AN: Another update, yay! :) Let me know what you think!

By knowing one reaches belief.
By doing one gains conviction.
When you know, dare.

Chapter 2 - Tefnut

Kíli hobbled over the edge of the small papyrus boat while his servant held the side as stable as he could manage. Ori had argued with him incessantly for nearly the entire trip down the Nile, hissing about everything from crocodiles to pirates, but their little adventure had gone well despite his concerns. There had been some initial difficulties in getting away from the palace unnoticed, but Kíli was confident the rest of his journey would be easy, and he was looking forward to seeing the people of Akhetaten up close for the first time since becoming Pharaoh. He cringed slightly at the memory of the men and women slaughtered on the temple stairs. His stomach lurched, and he swallowed nervously before tugging on the fabric hanging around his cheekbones. He was wearing the plainest garment he could find, one that covered as much of his skin and face as possible.

"This is stupid. Only an idiot wouldn't recognize you," Ori commented, watching as Kíli fumbled his cane briefly before finding his footing on solid land. The Pharaoh smirked and shook his head slightly. He was glad to have at least one servant that didn't mince their words in his presence. Ori was the closest thing he had to a friend; they'd known each other since before Kíli could even walk.

"That's why I'm wearing a disguise, obviously," Kíli muttered, gesturing to the simple cotton garment draped over his shoulders. He had forgone his ceremonial diadem, choosing only to wear a few jewels upon his fingers and wrists which he kept hidden beneath long sleeves. His servant eyed him in disbelief, looking at him from head to toe.

"And I suppose every peasant has a cane made from solid gold," Ori muttered. He finished tying the boat before placing his hands against his hips. Kíli glanced down at the cane clasped between his fingers and pursed his lips. Ori was right, it was a dead giveaway. No one his age walked with a cane, and especially not one so ornate. Kíli furrowed his brow before tossing it into the river, leaning to pick up a broken reed in its place. He would still look strange using it as support, but at least it didn't stand out quite as much.

"W-what are you doing? You're just going to throw it away?!" Ori sputtered in surprise.

"I have plenty of them," Kíli said, and he started moving towards the city centre. He didn't want to be gone so long the entire army got sent out to find him. Ori constantly checked on the Pharaoh, while Kíli watched the people working around them. The farmers looked exhausted even beneath the early morning sun. They struggled with the tough soil, forced to make do with minimal space ever since the Nile stopped flooding their lands. As they approached the cluster of clay and stone buildings that marked the city outskirts Ori became visibly anxious, while Kíli struggled to hide own apprehension.

"The Vizier will have me killed if he finds out about this, going out without a guard. It's irresponsible! And dangerous!" Ori whispered, leaning in close as they began moving between the thickening crowds of people.

"And that's why you aren't going to tell a soul," Kíli hissed. He was tired of being followed around by the Vizier's men, like he was a helpless baby in constant need of supervision. He needed to explore, get out into the real world and see things for himself. It was the only way to learn. He stumbled as a little girl ran past him, bare feet slapping against the ground and leaving an airy dust trail in her wake. She was thin as a rail, clearly underfed, and Kíli watched her head off towards the Nile with a container for water. "I need to see firsthand. I cannot understand my people without walking in their paths," Kíli muttered lowly. His gaze wandered back to the streets around them, and he moved between the crowds with a renewed sense of purpose. Signs of struggle were visible at every corner. The simple mud brick buildings were dry and crumbling, the clothing torn and stained from days working in the fields without a chance to repair. Even in his borrowed linens Kíli felt terribly overdressed and out of place.

There was crying and screaming from babies searching for more to eat, and mothers hushing them desperately as they too worked hard to find abandoned scraps in the streets. Men without homes lay in makeshift beds propped up against walls, some missing limbs or sporting visible wounds; a clear sign of the effects of war. There was no hint of the thriving markets that Kíli had read of from his predecessor's reigns, no traders from distant lands walking the streets to show off their goods. What depictions of the gods Kíli did see were half destroyed or vandalized, and the brunet paused to look at a small statue missing its head and whatever items it once held within its hands. Several people crouched around it, still praying hastily for some kind of help, and Kíli paused as a man huddled low and offered up a handmade trinket at the idol's feet.

