Taking Him For Dead

[A/N]: There is a theory floating out there somewhere that Tuya and Seti (the real ones) had a younger son who died before Rameses was born. I refer to this in the story.

He didn't want to believe it at first, even days later, that his little brother had truly run away for good. He refused to believe his father at first when he shook his head, lips set in a grim line, and declared Moses would never survive the desert.

"Perhaps it is best he is gone," Seti declared after almost six days, shocking Rameses, "He has committed a serious crime."

"Unintentional!" Rameses protested, only for Seti to turn away, unhearing. "I would have declared him innocent!"

Seti did not move, his body as rigid as his throne before him, so cold and unfeeling. Next to Seti, the two priests stonily stared ahead; they didn't speak, but it was clear: they sided with Seti. Seti wouldn't be moved, but the Queen Tuya, surely!

"Mother, surely you don't agree—surely he will return. I would have cleared him—"

"No," Seti interrupted, back still turned toward Rameses, "It is the court who would make the final judgement. It would be out of my hands."

"Father—"

"I am to uphold Ma'at, Rameses," Seti said, swiftly turning to face his son, "And uphold it I shall, no matter the cost. You shall do the same."

"Father—"

"No more—you must remember the old traditions. When I pass, you will uphold Ma'at at all times, just as I must." Seti's expression remained neutral, though his eyes refused to meet Rameses', "You will too when I pass to the west. Sometimes we must make terrible decisions for the greater good of our nation."

Rameses couldn't believe it. Seti would have allowed Moses' execution! His hands balled into fists, grinding his teeth. How could Seti allow such a thing? What kind of father would allow his own son to be executed?

"He is your son!"

Seti stiffened, unspeaking for a long time. Again, he turned his back on his son as Queen Tuya flitted over to him, laying a brief, loving hand on her husband's arm. Seti patted her hand, yet did not turn to look at her or Rameses.

"Rameses," Queen Tuya beseeched, "Listen, there is something you must know."

But Rameses didn't want to listen. Queen Tuya always supported her husband. Wrenching his wrist from her loving grasp, he stalked away from his mother, refusing to look over his shoulder at either of them.

Normally, after an argument with his father, Rameses would steal over to his secret hiding spot, a statue of Seti that dwarfed even the tallest man in the court. There, in the lap of the statue, Rameses would stew over the argument, thinking up things he should have said, and wishing he could prove to his father he was worthy of the throne. It was also the place where Moses could find him, and the last time he did, the two priests of Ra ended up drenched in red wine.

Rameses marched past the statue without even glancing at it. Not today—there would be no Moses to cheer him up again, to make him laugh and forget his father's stern words—for a while at least. Before he knew it, he found himself outside, where several servants chattered, lazing in the shade. They looked up for mere fractions of a second as the prince regent paced past, but did not call his attention. When the prince regent was in a bad mood, everyone knew to leave him alone.

Father can't forget the balancing Ma'at thing even for Moses! Rameses stewed as he sat down on the little steps, his feet submerged in the water. Not even his own son! His son who is surely…gone to the west.

Rameses sighed heavily through his nose. He hated to think of Moses dead, but who could survive the desert? He'd been gone six days now—not even the fittest of men could survive the desert for that long without food and water, even if they had Set on their side. Even his two dogs missed him—every time someone passed Moses' room, they would lift their heads hopefully, only to be disappointed. Rameses had thrown a linen cloth over Moses' chariot so he wouldn't have to look at it every time he walked past the area where the palace kept the chariots.

The sun's yellowing eye scattered weak light over the lotuses' petals as a gentle hand alighted on Rameses' shoulder.

"Rameses, can we talk?" Queen Tuya asked gently.

Rameses did not answer, but nor did he move away when the queen sat down, the hand still on his shoulder.

"Rameses," she began in her soft voice, "I know he doesn't show it, but your father misses Moses as much as you and I do."

The prince wrinkled his nose in disgusted remembrance at Seti's last words earlier that day.

"He has a strange way of showing it."

"As pharaoh, he wishes to uphold Ma'at—as previous kings have done so. It is his duty, but he does not find the loss of Moses easy, believe me."

