Disclaimer: I don't own squat, not a damn thing. Well, I own a rather nice pair of red Converse high-tops, but that's it. As far as Ardeth, Evy, or Rick, no, sorry, not mine. The OC, however, is mine. Flames will be used to light my backyard barbecue pit. Please R&R, I'll give you candy.
-Belle
Over the next few days, Ardeth likely would have found the time to appologize if he knew what he should be appologizing for. In the meantime he went about his business, making sure the camp opperated efficiently. Finally, one day, word came from the Seventh Tribe that their agents in Austria had dug up some information on Joshua Marcus Lieger. The news didn't sit well with Ardeth, and he couldn't help wondering how it could have all gotten past the man's fiancée. Then he realized that more than likely she never saw the man. He probably brought her to Egypt because she was beginning to get suspicious. It was a terrible way to live, but she'd admitted that they hardly knew one another. What had she meant by familiarity? He couldn't imagine being betrothed to a woman simply because he'd grown used to her. Then again there were bigger problems. The problem of insomnia ranked high on the list, and as he tried to go to bed that night he had no better luck. When he tried to shut out the world, those green eyes were staring back at him from the abyss of some unknown point in time.
And the dreams had returned. He thought he'd long escaped them, but now they haunted him during the day. Devoted as he was to Allah, there were certain things he could not ignore. These dreams were intricately detailed. He'd experienced them often as a young man, and they enabled him to posess the kind of knowledge that had, on more than one occassion, frightened the council. Always the blood of the Med-Jai had been in his family, and he knew he descended from a proud and honorable people. He hadn't failed to notice, though, that Imhotep, after resting for three thousand years, was resurected during his own lifetime. Not his father's or his grandfather's, HIS. It was not so much a sense of failure that disturbed him as the the idea that it could all imply something much bigger.
Mostly he dreamed of battle scenes. Fierce warriors going head to head. Eventually he'd figured out that these were training sessions, and not battles. He would see different people during his dreams, rarely of note. There were commoners, fellow Med-Jai, family, even royalty. It was not until he was twenty six when he saw the face of Imhotep regenerated and realized that his dreams were more than what they seemed. Now, another recurring figure was called into questions. Many of these dreams had been particularly mundane. He'd be standing guard outside the palace in many of them, and this one slave girl would pass on her way to market. Never in his dreams did he see her face, but his dream self knew her and looked for her every day. She bore the shabby straw wigs of the lower class, but she always managed to keep her linens clean. Then, as his dreams returned, so did the slave girl. One day, as he sat at the table in his tent writing a letter to be sent back to the Seventh Tribe, he saw it again. Only, this time, she turned and looked at him. He hadn't really slept since then.
Ardeth had convinced himself by now that he'd merely imposed the face of the stranger onto the face of the slave girl out of guilt. The fact that they had eerily similar stature was of no concern. He detrmined that the only way to set things right was to appologize for whatever he'd said to upset her. So it was that he found her having breakfast outside the healer's tent with Dalal, Bahir, and several of the women from the camp. They all seemed to be laughing and enjoying themselves, particularly Lira who was busy sharing an anecdote that the assembled group seemed to find incredibly interesting.. The moment Ardeth approached, though, her thunder was gone, and all the women were quiet, bowing to him in respect. Lira tirned and craned her neck up to look at him, frowning slightly.
"Good morning." he greeted amiably enough, "I hope I'm not intrduing, but I would like to have a word with you in private." Lira grudgingly got to her feet and motioned him to lead on. They passed alongside the healer's tent and finally came to a stop at the back. She was staring at him with a cautious demeanor, and it became terribly unnerving.
"So what did you need to talk about? Am I to leave soon?" she seemed much warmer to the prospect than she had been when he first returned to camp.
"It shouldn't be too much longer, but that's not what I needed to speak with you about. I'm sorry about what I said the other day when we returned from the ride. I didn't mean to make it sound like I wanted you hidden away." he said with all sincerity. She regarded him cautiously.
