Dang. Late update. Unlike the second one. Busy busy :T

I hope you enjoy this chapter! A Rameses filled one. Is it me, or is it only fun to write whenhe'saround? :P The range of emotions you get to play with...

Chapter 3

The piercing sound of metal against metal. The battle cries of men. A tight fist colliding with his face. The coppery taste of blood.

And yet, the pharaoh couldn't help but chuckle under his breath. The rush of adrenaline coursed through him, heady on his senses. He could die at any time in the heat of the battle, but that did not seem to matter nor did he find it likely. Worries of self-preservation were thrown to the wind and all that went through his mind was the small but sure victory he so well deserved.

In so long... Rameses had never felt so alive.

He roared in the midst of lowly warriors, like one himself, yet he did not seem so. Amongst mortal men, he stood out in his armor of gold and lapis, like a glorified deity. A god-king. The title was fitting; he had already killed more than a dozen soldiers. He had even lost count.

Then came another. The Hittite charged at him with whatever ounce of bravery and strength the man could carry- a sword at hand. His blade clashed with his own. The fellow had managed to knock him off balance, which happened so rarely that day.

Rameses retaliated with a force twice as ruthless.

The young soldier remained persistent- swordsmanship suggesting that he was of high ranking. But the man's strength was waning. He could barely manage to keep them on par as their weapons clashed with one another at precise moments, creating sparks. With a stroke of luck, the Hittite maneuvered his sword to fling his away. Rameses stared in awe. Silently, he commended the younger warrior. Then the man charged at him. The king dodged the swings of the blade, moving himself closer in an attempt to grab it, just before the soldier quickly jabbed the hilt at his chin.

The pharaoh, albeit dazed, smirked at the assault. In his blood lust, pain was a welcomed sensation. He wiped off the liquid that trickled down from his mouth and ducked fast from his opponent's next strike. This provided him with an opening- allowing him to twist the weaker man's sword wielding arm and bashed his stomach with his own fist.

The battle took place in the desert no less- ground, rock dry on flat lifeless terrain. Dust floated in the air. A deadly dance with men, cloaking them in a mixture of grime and sweat.

The fight was a losing one- for the Hittite enemy that was. It was evident from the beginning and more so as it seemed to near the end. The pharaoh's army outnumbered them by a mere dozen. But it was his untimely arrival that proved to be his greatest advantage. And the Hittite army posted by the border were unprepared, fighting for their own lives.

It was not the sort of battle that he should find so necessary to be physically involved in. In fact, it was on a relatively small scale compared to what he was expecting from the entire Syrian campaign. His commanders and soldiers were mildly surprised when he decided to join them in the field. But of course, no one denied the god-king his right. What the pharaoh did not tell them though, was that he had been waiting for an opportunity to vent out. All the rage and sorrow he had to restrain for years- unleashed upon lowly savages who were of no concern to him. His actions and their reasons were not noble- nothing was ever a good excuse to kill. He knew better; he was after all, Tuya's son. But the man could not deny how good it felt.

The day had gone much quicker than anyone could imagine- like sand slipping out of one's hand. By dusk, just as the imperial sun had barely touched the vast dunes and the dirt had finally settled, the Egyptian army won.

The pharaoh got away with a few bruises to the cheek and eye, a cut lip, along with shallow cuts and scrapes on his sides and legs. There was no doubt he would live. But still, he did not get away that easily. His left side felt incredibly sore from falling on an edged rock in the battlefield. He had managed to roughly surpass some of his best warriors despite a four year training (coupled with the knowledge of fencing he and Moses had acquired in their youth). To everyone's surprise, the king had in him, a hidden raw talent. One could very well say he was born to fight after all. But that did not make him completely invincible.

The desert heat had now simmered down to a cold night- its cool wind kissing the dirtied skins of the weary men. They set camp just outside a small dirt town on the border. There were about two dozen prisoners held captive, shackled and lined up in the center of the Egyptian camp- soon-to-be assets of the kingdom, no doubt. The pharaoh took it upon himself to oversee the operations. He watched his men work with hidden triumph- a gleam in his eyes did show. Rameses finally allowed himself to relax. He exhaled softly, taking off the royal headpiece that had grown so heavy on him, just as much as the day had. Holding the helmet in his right, he made his way to the general's tent where his officers were planning the next line of offense. He forced a dignified walk, not allowing physical weakness to ruin his bearing. He wanted to feel pleased with his accomplishment. His first real triumph, though small, was very much welcomed.

And yet, he still felt a familiar wave of vulnerability in these pleasant thoughts. He found himself impulsively shoving away the canvas of the tent. But that was all anyone would get from him; had his mood been soiled, no one could tell. By devotion, his commanders swiftly turned to greet him.

