mother-aunt, alone with her and her 'friends' and only three guards.
She was celebrating that night, as she did every night, the cowardly fleeing of Ptolemy XII Auletes, her husband-brother, my father, Egypt's Pharaoh.
I remember not being pleased with this event, having never gotten a taste for wine or the drunken antics of my mother-aunt or her friends. I remember being forced to sit at her side on a spare pillow placed marble dais next to her throat, like a pet, face burning in embarrassment for myself and my drunken mother-aunt.
I do not remember why I had looked at the grand audience chamber doors, but when I did, I spotted a young man, dressed all in white, that I did not know.
He wore a simple white cloak, with a funny hood (funny because it had a strange peak to the front of it, one that reminded my young self of a bird) that covered his eyes.
He moved almost silently, gliding across the floor with grace I'd only ever seen in the acrobats my mother-aunt brought to the palace for her entertainment, towards the guard posted at the door - who was notably watching as my mother-aunt embarrassed herself with one of her friends - and lifted both his arms.
I caught a glimpse of silver and watched in silent horror as he slit the guard's throat and, covering the man's mouth, gently dragged and hid the body behind a pillar.
When the man reappeared, his cloak was slightly disheveled, exposing the simple short, white chiton he wore along with the strange red fabric that was tied around his waist so that the extra pieces of fabric hung down the center of his body, ending - like his chiton - at just below his knees.
I remember shrinking into myself, trying to appear as small as possible and not calling any attention to myself as the assassin went through the guards and my mother-aunt's friends. And, when he went to her, she screamed - calling for more guards, asking him to spare her life - before grabbing a hold of me and holding me in front of her.
"Spare me, assassin of many, take the youngest princess, my daughter, instead!"
Tears fell down my face at her betrayal, and I cried like any five year old would as I was offered up to the demon in white. I prayed to Isis, Goddess of our Land, and pleaded for her mercy, for her to come down from the heavens and take me far away from this place, like I always had when in trouble.
She did not come to save me, my goddess, but she did send me strength when I heard my mother-aunt's next words.
"She is a princess, a young child of Ptolemy VII, she will fetch many a coin in the market!"
A princess, a child of Ptolemy VII Auletes. I was a princess, I was a descendant of Ptolemy, Alexander the Great's great friend and companion. I would not let this man see my tears. I would not be like my sister-aunt, begging for my life from a man who knew no mercy. I was strong. I would be like my dear sister Kleopatra VII Philopator, not like my mother-aunt Typhaenia, strong, a true princess.
When the assassin's bloodied hands took me from my mother-aunt, I did not cry, I did not fight, I did not scream. I remanded mute, staring up at him with a fierce gaze, no longer frightened.
He was younger than I would have thought, I remember thinking that he was of maybe 13, eight years older than I, hardly a man. He was Greek, like us, with short black-brown hair and a set of piercing gold-flecked brown eyes. His eyes reminded me of the eagle my father had been given long ago, they were strong and all-knowing. I squirmed under that hard gaze.
Those eyes met mine for a few seconds and he gently placed me on the ground beside him. I gaped at him in confusion, composure gone.
He... he was going to let me go?
The assassin stared at me for a few moments, silent, the bloodied fingers of his left hand placed upon the top of my head. I was too confused to care that he was touching me, too frightened, in truth, to tell him that he was not supposed to touch me, for I was the child of Ptolemy, a princess of Egypt and not to be touched by a commoner's hands.
There was a fast movement from my mother-aunt's direction and I let out a noise in surprise as my she launched herself at the assassin, a gleaming dagger in her hand.
The assassin, having noticed the movement before I, caught the outstretched, weapon-welding hand effortlessly, his free hand coming up to meet my mother-aunt's neck.
I blinked, confused as he gently placed her on the ground, cradling her form.
"You have killed Egypt." Came the whisper of my mother-aunt, and I peered around the assassin's form, eyes widening as I spotted the blood pouring out of my mother, onto the white floor we all loved so much.
"No," The assassin spoke for the first time, "I have saved it. You were destroying it. You care nothing for your people."
My mother-aunt let out a noise, panting as her life stained the floor around her. "And you think Berenice does? She is beautiful, yes, but she only loves jewels, fashion and partying. She is just as bad as Ptolemy."