"Alraight," she said finally, "Apology accepted. Am I free to go?" Ardeth looked at her with dismay. The disinterest in her tone, the way she brushed away his apology, it was terribly insulting. Besides that, it was such a slide from the talkative woman he'd gone riding with.
"I suppose it is, but why the rush. I have appologized for what I know I've done, have I somehow insulted you since then?" he asked, with a snort of disbelief. She was being flat out cold and he couldn't imagine how he could anger her without even speaking to her. She stared at him with cold eyes, disbelief apparent in her face. Finally, after a moment of tension that could have broken an elephants neck, she spoke up.
"I don't know what kind of weird ancient desert magic you're practicing heer, but if you ever tamper with my dreams again I'll be finding my own way out of this place and back to civilization." she responded evenly. Ardeth was very nearly without words.
"What are..."
"Don't play dumb with me," she declared, her voice finally raised, "Just stay out of my head, alright. It's a low blow and a complete invasion of my privacy." With a sudden turn she stormed off again, back around the massive tent, returning to her breakfast. Ardeth stood still for a moment in a baffled state. His mind searched for explanations and instead, pulled up a wholly unfamliar memory.
The daytime guard was the least favored shift for the Med-Jai. They had to stand straight and look ceremonial, and it was the least likely time for anyone to storm the palace. But he had volunteered. Every day he'd volunteered, and his friends were convinced he'd gone insane. He had to see her. Every day she passed by the south gate of the palace, and everyday he watched her approach and then pass off into the crowd. Four years now, this had gone on, and she didn't have a clue that he existed. Of course she saw him there, but all she saw was a sturdy sentinal. She didn't see the man beneath the armor, the flesh and blood that really mattered. She didn't hear his heart pounding as he gazed at her, a slave girl far below his station. She was maybe two years younger than him, and at that age surely married. Still he looked for her every day, his saving grace in the world. He would surely marry one day and have a family, but he could not imagine a world without the exotic slavegirl with the green eyes.
Finally he saw her, wrapped in clean white linen, her straw wig as tamed and straight as she could make it. He watched every step and every sway of her hips. She carried a large basket of linenes on her back that day. More than likely laundry from the slave men in the quarries. As she neared he tried his best to train his eyes forward. She moved with a singular grace and peacefulness. Just as she had passed where he stood, a young boy bolted past her, upsetting the load on her shoulders and causing the basket to crash to the ground. His muscles twitched. He longed to step forward and help her, but duty dictated he remain stoic where he stood. As she picked up the linens, he saw a man passing on his way to the market stoop and pick up the last article on the ground and hand it to her. She thanked him most graciously and, as the man was not of a higher status than herself, leaned forward and presented him with a small kiss on the cheek. His heart suddenly burned inside his chest, feeling as though it would crumble. He could feel the blood creeping into his face as she passed on, disappearing in the mass of bodies. He would have given anything to be that man at that moment. If it was the only contact he ever received from her, he could die a happy man.
But just as suddenly as he was dragged into the past, Ardeth was once again behind the healing tent in the middle of the open desert. His face felt flushed, his whole body unusually warm. He hadn't seen her face, and that was in many ways a relief. Still, in other ways... no, no not a place he wanted to go. Though it was curious that she was accusing him of somehow inducing her to have weird dreams. He had no way of knowing what kind of dreams they were, though, and a large part of him was afraid to find out. So, Ardeth Bay, the cheif of the Med-Jai and esteeemed commander of the First Tribe adjusted his bandoleers, wrapped the dark trailing linen around his lower face, and returned to his duties. Never breathing a word to anyone about Lira or the slave girl in his dreams.
A/N: So, there's another chapter, so sorry I didn't get one up yesterday. I wasn't really home long enough to post, but I'm putting 2 up tonight, so there you go. I didn't get anymore review, but... hey, here's hoping...
I'm a sad, pathetic little person, aren't I?
