I've Got Soul
By TheNakedKing
The day Set came to fetch him was as calm as any other, the sky peerless, the waters where they fished surprisingly calm. It was the time of the year when the floods were still a half a year away, and though it was perhaps not the best time to fish, it was a good opportunity to catch up with friends. And besides, the River always seemed to have an abundance of life to harvest.
All the good weather in the world could not have quelled the storm in his heart the moment he saw the Priest and his company pass over the nearest rise.
"Prince Atem?" Sen asked, his eyes filled with concern. "What is he doing here?"
"I can only imagine that His Majesty sent him to fetch me," was his muttered response. "I wonder what has happened for them to send Priest Set?"
He would have his answer soon, though not the specifics. The look on Priest Set's face told him that it was not simply bad, but possibly catastrophic.
Atem had the increasing feeling that this something was potentially life shattering when he saw signs of mourning in the clothing of both the soldiers and the Priest. He swallowed his trepidation, though, and faced the escort with his jaw held high. "You have come to fetch me?"
"Your Majesty," Set bowed his head. "I am afraid that I have some terrible news. You must return to Thebes immediately, for your country needs you in this dark time." There was a slight hesitance, and Atem wondered what could possibly cause it, as Set seldom hesitated to say anything. "The King has passed away, and His Highness must come to fill the void which his passing has caused."
His insides felt frozen, and the heat of the sun barely registered against his skin as he stared at Set in absolute mortification, attempting to recover.
No.
Not possible.
His father couldn't be dead.
He couldn't be …
As if punctuating the horrific situation, Atem felt his friends draw away from him in sudden, unwanted, reverence.
Struggling to still his shaking hands and breathe evenly, Atem battled to find his voice. When at last he spoke, he sounded more confident than he felt. "Yes. We must make haste. We cannot allow the power void to be filled by the unworthy."
He still did not believe. He did not think he would until he saw his father's body lying before him, motionless and cold. It seemed too surreal to possibly be true, and he unconsciously shivered at the thought, his mind reeling with the reality of his current situation.
King.
He was king.
And not just any king.
The thought chilled him to his very core, and as he looked behind him to see his friends – no, his subjects – shuffling along behind him he realized that he would never go fishing with them again. Every lesson his father had ever tried to each him, every moment he had ever realized his father was truly separate from other people, suddenly came crashing down on him, drowning him with its impact.
Suddenly he was very much alone, even though he was surrounded by people.
He felt naked in the light of what he had to do now.
"We should make it back to the palace post haste, Exalted One," Set proclaimed. "Soon you will be able to calm the hearts of your people. Your presence alone shall sooth the nation, as they will be able to look upon their future ruler with their own eyes."
Atem eyed him before nodding. "Of course, Priest Set. I wouldn't dream of letting my people down in any capacity."
He couldn't afford to.
His father had been a great leader and he could not rightfully expect the people, his father's people, his people to demand any less from him.
The trip seemed to go quickly, perhaps because Atem was so numb he could no longer feel his own fingers, though he could see his knuckles, clenched tight, white with strain. Not even the looming city in the distance made his heart rush more quickly. He felt as if he were outside of his own body, watching this scene unfold from somewhere beyond the confines reality.
Even as the palace itself came upon them and he could see the officials pooling to greet him. All of them were clamoring, attempting to speak to him, but he just waved them off, eyes locking onto the only person in the multitudes he cared to see.
"Where is he?" he demanded, his voice more authoritative than he ever though it could have sounded.
Siamun, his father's wizened vizier, bowed and lead him from the midst of the court.
He was glad to leave them, to retreat into the halls he knew so well that he now walked them without thinking about it. All those people only wanted a piece of his power, something he did not care to give people who could not even properly grieve his father.
It was to his father's chambers that Siamun lead him, never saying a word. No one else followed them except a few guards that Atem barely noticed; their presence a footnote in his life.
Siamun opened the doors.
Atem found himself looking upon his father, completely motionless. He had seen the stillness of death before and there was no doubt in his mind that his father had passed on. Of course, preparations would have to be made, but first …
"Siamun, allow the women to grieve," he turned around. "I will go and speak with the priests about transporting his body on the morrow. It should not tarry here any longer than it has to. We must not delay his journey."