"He wanted him dead."

"No," Queen Tuya insisted, "Never, Rameses—he loved Moses like his own son, as much as he loves you."

Rameses looked over at his mother, puzzled by her words. "Like his own son? He is his son!"

Queen Tuya stretched her feet into the water. "There is something we must tell you, Rameses."

For some reason, her words unlocked a memory—Moses' parting words. Would Queen Tuya understand what he meant?

"Mother," Rameses addressed Tuya, "When he…he went away, he told me something."

"Yes?"

"He told me he wasn't who I thought he was."

The queen fell silent, the fingers of one hand pressed to her lips as she did when upset. Her eyes roved over the water, until her gaze reached for the horizon.

"Rameses," she said at last, "you probably don't remember, but it happened when you were barely two, right here." Tuya touched the water with her fingers, letting droplets fall from her hand. "A basket drifted in from the Nile—a gift from the gods."

"Does the basket have anything to do with Moses?"

Queen Tuya's smile trembled. "Everything, Rameses. For he was in that basket."

Rameses' heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the news. If Moses wasn't born of Queen Tuya and fathered by Seti, it meant only one thing. He wasn't his blood brother—he had been adopted all along, and Rameses never realised it. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind at all. All his life, he had believed Moses to be his younger brother born of Tuya and Seti.

"Yes, my dear," Queen Tuya confirmed, "It was an infant—Moses—who lay in the basket."

Rameses stared at the rippling water, as though he might see a basket floating somewhere among the lily pads.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We didn't believe it so important," Queen Tuya informed, "I did not want you to think any different of Moses because he was adopted."

Rameses took off his white headpiece, grasping the cloth in both hands so Tuya wouldn't see them shake. He would be strong—he would not be weak, even in his grief. But the more he thought about Tuya's words, the more it made sense Moses didn't look much like either of his parents. But Rameses hadn't cared—they were brothers!

"Is he Egyptian like us?"

Tuya's forehead creased in consternation as her eyes met his, "Does it matter to you?"

Rameses shook his head—why should it? Why should differences come between brothers as close as they were…had been?

"He was a Hebrew," Tuya revealed, "Somehow, when all the other Hebrew babies were killed that year, he survived, gifted to us by the gods in a basket. He was special, and I knew it as soon as I opened that little basket."

Of course he was! Rameses thought, doesn't matter how much trouble he got me in, he got me out again.

"You knew it too, I believe," Tuya said, her voice very quiet as she wiped one of her eyes, "I believe you knew it too from that day. I don't know why he didn't tell you, for I know you two were close, as brothers should be."

As brothers should be.

The air on his skin began to cool down as Rameses wrapped his arms around his knees, the headcloth still in one hand. Queen Tuya didn't speak, for her grief ran even deeper. Rameses knew his mother and father had lost a baby son long before he himself was born. Now she lost a second son—adopted, but a son nonetheless. And he had lost his brother, just as he had lost another he never even knew.

"Did he say anything else before he left?" Tuya asked.

Rameses remained quiet for so long Tuya seemed to decide he didn't want to say. But as she began to stand up, he spoke again, in a thick voice he was glad only Tuya heard.

"Goodbye brother." Rameses half-whispered, "Those were his last words."

His mother resumed her seat on the stairs, an arm around his shoulders. His sorrow swelled in his throat and behind his eyelids, but he would not cry. Not even in front of Tuya. At least if his father didn't seem to grieve the loss of Moses too much, then Queen Tuya clearly did. She was a queen, but always a mother first. She didn't say anything, nor did Rameses, and neither felt it strange, for their lamentations ran too deep for words. Even without words, a mother's sorrow and a brother's grief reached mutual understanding in the still air of silence.

If you could see our sorrow, Moses, Rameses whispered in his heart, would you have returned? Would you have come back to ease your family's grief? You may be Hebrew, but you have been—and always will be—my brother first.

Once upon a time, Rameses would have known Moses would have returned in a heartbeat.

Now, Rameses was no longer certain. He didn't know Moses anymore, and somehow that hurt worse than the pain of knowing he would never see him alive again.

Never.