Rameses straightened his stance-their loyalty to him, another reason to appear strong and unwavering. The pharaoh knew he was not gifted with strategy. That, he learned, when he made the fatal mistake of charging into the Red Sea with half his battalion. He would not have gone alone in this campaign, much less make decisions on his own. Typically, along with the pharaoh, his sons would have been the commanders of his army. Since he hadnone, Rameses appointed some of his trusted officials. One of them was Imhotep. He was old but far from handicapped and had once assisted Seti in his own campaigns. Most of all, Rameses highly valued his judgement.

The pharaoh listened intently as his officers explained their campaign's current position. So far, they were progressing. A few causalities, a new strategy, and the sure capture of the Amurru province.Rameses smoothed his palm over the map on the wooden table, looking at the areas they crossed with eyebrows creased.

"Tomorrow, we ride for Damascus." Imhotep concluded.

"Very well. When we get there, as much as possible, we will not try to incite war against their king. We need them to willingly pledge their loyalty to Egypt." The pharaoh stated factually.

"Yes my king."

"But what if they refuse?" Another voice blurted out from behind him. Paser, his grand vizier. Rameses regarded his other officer seriously, noting the sense of doubt in his tone. His frown deepened as he weighed the options.

"Then we have no choice but to take the city by force. But take note, we do not harm the civilians. There's enough bloodshed as it is."

The ruffling sound of heavy cloth turned their attention to the entrance. A low-ranking soldier, still covered in grime stood there, halfway inside the tent, knowing well enough not to fully enter without permission.

"Your Majesty, the Great Royal Wife wishes to see you." Rameses quirked a brow at the odd request.

"Does she expect me to return to Egypt this instant?" He replied sternly. The soldier looked even meeker than one could possibly be, glancing down when his superior eyed him critically. The young man regretted not being quite specific beforehand.

"Actually, your majesty, she has come to see you."

The imperious expression on pharaoh deflated.

Gods.

He rushed out of the tent, discomposed and disregarding the pain of his injuries and the tiny snickers and smirks that came from his officers. Outside, the king searched his camp with a semblance of nervousness in his features. To his far left he spotted a small group of Royal horses adorned in fine blue ribbons and shining gold, with them was the royal guard. By the looks of the unscathed clothing and dust free skin, that they had just arrived. But no royal wife in sight...

"I see that my husband still lives..."

Of course.

The silky tone of her voice caught his attention.

The pharaoh swiftly pivoted around and met the vision of a tall slender figure of unmistakable Egyptian royalty. With long raven hair swaying in the wind and skin so rich- kissed by the sun god Ra himself. A smirk played on the woman's thick lips, her sultry cat eyes-speaking a thousand things.

This was Isetnofret.

"... Shame." She sneered.

Rameses sighed tiredly and rolled his eyes. "Set, what are you doing here?" He huffed.

"What? You're not glad to see me? I'm hurt." The queen drawled out, placing a hand on her chest mockingly.

"I'm serious. It is dangerous to cross the border. Why did you not send a messenger instead?"

"Hah! Yeah, alright. And spend my time lazing around in the palace while you're off having a hell of a ride." She grimaced, folding her arms together.

"Believe me, crossing the desert was the most exciting thing I've done in years."

Rameses' exasperated gaze had not faltered despite the young queen's nonchalance. It was not often when people showed him impertinence, though it was never too unpleasant coming from her. But he had not the time for this.

Isetnofret looked back at him with a wry smile. How serious this man was. It was often too good not to poke fun at his majesty. Her mouth formed a silent 'oh' when a small idea dawned on her.

Rameses's critical stare morphed into that of bewilderment when she mirrored his own frown and exaggerated it childishly. He was slow to comprehend the intention, but when he did, he returned the favor by smirking at the woman's rather juvenile behavior.

"There you go. You should smile some more- you're not getting any younger." Isetnofret reproved, before punching him lightly on the shoulder. Rameses scoffed, rolling his eyes once more. He took her by surprise when he suddenly inched towards her with a beguiling smile that had the queen subconsciously holding her breath.

"So what news does my queen-turned-Royal messenger bring?" He crooned. The Royal wife chuckled lightly at his smooth lilt, forcing herself back to her usual composure. She regarded him wryly, so wanting to scrape that arrogant look off his face. But she remembered why she had come to him in the first place and her expression quickly turned solemn. Rameses immediately understood and his smile followed suit.

"Political troubles in Lower Egypt. The people won't have it settled until they hear from you personally."

"Just send them the royal emissary." Rameses waved off. Isetnofret deadpanned at the request.

"Did you not hear what I said? And had it not occurred to you that I just came all the way up here to come get you?"

"Did you not say you were bored? And besides, I just thought you missed me."

Isetnofret rolled her eyes at his smug retort.

"I wouldn't have come here had it not been necessary. With you gone, I get to do what I want." Rameses grunted indignantly at her response. His queen paid no heed.

