[REVISED: Dec 30, 2015 Still alive, but busy af]
Wrote this on a whim.
Well, a whim that's been around for a couple of months now. Ever since re-watching this magnificent film. O.O Oh my gosh. I can't express how I really really love the movie. I can't even get tired of the songs. Prince of Egypt has the most haunting sound track for an animated film ever. Like ever. I was still such a kid when I watched it. Now that I'm old enough, I can't help but fall in love even more. The highlight of the story, to me, is probably the strong bond between Moses and Rameses. (So my BroTP) Its quite rare to come across the sort of dynamic they have- in a cartoon that is. Gah. I loved them. And you can say that I have a small crush on Rameses. And this is where the fanfic starts. XD Rameses II in the movie, is really different from the Rameses II in world history. Personality-wise, similar, but historically, he didn't actually bring down an entire dynasty. Still, I love the Rameses in the film. So angsty. :v
Just before reading, I'd like to point out that this story contains some parts that are inspired by history. They are taken from Rameses II's biography but it doesn't totally follow, especially since an OC is involved... heh.
Flash-forward
The desert was many things. But most of all, unbiased and callous.
When one chooses to wander into its realm, one must not take such a journey so lightly. This desolate place does not choose whom to save nor whom to punish. Prayers were for the weak. Death was not far behind. And one must be strong and move quick lest it catches up.
She ran. Slipped. Crawled her way up the dunes. It was impossible to grab on to anything. The sand burned at her touch.
She had lost the Egyptian wig, revealing a crop of reddish brown hair; the kohl on the rims of her green eyes were smeared, her tan skin was red from hours of exposure. Her clothing was soiled in sweat and grime. All were the least of her concerns.
Pain. Exhaustion. Fear. Fear of dying.
She had consumed the last ounce of water in her small sack hours ago. She had nothing left but her will to keep her going.
A leap of faith brought her into the wilderness. But it was after the first day did she realize that it may have been stupidity.
She looked back, the city was a small faint speck in the distance. It was tempting to go back. Yet, she had already gone so far. Most importantly, how could she?
With a weary sigh, she turned to her front and forged on.
The woman soon found herself in a land of crags and jagged rocks. It did not help that she had lost her sandals in the sand two days prior.
"Ah!"
She yelled in pain as she unwittingly placed a heavy foot on broken stone. She stumbled and fell; her knees dove into more rocks, smaller but sharp. It felt like the end of her journey, yet she had to keep moving. It wasn't about her. She was free in the desert; someone else wasn't. She had to go find her.
Her eyes were suddenly very heavy. There was only so much the human body could take.
Tears welled up in her eyes. A tight coil formed in her throat.
Why did God put her through this? She prayed day and night for an answer, for a miracle.
She felt naive. She felt angry and hurt. She did not stifle the sob that came out. She cried for her life, for her fate, for what she failed to do.
But she knew that if she had given up now, it wouldn't change anything. The world would easily forget about her existence. How many had perished in these harsh places and how many of them were even remembered?
Getting up proved to be a feat. She mentally screamed at herself to move. She could not recall a time when she no longer had the strength to get up. Slowly, she pulled herself on to shaky legs and very carefully walked to a nearby rock formation that provided some protection from the searing heat. The weary woman collapsed on to the cool stone and rested her back against its smooth surface. She closed her eyes and felt her breathing come out in sharp puffs. A little respite might help.
Everything went black. For a long while, the woman believed that she had passed on. She had only been able to manage a small prayer for forgiveness.
Forgiveness for failing to carry on. For being so weak. For abandoning those that needed her...
Then the galloping of horses came.
Her neck ached as she turned her head to the side. She saw a man. No, men.
One got down from his horse. Behind him were four others. Her vision was hazy and she could not distinguish their faces, but she could see the white color of their clothing, the glimmering gold that adorned their chests and wound around their arms. Their dark skin-a sharp contrast to the light fabric they wore.
Egyptians.
Someone might as well kill her now.
Her eyes were half lidded and the figure that stood before her was darkened from the glare of their surroundings.
Movements began to slow as she watched him walk towards her. The last she heard was a familiar voice, slurred in her hearing, calling out her name.
Chapter 1
Why did the gods have to punish him so severely? And for what?
For glorifying them with magnificent monuments? For living up to his father's legacy? For working so hard to be the great Pharaoh he had been expected to become?
Was it arrogance? But what he was was all they ever taught him to be.
Rameses did not quite understand how he had brought the mightiest of dynasties down to its lowest point. He had lost so much. He didn't think he deserved it. The pharaoh dedicated his life to building his kingdom. In fact, his entire existence was molded for the job.
He was Egypt.
The exodus left him broken, a kingdom in ruin.
He came home with a mere handful of soldiers. So many lives were lost in the sea. So many innocent lives lost that dreadful night. All thanks to him.
Egypt mourned for weeks on end. They wept from the pain and suffering, for what they held so dearly and lost. For two months, there was inactivity. Construction had ceased. No ceremonies were held.
In that time, the pharaoh spent each day waking up to dull mornings. He refused to let his servants dress him. He sometimes refused to eat as well. He would go to the grand hall and meet his subjects, discuss projects and plans with advisers and architects. But he would hold off any sort of work for the time being. And for many hours in a day, he would sit in the large empty throne room-thinking andmourning.
His beloved son.