"Your death ensures your husband's, our Pharaoh's, return, and with him comes Kleopatra VII Philopator. She has proven herself in Rome to be a good leader, she is the best suited to be crowned Queen." A pause then. "I'm sorry, Kleopatra VI Tryphaena, Queen of Egypt, wife and sister of King Pharaoh Ptolemy VII Auletes."
My aunt closed her eyes, her last breathe escaping her in a soft sigh, and the assassin placed her gently on the ground. He ran a feather through her blood and pocketed it, and turned on his heel, making for the entrance to the audience chamber.
My fingers moved of their own accord then, snatching at the tail of hooded wool cloak he wore. "Assassin." I made a face at the rough, whisper my own voice had become and cleared my throat, trying again. "You spared my life. And for that, you have my eternal gratitude."
He stopped at my voice and turned slowly, as if he'd forgotten I was there. "The eternal gratitude of a five year old." The corner of his lip twitched. "Thank you."
I nearly lost my temper at his obvious amusement. "The eternal gratitude of a Princess of Egypt."
"Ah, yes, my mistake." He became serious as my voice echoed in the chamber. "And what is to be expected of an assassin who has the gratitude of a Princess?"
I stepped up to him, my eyes searching his face, memorizing every detail. "Run." I whispered, "Run as fast as you can, because even though my mother-aunt was not liked by the people of the Nile, they-we will still search for you. You have murdered royalty, assassin, so run for you life."
The assassin stared at me, eyes thoughtful, for a few minute before he swooped down and placed a kiss upon my forehead. "I will, Princess Arsinoë, but only if you promise never to stop searching."
I was left standing there, in the bloodied audience chamber, for guards to find minutes later, intrigued by the young assassin.
I never did stop searching for the assassin. He became my obsession and I never noticed the world changing around me. I was too late to stop Egypt from spiraling out of control, too late to stop anything. I was, however, able to escape Alexandria - thanks to my faithful eunuch Ganymedes - and find the remnants of Egypt's army.
Being so far from my birthplace, as it turns out, was not the best of ideas either. Although I had escaped from Alexandria, I had traded one side of the war for the other, and the side I was currently on they didn't care for me.
In 48 B.C. was traded for my little brother to Caesar and, two years later, at the tender age of sixteen, I was paraded through the filthy city during his Triumph as a spoil of war. I was forced to wear cheap clothing that made me look like a whore, and though I did have my crown, I was a prisoner of Caesar, my sister's lover, and no longer a Queen or Princess of the Nile.
Instead of being slaughtered, as most prisoners were at the end of a Triumph, I was spared by the great Caesar, and put to work as a priestess for a goddess I did not worship. There I lived for many years, watching as the great Caesar was murdered at the hand of his friends, as Kleopatra fled Rome with her son, my nephew, sweet little Caesarion, back to Egypt.
I watched as she seduced Mark Antony and how she wrapped him around her fingers, to work for her and the good of her Egypt. She was a brilliant.
I listened to people talk of how he loved her, and she loved him. I listened to the stories of their love and knew, at once, that my time in this world was limited.
In 41 B.C., at the age of 21, I was assassinated on the steps of the Temple of the Goddess Diane, on Mark Antony's orders. His gift to my sister.
And now, weeks later, I bend my head to the Master, acknowledging his question with a slow smile.
"And what is it you have decided to do, Princess Arsinoë IV?"
"I, former Princess Arsinoë IV, daughter of Ptolemy XII Auletes, murdered by on my sister's behalf on the steps of the Temple of Artemis in Euphesus, cast away all my memories, names and personality of my former life in exchange for the life of an assassin of the Creed. I acknowledge that to do this, I must forgive all wrongs committed to me in my former life and turn over a fresh leaf. From now on, I am but a person of the Order, one of many, and must do nothing that endangers us while doing everything in my power to help the innocent of this world."
I picked my head up as the Master placed his hands on my shoulders. "I accept this vow of yours to us." He smiled, a gentle look that soothed my nerves. "You are reborn, little one. With this new life, you must choose a new name, but choose wisely, because you are to be called this for the rest of your life."
My eyes wandered, meeting the assassin I had met so long ago. He was older now, nearly in his 30s, but he still regarded me with a fierce, gold gaze.
"I am the hidden one, the female counterpart to the great Amun. From now on, I answer only to Amunet."