"What use it that, the gods stopped listening long ago," an elderly woman scolded him. The man's shoulders visibly slumped, though he did not move from his place, clearly lacking any other option. A series of hushed whispers pulled Kíli's attention elsewhere, and he spotted a group of armed men making their way through the dirt roads not far away. The brunet gasped, recognizing a few of the Vizier's personal guard members, and he turned around, tugging his garments up self-consciously. Ori's grip tightened around his arm, and the servant pulled him away, into a hidden alcove as the men approached. Kíli's thoughts scrambled as he wondered if they had already discovered he was missing and he was startled when several townsfolk did the same, squeezing into the space around him to avoid attracting the attention of the guards. As the men approached the headless statue, the remaining people scattered into the shadows, and Kíli flinched as the single offering was taken away, the statue thrown to the ground. What remained of it was quickly crushed into tiny pieces, until there was no resemblance left to a god whatsoever.

He watched idly, standing behind a wall for some time, even long after the villagers had gone back to their daily routines. He couldn't explain the sorrow he felt in his heart as his gaze settled on the remains of the sculpture. It felt as though a part of his world was dying, like a part of himself was right along with it. He had never known the old gods growing up, but they were still a part of him, and he a part of them.

Kíli bit his lip, meeting Ori's eyes briefly before turning the other way, determined to find some sign of happiness among his people. Every pathway featured more of the same. More suffering, more starvation, more people in need of aid, and he was surprised when he finally came upon a row of tiny stands with goods for sale. They must have been the only ones still managing to survive, and even they lacked customers as people walked by them without so much as stopping to look. A boy was trying to convince one of the sellers to take a small pile of rocks as payment to no avail, so Kíli stopped to pay in his stead, keeping his face hidden as he did so.

He moved on, looking down at a variety of beads and sticks woven together from what little supplies were available. The care in the items was still visible despite the primitive materials, the artist behind them clearly passionate about their work. It was a shame it went so unnoticed. Another booth featured small sculptures made from stone. There were a variety of different animals, and even dolls and toys for children to play with. He did a double take when he spotted a low relief featuring several figures and reached out to touch the stone tablet lightly. The action revealed his fingers and wrist, his jewels suddenly visible to the merchant who jolted upright and met his gaze.

"P-Pharaoh?" the man muttered in disbelief, and a second later the peasant fell back, suddenly afraid as his eyes scoured the surrounding area for guards. He hurried to cover up his goods, hiding more of his art from view with shaking hands.

"I'm not…I'm not going to hurt you!" Kíli shouted in a low tone, and he reached out to touch the man's wrist, but it was quickly yanked away from his grip. Kíli blinked at the startled man and the two of them stared awkwardly at one another for a moment. "You don't need to fear me. I…wish to learn," Kíli voiced, his eyebrows scrunching together as he lowered his gaze back to the man's wares. He lifted the cloth piece that had been thrown across them haphazardly and gestured towards the tablet that held his interest. "Who are these gods?" The peasant still looked wary, his back pressed against the clay wall behind him as he breathed in and out quickly, but after a few seconds his posture eased slightly.

"It…it is Horus, framed by his parents, Isis and Osiris," the man murmured softly. Kíli tilted his head, taking in the details of the falcon headed god in the centre. He wondered how many art pieces like it had been destroyed.

"It's beautiful," Kíli said before he reached into his pouches hurriedly. "Might I trade for it? I have gold pieces, bread," he offered, and the man eyed him like he was insane.

"W-whatever you feel it's worth my K-King," the peasant stuttered. Kíli smiled and offered him a handful of gold, and the man's eyes widened as it fell into his palm. He sat frozen for a few moments before hurrying to wrap up the tablet inside a piece of cotton, tying it off with a cord, and Kíli thanked him before checking over his coverings. Once ready he turned, parcel in hand, and with Ori at his side he began the trek back to the palace. He'd seen enough. Even in the short time he'd visited it was clear that the whispers were true. His people were suffering. They feared for their lives and the lives of their families. They feared him.

Kíli held the tablet close to his body, walking quicker than was comfortable for his malformed foot and leg. He wanted to be remembered in history as a powerful Pharaoh. A Pharaoh that did great things for the prosperity of his kingdom, one the people loved and praised and talked about for years to come. But Kíli did not want that power to stem from fear.

