Intrigueshipping (Priest Akhenaden/Priest Set)

. . .

"Where did you learn to write?"

The voice is quiet, soft, as though it is the voice of the dusty old tomes themselves. It startles Set out of his thoughts, makes him glance up and squint into the dim archives. For a moment, he can't see anything—there is a ray of sunlight from the faraway window reaching strategically right on top of the table he is using, and the shadows drape deeply between the shelves that stretch out before him. The shadow moves towards him, a slow bob up and down as though with something of a lop-sided gait. Set realizes that it is Akhenaden a moment before the cowled old man steps into the shine of the light.

"My lord," he says, beginning to rise. Akhenaden, however, waves a hand. He looks...tired. Maybe it is simply the way the shadows hang heavily in this light, but the lines in his face look deeper than usual. As usual, the hood and his own bangs mostly obscure the shine of the false eye implanted into his skull. He is not one to flaunt himself or his power, a trait that Set can admire and respect. He has always felt drawn to the man's quiet, calm demeanor. Never once has he seen him raise his voice, not even in court. There is a power, a vibration behind his words no matter the volume he speaks at, and yet, he allows himself to fade neatly into the background, not attracting attention until he requires it.

Set returns to his seat at Akhenaden's motion, and the man shuffles across to the table. He leans for a moment over Set's work, glancing at the carefully scratched out hieroglyphics.

"Where did you learn to write so neatly?" he repeats, turning his head to get a better look.

Set inclines his head slightly.

"My mother," he says. "She came from a higher household that lost most of their money, forcing us to move. She still made sure to teach me well."

Akhenaden nods. His single visible eye is faraway, looking over the letters, but seeing things other than them, Set thinks. The old man seems to do that a lot around him, he thinks. Drifts away. It could be old age. But he never seems to lose himself quite as much when Set is watching from a distance, before the man knows he is there. Part of Set hopes that it is because Akhenaden sees his younger self in him, is proud of him. Something in Set wants to impress this man. He has never felt this way before, but...since the day Set was admitted to the palace as a priest, he had assumed he would face prejudice. Hazing. Even hatred. He was nothing more than a commoner who had dared to rise above his status.

But he had found, instead, a welcome. A quiet voice that congratulated him, asked him what he would like to know about his duties. Akhenaden had taken him under his wing almost immediately, had been patient and wise in almost all things.

Set finds himself wanting, more than anything, to prove to the old priest that his trust and assistance has not been misplaced.

Akhenaden taps a finger gently to one of the characters for a moment, lets his finger rest on it. He murmurs something under his breath. Set can't quite hear it, something about, "you draw the tail the same."The same as who?

Then he seems to pull free, blink once, as though coming out of a dream. He looks over Set for a moment.

"Is something wrong, my lord?" Set says.

Akhenaden blinks again, as though Set's voice has reminded him of where he is. Perhaps he is getting old.

"Ah," he says. "No. I was merely admiring your work..."

He hesitates. Set frowns, a question forming on his lips.

"Ah...don't worry yourself over me," Akhenaden says. "For a moment, in this light, the shape of your face reminded me of one I had lost a long time ago. Forgive an old man's wandering mind."

"There is nothing to forgive," Set says, bowing his head.

He feels...a tiny pain in his heart thinking of his mother. Akhenaden is so much older than him. How many must he have seen pass away already?

"Forgive me for interrupting," Akhenaden says. "I see you are working hard, as usual. I won't distract you."

He turns then, and shuffles back towards the shadows. Set feels like he should stand up. His hand reaches vaguely in the direction the man has gone, his lips parting as though to call out. But call out what? He doesn't know. His soul seems to know something he does not.

But then the old man is gone. Melted away into the shadows.

And Set sits alone.

. . .

A/N: don't mind me trying to be feelsy and drum up some symbolism at the end there. Next is Intimashipping (Keith/Yugi).