The pride and joy that made his heavy responsibility so bearable in the few years of the boy's life, was no longer around to cheer him up, climb on his knee and hug him close. The pain of losing one's child could never compare to any other sort of loss. He almost could not understand the agony. Bouts of anger would cause him to flip tables, and punch stone walls till his knuckles bled. The child's memory would always be a painful reminder of what the king's pride had cost him.
His wise mother.
The only parent figure that had actually cared for him as a parent had passed on- her beauty and sophistication, two of the things he missed dearly. He wished she was here now, to bring him wisdom that would give him courage.
His brother.
Gods. His blasted brother.
He could not fathom why he missed the man at all. Even after the misery his reappearance brought, he still loved him. Rameses could not bring himself to hate him so, no matter how hard he tried. Anger and resentment would be quickly replaced with sorrow and loss.
His wonderful brother, whom he had spent his entire adolescence with. The man who made it his sole purpose once to make the pharaoh laugh, to bring light to the darkness he had found himself living in for most of his life, was now so far away- beyond the deep waters of the Red Sea.
Tears would well up in his eyes when Moses came to mind. His daily musings had always ended with this memory, for he had found most of his life to revolve around their kinship.
He was everything he could ever ask for in the man- a brother, a playmate, a best friend, an adviser (albeit, not a very good one), his confidante.
In a manner of speaking, it was then when Moses walked out of the gates of Egypt a mere decade ago, did he begin to lose everything.
His brother, became a man he hardly recognized; so suddenly he had walked into his halls, asking for something that was too much to give. Was that man aware at the time how great the cost was for such a task? That he was literally asking him to place Egypt aside? Rameses had been adamant on keeping the Hebrews; he was stubborn and later on, it had proved to be rather idiotic that he had not granted his brother's difficult request sooner. Yet, in the back of his mind, sometime in Moses' return, he had feared that giving him what he wanted, would mean losing his brother once more. The man did agree that his only reason for returning to Egypt was to set the slaves free. His people.
That had torn a hole through the king's heart.
The heavy moaning of the huge doors steered him away from his musings.
Imhotep. An architect and a friend.
Rameses watched him solemnly, his posture- austere yet dignified.
"My king."
The Pharaoh merely raised his brows in acknowledgment. Otherwise, he looked somewhat lazy and disinterested.
Imhotep was at the time, the person he was closest to. He was the pharaoh's chief architect even before the beginning of his reign- after Moses had left. The two had once worked closely. It made sense that the architect was the only one who had ever had the courage to come up to him in these dark times.
"We have to start rebuilding."
The pharaoh released a tired sigh and looked away, staring into the horizon.
"Imhotep, I wish not to speak of this at the moment. Leave me be."
"It has been two months, your highness. There is plenty of work that needs to be done."
The middle aged man looked at him imploringly. Rameses continued to stare into space. The architect took a few steps forward, putting one foot on the first tread of the throne's dais.
"Rameses."
The sound of his name being firmly uttered brought his attention. No one in so long had ever addressed him so informally. He would have replied indignantly had he not been so sullen.
"You must return to the real world. You cannot keep yourself locked in the palace forever. An entire kingdom is depending on you." The chief architect said sternly, nearly yelling in the end. He waited for any form of reply from the passive king. He soon got his answer.
Rameses' placid face morphed into a bitter smile. Without looking at the other man, he laughed.
"Yes, it always had. The world just simply cannot move on without me." He drawled.
"You are the pharaoh. The kingdom does not do anything without you."
Rameses remained quiet as though contemplating. He spoke again. But more so to himself.
"The gods have punished me. Father would hang his head in shame, seeing what has become of his kingdom... I am a weak link." His last words came in a harsh whisper. Imhotep watched him, his concerned expression unnoticeably shifting to sympathy as he moved closer and placed a warm hand on the pharaoh's surprisingly cold shoulder.
Rameses looked up with a pained look. For the first time, he saw the older man in a different light- not as a friend, but someone akin to a father. A father he had always hoped to be understanding. It gave him some measure of comfort.
"Oh Rameses..." The old man replied fondly. "You are still capable of so much... Not too long ago, I knew a young man with a grand vision. He dreamt of a prosperous kingdom that stretched beyond the horizon. He dreamt of reaching the stars, to be one of the gods..." Imhotep spoke with conviction- conviction only seen through those who had lived through a golden era. He gestured to the skies, before slowly speaking.
"He was dauntless. Because nothing had stood in his way."
Rameses had to hold back the tears that were starting to form.
"Even the greatest of kings had fallen down at times..."The old architect said lowly.
"But what made them the greatest was their ability to stand back up in the midst of great adversity."
The pharaoh could only stare back at his friend, unable to voice out the mix of emotions that ran through him. Apprehension swam in his dark eyes.
"It is not too late. Get back on your feet. We are your humble servants, my king. You need only call." Imhotep smiled at him warmly, giving him a gentle pat.
That perhaps, was all that was needed to be said. No one really knew what it was like to be in his place. The immense weight on his shoulders. Rarely had anyone ever tried to give him a little bit of sympathy. The ones that did were long gone.
The sense of companionship had finally given the pharaoh courage. Hesitantly, he placed a cold nervous hand on top of the other that was resting on his shoulder.
With a heavy sigh, he nodded.
Pep talk.
On a side note, the character Imhotep is the first known architect in ancient Egypt. (Or so I've been taught in History of Architecture class) I don't think he belongs to Rameses II's dynasty. The name kind of stuck when I wrote this fic.