Walking through marshland was twice as difficult as walking on land. The thick waters dragged against his legs as he trudged through the reeds, bow held just above the water line. He couldn't use his cane, would only risk losing another in the murky depths, and instead he relied on Fíli's tight grasp in the back of his linens to keep him upright. The decorative bracelets around his wrists rattled as they clacked together, and he winced as the sound met his ears. The ornaments would have been impressive had he been marching into battle, but hunting was another matter altogether, and he did not want to catch the attention of any animals lurking nearby.

Several of the other soldiers that were helping teach him how to hunt walked up at his side, peering into the water for crocodiles hiding in the reeds, though so far, there had been no sign of movement. The bald man, whose name he learned was Dwalin, had taken special interest in him, seemingly impressed by the precision with which he shot. The large soldier nodded at him briefly, eyes already returning to scour the land around them.

In the distance, the sun began to set, and Kíli was grateful for the cooler air left behind as a result. The days had been hot and incredibly dry. If he hadn't been wading through the waters he would have been too exhausted to move. Even in the marshes signs of life were hard to find. Animals had abandoned the dry desert lands to move elsewhere, where the Nile spread wider and still flooded the land. In this part of the desert they hadn't seen such a thing for years. A terrible drought was upon them, and now Kíli knew exactly the effect it was having on his people.

The soldiers stepped carefully forward, easing in front of Kíli as he took a moment to catch his breath. His body ached now that he had a moment to relax. He knew the next day would be a difficult one. He hoped his foot wasn't too swollen in the morning. Kíli sighed, and the commander stepped up beside him, moving in front of the sunset and casting the brunet in shade. The remaining rays of light framed the blond's form, shining off of the man's hair so that it appeared like a golden disc circled around his head. He looked almost ethereal, and Kíli gazed up at him in astonishment, taking in the man's profile and strong jaw.

"Your hair is kissed by Ra himself," Kíli voiced. He flushed when the commander looked towards him oddly, his eyebrow raised and mouth parted slightly in surprise. The other soldiers all turned to face him as well, whispering amongst themselves, but with a single glance from Fíli they dispersed into the wilderness to leave the two in peace.

"Where did you hear that?" Fíli asked, his gaze lingering on the men still walking away from them.

"Balin told me…about Ra, and about the old gods, all of them," Kíli mentioned, and the other man's blue irises lowered. The two looked at one another, surrounded by the sound of cicadas and water rippling calmly.

"You know that is dangerous talk in days like these," Fíli spoke lowly, his expression betraying little of his inner thoughts. But Kíli felt a chill run down his spine at the words, and he stiffened, staring up at him in horror. "What did I tell you?" Fíli asked.

"Not to trust anyone…even you, but…," Kíli trailed off, and the other man sighed and shook his head.

"A smart Pharaoh is wary of all those around him, especially his closest friends and advisors. It is the betrayal of those nearest that hurts the most, and catches one most off guard," The commander lectured, and Kíli swallowed and looked down at the water swirling around his hips.

"You won't tell anyone will you? About Balin teaching me? I asked, it's my fault," Kíli pressed. His fingers tightened around the handle of his bow as he waited for a response but none came. Kíli forced himself to meet the other man's gaze again, surprised to see a hint of a smile upon his face. The slight change to his expression made all of the difference in the world. He looked like a different man altogether, like someone who hadn't fought in hundreds of battles and seen countless men fall to their deaths before him.

"I won't tell anyone," Fíli spoke softly, and he touched Kíli's shoulder and pointed just behind him.

"Look," Fíli whispered. Kíli turned his head quickly, gaping when he caught sight of a gazelle grazing in the waters nearby. Fíli sunk lower into the marsh beside him, and Kíli's heart began to thump faster in his chest as he raised his bow, lining up his arrow. He stared down his target, watching for a few seconds as several other gazelles sidled up next to it, pressing close. The fawns. Kíli faltered, his arms slackening as he exhaled softly. The young would be lost in the wild without their mother. The brunet lowered the bow, waiting as the family finished foraging and skittered away.

"Why did you choose not to shoot?" Fíli asked, his hand settled at the base of Kíli's back.

"Ma'at," the brunet spoke calmly. The blond made a low sound in his throat, a hum of approval before standing once more.

"Ma'at," Fíli echoed with a nod. His hand rose, touching the back of Kíli's head fondly, and the Pharaoh felt a sense of calm overtake him. The pain in his body had lessened, and his heart felt a bit lighter.