And without another word he left the room.
The guards continued to shadow him.
He supposed to made sense. After all, his father had died, which made him the King. He had been training for this for years and now, and he could handle this. He would bury his father and then … Then … On the first day of the new season …
He could see his father's priests up ahead, gathered and speaking in whispered tones. As he approached he could see them straighten and stand at attention, bowing in reverence.
"My predecessor has gone to be united with Osiris," he said. "I ask that preparations be made to convey his body tenderly to the embalmers. Great care must be taken in preparing him for his journey," Atem spread his hands in emphasis. "However, we must also give the women time to mourn him. Tomorrow is when your transport begins."
"Your majesty, you have my word that it will be done as you say."
Atem blinked.
The familiar voice made Atem realize he was speaking to Priest Mahaddo, the Millennium Ring hanging about his neck. His face, as always, was unreadable and stern, but Atem thought he caught the stirrings of some feeling with his eyes. Regret?
It didn't matter.
Atem had things he must do.
"I trust you, Priest Mahaddo," Atem said. "I ask that you treat him with respect. Now, you must pardon me … I have a full day ahead of me … "
And indeed he did. Atem saw to everything he had need to, and it had come easily to him as well. He had not truly realized until that moment just how well his training was ingrained into his consciousness, for they came easily to him. He was able to quell the chaos that his father's death has created and earn himself a good night's rest.
If he had earned this, why did sleep elude him?
He flipped over onto his side, shivering again, though not from the cold of the night. It felt as if his entire world had been shattered as he realized that his father, the man who had given him everything, was dead.
Truly dead.
He would never come back.
Anguish as piercing as a blade ripped through his body, the reality of his situation finally crashing down on him with terrible finality.
His father was dead …
His father was dead and he was king.
Tears stung his eyes and his shaking grew violent as he buried his face into his sheets, trying to stifle the sobs that threatened to break from his lips. His father was dead and he could never come back, not ever.
And he was king.
King.
The word sit like a bad taste in his mouth, and for the first time Atem truly understood the weight of that title. It was duty and responsibility, and the keeping of the very balance of the universe. Being king meant holding the weight of the world upon your shoulders, and it meant making decisions for entire legions of people.
More than anything, though, it meant standing alone.
He choked back the noises he was making, balling his fists and biting down hard on the inside of his mouth.
He tasted blood.
Kings did not cry. They were not weak and did not need to grieve. They were divine and above the petty emotions that held normal humans within their grasp. He couldn't let anything sway him … There could be no room for sorrow …
Finding himself restless he stood, pacing the length of the room in an attempt to push any such thoughts from his mind.
Again and again he chanted the mantra that kings were not weak.
It wasn't working.
Instead of getting better, it was getting worse, and the more he thought on it the angrier he became. It was building up, trapped like hot air in a pot, and bound to break eventually.
Finally he could hold it back no longer.
Atem grabbed the first thing that came in sight, a stool that sat next to a gaming table, and threw it as hard as he could at the wall. The noise it made was loud, and to Atem it was very satisfying. He watched it clatter to the floor before grabbing something else to throw, each clatter or bang releasing more of his pent up sorrow and aggression.
At last he stood alone amidst the wreckage of the bedroom, collapsing into an exhausted pile on the floor. He hadn't really realized how much the effort of being angry had exhausted him, but now that he was left with only a dull aching in his heart and a prevailing sense of numbness, he realized just how tired he truly was.
He could have curled up into a ball and slept on the floor, but that would have been undignified and kings did not do things that provided that kind of impression. Strength was not in tears nor was it in sleeping on floors, so despite the fact that his muscles protested, or that his eyes were sore with unshed tears, he forced himself to stand.
It was slow, deliberate, and he decided to put his room back in order. It would do no good to project disorder to the outside world. It went against his duty as king. So it was that he carefully replaced everything, making sure it looked more than presentable.
Only after that was finish did he finally make his way to bed, where he lay on his side, staring at the wall, feeling exhausted. It was not long before he finally slipped into a fitful sleep destined to be plagued by shadows of things that should have been but now could never be.
His last thoughts were something akin to regret and resentment.