"Anyway... You have to come home." He had opened his mouth to speak when she stopped him right there. "Look, I know. Men and your 'raging' tendencies. Hit! Kick! Kill! I get it. But right now, the pharaoh has to look after his people..." Isetnofret said pointedly. "And possibly socialize. Ra knows you need more friends." She quipped.

Rameses exhaled sharply. His mind and body had been so invested in this Syrian campaign that all else felt less significant. But what kind of king would neglect his kingdom, and his people no less? Still, would it kill his subjects to be a little more open-minded? He closed his eyes and breathed out his frustrations. The weight of his crown was indeed a heavy weight to bear.

"Fine."

Isetnofret stared at him, dumbly it seemed before blinking at him and letting out a snort. Puzzled, Rameses quirked a brow.

"Pfft! Are you pouting? You look like a little kid." She snickered. He did not realized he resorted to such childish habits.

"Hm. You must be rubbing off on me." The queen laughed even more, giving the pharaoh a playful shove at his shoulder.

"We leave tomorrow morning. I will be staying in camp for the night."

" Ah, good. I could use some company."

"What? Ew. No. I brought my own tent, thank you very much." Isetnofret snootily replied, as she held up her chin and crossed her arms to snub him. The pharaoh sighed tiredly.

"After two years of marriage, you still treat me as though we haven't slept in the same bed."

"Nothing personal Rameses, but a lady would really like her own space. Especially when she's in a camp with four hundred other men." She pointed out, giving more emphasis when she gestured the entire lot. The pharaoh chuckled softly as he shook his head.

"Do I repulse you?" He asked, staring at her intently with a small smirk.

The queen paused to think it over. She felt herself blush, despite her irritation. But it wasn't the sort of question that was expecting an opinion regarding appearances nor physical attraction. No, it felt almost earnest, even if he had spoken arrogantly. The woman could not be certain.

"... No. But you're not romancing me either. I'll see you tomorrow, my 'dear'."

"Likewise."

Rameses watched the woman saunter away, smirking when he noticed the casual sway of her hips. The gods were surprisingly forgiving- bestowing upon him some small pleasures. He left with that thought, returning to his generals to listen to their final strategies, before politely excusing himself for the day's end.

That night, in the solitude of his tent, lying on his warm bed, he twisted and turned. For it was not its soft comfort he dreamed of. But the thick, viscous Nile turned to blood.

He felt his body paralyzed on its surface, under a blazing red sky. Time felt like an eternity as he drifted in this endless river.It drove him mad. Hundreds of tiny little fingers rose from the depths of the river, poking his back side. Their ghostly touch, so haunting and yet so gentle- full of longing; he didn't understand why or how he understood that at all. Anguish came in each caress as they bid him farewell as he was departing for a shapeless afterlife. Whispers of a dead language echoed all around- hundreds of soft voices, amplified by heightened senses, whispering all at once, but not unison. Was this a glimpse of hell? Or was he already there? The lines between fantasy and reality were heavily distorted.

All of a sudden, Moses appeared, standing by the riverbed with a sorrowful expression matching his own. His calls for help were but a faint distant cry that sounded so far away, even from his own body. Like a voice calling out from a deep well. Further along the river, he drifted. The realm he was in, no longer held any resemblance to the world he knew. His brother and his sad eyes slowly faded away into a black void.

Terror pierced through his heart when a powerful forced pulled him down into the river. Submerged in blood, he held his breath. But still, he was breathing. His surroundings were of the consistency of water, a quality like wine. The dark red void that swallowed him stretched endlessly into an abyss. Fear prickled so much on his skin, it burned. It stung and itched so sickly like the desert heat.

A pair of arms wound around his chest.

He dreaded the thing that had decided to latch on to him. So certain that this was the creature that had dragged him down into the depths of the river, the man dared not move. Slowly, it made its way around, using him like an anchor to keep itself from floating away. An ugly impish monster was what he thought he would meet. But instead, he came face to face with own son.

There wasno true horrorto him than seeing the pain and fear in his own flesh and blood.
Rameses yelped, blood filling his throat. He couldn't care less. All that meant was reaching for his little boy and saving his life. An outstretched arm moved to grab the smaller, much more fragile one-

Then he woke up. He gasped out of his hellish dream, warm and clammy in sweat. His breathing was ragged- like a fish out of water. His eyes, now wide awake, were rimmed in red and painful lump swelled in his throat. He did not stop the tears as they streamed down his face, nor did he stop the broken sobs that came out of his throat, hushed so no one would hear.

Years had passed and yet it was never easier to forget. Memories, still so vivid-so real that they ensnared him in his sleep and plagued him with nightmares. And each time he awoke, he had never felt more alone.

Angst. Too fun to write. Man, the trauma this guy must have went through after the movie.

Yeeeep. There's definitely some historical stuff here. But I had to limit the details coz I just cant keep up with the times. X( Still, I hope it sounds less cliche than it probably is.