"Do you plan to return things to the ways of old, my Pharaoh?" Fíli questioned, his voice low, betraying a hint of curiosity. The brunet stared straight ahead, watching the as the last rays of light began to fade into night.

"Can I really do something like that?" Kíli breathed.

"You are Pharaoh. The laws are yours to create, and to destroy. If you will it, it shall be done," Fíli explained, and Kíli considered the other man's words for a long time. Did he truly have so much power? With but a word he could decide which gods should be worshipped, and which should not? It seemed ridiculous for one person to have so much control over the people. Was that what his father had done? The very reason for the misfortune of the people. The thought frightened Kíli. He didn't want to be consumed by his right to rule. It would only lead to greed and disruption in his heart. And yet…there was so much he could do, if only given the chance.

"Do you think I should?" Kíli asked.

"I think you should make your own choices, but it's important to consider the happiness of your people," Fíli advised, and Kíli appreciated his honesty. He couldn't ask someone else to make these choices for him.

In the distance Kíli could see the other soldiers pushing each other around almost playfully. Dwalin tossed a fish into the air and it bounced off of a redheaded warrior's face, falling back into the water with a splash. A second later and laughter broke out amongst the men sending several birds flying into the sky. It would be nice if they could always have lives so relaxed and easy, if food was easier to come by, the grains and crops more plentiful. He was lucky to have everything he needed within the palace, but others did not have those luxuries. He thought of the starving faces of the townsfolk and their fear of worshipping gods who had once brought them prosperity and longevity, gods who no longer answered their prayers.

"They are not happy with the way things are, they are not happy here, in Akhetaten," Kíli muttered, his eyelids dropping as he frowned. The air had cooled considerably, and he breathed in deeply as a light gust of wind fluttered across his face.

"No," Fíli agreed, reaching once more to grab the back of his garment, urging him to continue moving.

"So something must be done," Kíli muttered, and he took another step into the murky waters ahead.

It was hard to stay focused as he sat on the throne, listening to the requests of his people and their prayers for Aten. Every day people lined up to see him, in the hopes that someone might hear of their suffering. But Kíli could see the helplessness in their eyes. They had given up. They didn't believe they would be heard, not by some god that had replaced the ones they knew and loved, and not through a Pharaoh so young and powerless. Sometimes they lined up merely to shout in protest, cursing endless profanities at him as they were escorted away and dealt with out of Kíli's sight.

A part of him died each passing day, and he wished more than anything he knew how to fix the problems his kingdom faced. He wanted to do something, anything but sit helplessly in the same place each day while the suffering continued. The Vizier held fast to the rules his father had set in place, and was persistent in urging Kíli to support them, even pushing him to be stricter in the erasure of their history. He was dedicated to his work as the Pharaoh's advisor, and far more experienced in politics and the workings of an economy than the brunet. But even Kíli could see they needed change, and they needed it soon. It was a matter of figuring out how to voice it, and where to start. He wished he'd had more time to learn how to be a Pharaoh before becoming one.

His gaze searched the crowd, finally landing on the army commander's golden head of hair. He wondered what Fíli thought of him, watching him do nothing of use for days on end. The brunet clenched his teeth together tightly as yet another farmer knelt before him, pleading for whatever aid his Pharaoh could provide. He'd lost the remaining crops in his farmland and in turn his livelihood. He could no longer feed his family, and his youngest daughter had taken ill. Unable to afford medicine his last resort was to ask the gods. The man faltered mid speech, realizing he'd misspoken, and he quickly directed his words towards Aten, his eyes fearful as he looked towards the guards and back to Kíli. It wasn't the first time that had happened either.

Kíli sighed, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight beaming down upon him, and he was struggling to come up with something to say in response when several guards pushed their way through the line of people, dragging prisoners across the floor. The people whispered restlessly amongst themselves, watching in horror as the captives struggled against the guards' sturdy hold. Kíli sat up straight as they approached, and his eyes widened in surprise as he took in the bloodied knees and panicked expressions of the men and women the guards had detained.

"My King, we found another Cult of Amun in the southern sector," one of the guards spoke, throwing a boy down on the limestone floor at the base of the stairs. The brunet stared down at him anxiously, eyeing the bony fingers and thin face that spoke of days without food.

He was no older than Kíli.

The guards flung down the rest of the prisoners, lining them up before the throne and occasionally kicking them back into place when their legs slipped on the stone floor. Kíli's fingers clenched in the armrests at his sides, and he felt his throat tighten when the Vizier stepped forwards, making his way down the steps slowly.

"It is law, a crime against Aten. They must be executed," he voiced easily, not even taking a second to look their way, and Kíli's breath caught in his throat as the guards moved to lift their spears. He was overcome with visions of hundreds of men women and children suffering a similar fate, could picture his father shouting the order to kill. He saw the faces of dead children, their bodies lining the streets of his kingdom. His heart felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds, that it might be consumed by the demon Ammit at any minute, and he would be condemned to suffer a second death in the afterlife. It wasn't right. Not at all.

"Stop!" Kíli shouted as he rose to his feet and took a single step forward. The guards froze, spears lifted in the air and the Vizier turned to look at him in surprise, along with every other set of eyes within the discernable distance. It was so silent Kíli could hear nothing but the rustling of the wind, and his own beating heart. An entire kingdom waiting for his command. He swallowed nervously and glanced towards the commander for a moment, meeting eyes that looked carved from lapis lazuli under the brilliant light of the sun. His nerves settled and Kíli took a deep breath before speaking.

"No, no one shall die for the gods they choose to worship, from this day forth," Kíli commanded. He lifted his chin, his eyebrows lowering as he held out his hand to halt the Vizier's attempt to interrupt. "I will not be responsible for such needless death," Kíli added, and he looked around at all who served him, daring any to argue with his decision. No one spoke a word. This was the power of the Pharaoh.

Slowly the guards lowered their weapons, as if unsure they had heard him correctly. They fell back and released the peasants sprawled out before them, all of whom stared up at the Pharaoh in disbelief. Kíli moved forward, his cane clacking against the stone as he stepped carefully down each stair and bent low to reach out his hand. The boy on the ground gawked at it for a moment before grasping it hesitantly, and Kíli helped him to stand, before moving to do the same with each and every person still spread out on the ground. The last man paused, holding out his arm in thanks, and before Kíli could stop him he was back on his knees, thanking Kíli for sparing his life. All it took was a single shout, and several more followed, the people crying out in support. Kíli staggered when the crowd knelt together, raising their arms as they bowed and chanted for their king. They were cheering…for him.

His eyes skittered about the mass of people, awed that he could have such a monumental effect on them for such a seemingly simple act. When a droplet of water landed on his face, Kíli startled at the sudden wetness upon his skin, and he looked up to the skies and gaped in surprise. Several more fell in quick succession, coating his head and arms until his clothing was drenched through. The sun was still shining, visible through the stray clouds that lingered above, but it didn't deter the water from falling across the stone expanse.

Kíli blinked the wetness from his eyes, and as it started to pour the people cheered louder, rejoicing in the moisture that would help their crops to grow when the Nile had not. The Vizier looked mystified, staring at the moisture on his hands as though it contained some hidden magic, while Balin laughed heartily and raised his arms to the skies.

"What…what is this?" Kíli gasped as he lifted his fingers and spread them out in the air. The water bounced off his fingers like little kisses upon his skin.

"It's rain, my Pharaoh. It is a sign, a sign from the gods. Tefnut approves," Balin raved, looking far younger than his many years would argue.

Rain.

He'd never seen such a thing before, had heard of it only in passing. Kíli let out a breath of air, tilting his face upwards to face the sky. Each droplet felt like bliss. It was as though years of dirt were being washed away from his body; a purification of his soul. Through the raindrops clinging to his lashes he could see Fíli standing at attention, one hand pressed against his chest as he looked towards Kíli in awe. The blond nodded slowly, before kneeling himself, joining the mass of people as they chanted his name.

For the first time Kíli felt it. The power to change, to do good. He sensed the gods speaking to him in ways he did not know were possible. Ra, in the sun's rays, shining upon his skin. Tefnut, in the raindrops, falling upon his face. Shu, on the wind, blowing through his hair. And Amun, flowing in his very blood, confirming the path he'd chosen was true. It was…a start.

Notes:
Tefnut – goddess of moisture, dew, and rain, often depicted with the head of a lioness
Horus – Sky god, a guardian and protector of the people
Isis – Mother of Horus, patroness of nature and magic
Osiris - god of the afterlife, death, life, and resurrection
Ammit – The 'devourer' or 'soul-eater', consumes impure hearts, preventing passage to an immortal life
Shu – god of light and air, provides a cooling and calming presence