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Sitting alone in her library, Isetheperu could almost feel time come to a halt. The air was still and deathly silent, and if it weren't for the endless kilter towards the grave she felt with each passing second, and the red haze of sunset sliding across the floor, she could have imagined herself suspended in this moment like a spider at the heart of her web. She leaned against the backrest of her chair and laced her fingers across her sternum. Waiting.
Her gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the heavy set of doors straight across from her, but she was not looking at their intricate designs. She saw instead the view from the throne -- her throne, she had always considered it, despite it having never truly belonged to her in name. She saw the nodding heads of the council men, their faces bathed in the shadow of firelight. She saw the ghost of a future, a man who wore his age like a scar and whose black eyes laid claim to everything over which they swept. Isetheperu saw those things which had come to pass and those things which would soon follow.
Iahotep was not an honest man. Isetheperu had no delusions about that, but she had no cause to alert anyone else to this, not yet. An honest man would not serve her purposes, would not soften under the pressure of her thumb, would not be malleable in the way she needed the Pharaoh to be. She did not trust Iahotep, but she could, at least, trust the consistency of his ambition and greed.
The official announcement would be prepared in a few days' time, when the news would spread throughout the people of Egypt that a new Pharaoh had been named. Many would undoubtedly be relieved to know that the throne would once again grace the ass of a man. How many would understand what was truly happening, Isetheperu wondered. How many would look past the grandeur of the king and see her shadow behind him? Who would gaze at the great Sun and marvel not at his light but at the power of the sky which holds him aloft?
Envy was an ugly emotion, best left to men who squabbled over land and ego and their claim to a woman and the fruits of her body. It was an ugly emotion, but Isetheperu felt it just as strongly as any of those such men, when she considered that all of her intellect and skill and power amounted to nothing in the light of the fact that she did not possess some unsightly lump of flesh between her legs. But then, if she did, she still wouldn't have climbed to the reaches she had over the last fifty years, would she? No, she owed that much, at least, to being a woman -- a woman who had married a Pharaoh, a woman who had not been slain the way all her brothers had, a woman who birthed the last hope of her family's long legacy.
That legacy was all that mattered now.
Isetheperu made no decisions lightly, and her daughter surely understood that. If not now, then she would eventually, whether she came to realize it herself or the Queen Mother had to teach her as much. Unfortunately, it appeared the latter may be the necessary option, as the familiar rhythmic stride of her daughter beat hastily against the floor down the hallway. It was a small sound behind the sanctuary of the door and thick stone walls, but it was enough to break the evening silence, especially once the doors of the room swung inward.
A guard stood on the other side. "Your Majesty," he began, bending meekly at the waist. "Her Evening Radiance approaches --"
"I can see," Isetheperu dismissed him, her gaze locking onto Hatshepsut as she breezed into the room, young, vibrant, angry, and looking very much like her father.
Isetheperu remained sitting, motionless save to nod a signal at the guards to close the doors once more and leave mother and daughter in privacy. "I presume you've heard the good news, then."
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Sitting alone in her library, Isetheperu could almost feel time come to a halt. The air was still and deathly silent, and if it weren't for the endless kilter towards the grave she felt with each passing second, and the red haze of sunset sliding across the floor, she could have imagined herself suspended in this moment like a spider at the heart of her web. She leaned against the backrest of her chair and laced her fingers across her sternum. Waiting.
Her gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the heavy set of doors straight across from her, but she was not looking at their intricate designs. She saw instead the view from the throne -- her throne, she had always considered it, despite it having never truly belonged to her in name. She saw the nodding heads of the council men, their faces bathed in the shadow of firelight. She saw the ghost of a future, a man who wore his age like a scar and whose black eyes laid claim to everything over which they swept. Isetheperu saw those things which had come to pass and those things which would soon follow.
Iahotep was not an honest man. Isetheperu had no delusions about that, but she had no cause to alert anyone else to this, not yet. An honest man would not serve her purposes, would not soften under the pressure of her thumb, would not be malleable in the way she needed the Pharaoh to be. She did not trust Iahotep, but she could, at least, trust the consistency of his ambition and greed.
The official announcement would be prepared in a few days' time, when the news would spread throughout the people of Egypt that a new Pharaoh had been named. Many would undoubtedly be relieved to know that the throne would once again grace the ass of a man. How many would understand what was truly happening, Isetheperu wondered. How many would look past the grandeur of the king and see her shadow behind him? Who would gaze at the great Sun and marvel not at his light but at the power of the sky which holds him aloft?
Envy was an ugly emotion, best left to men who squabbled over land and ego and their claim to a woman and the fruits of her body. It was an ugly emotion, but Isetheperu felt it just as strongly as any of those such men, when she considered that all of her intellect and skill and power amounted to nothing in the light of the fact that she did not possess some unsightly lump of flesh between her legs. But then, if she did, she still wouldn't have climbed to the reaches she had over the last fifty years, would she? No, she owed that much, at least, to being a woman -- a woman who had married a Pharaoh, a woman who had not been slain the way all her brothers had, a woman who birthed the last hope of her family's long legacy.
That legacy was all that mattered now.
Isetheperu made no decisions lightly, and her daughter surely understood that. If not now, then she would eventually, whether she came to realize it herself or the Queen Mother had to teach her as much. Unfortunately, it appeared the latter may be the necessary option, as the familiar rhythmic stride of her daughter beat hastily against the floor down the hallway. It was a small sound behind the sanctuary of the door and thick stone walls, but it was enough to break the evening silence, especially once the doors of the room swung inward.
A guard stood on the other side. "Your Majesty," he began, bending meekly at the waist. "Her Evening Radiance approaches --"
"I can see," Isetheperu dismissed him, her gaze locking onto Hatshepsut as she breezed into the room, young, vibrant, angry, and looking very much like her father.
Isetheperu remained sitting, motionless save to nod a signal at the guards to close the doors once more and leave mother and daughter in privacy. "I presume you've heard the good news, then."
Sitting alone in her library, Isetheperu could almost feel time come to a halt. The air was still and deathly silent, and if it weren't for the endless kilter towards the grave she felt with each passing second, and the red haze of sunset sliding across the floor, she could have imagined herself suspended in this moment like a spider at the heart of her web. She leaned against the backrest of her chair and laced her fingers across her sternum. Waiting.
Her gaze was fixed, unblinking, on the heavy set of doors straight across from her, but she was not looking at their intricate designs. She saw instead the view from the throne -- her throne, she had always considered it, despite it having never truly belonged to her in name. She saw the nodding heads of the council men, their faces bathed in the shadow of firelight. She saw the ghost of a future, a man who wore his age like a scar and whose black eyes laid claim to everything over which they swept. Isetheperu saw those things which had come to pass and those things which would soon follow.
Iahotep was not an honest man. Isetheperu had no delusions about that, but she had no cause to alert anyone else to this, not yet. An honest man would not serve her purposes, would not soften under the pressure of her thumb, would not be malleable in the way she needed the Pharaoh to be. She did not trust Iahotep, but she could, at least, trust the consistency of his ambition and greed.
The official announcement would be prepared in a few days' time, when the news would spread throughout the people of Egypt that a new Pharaoh had been named. Many would undoubtedly be relieved to know that the throne would once again grace the ass of a man. How many would understand what was truly happening, Isetheperu wondered. How many would look past the grandeur of the king and see her shadow behind him? Who would gaze at the great Sun and marvel not at his light but at the power of the sky which holds him aloft?
Envy was an ugly emotion, best left to men who squabbled over land and ego and their claim to a woman and the fruits of her body. It was an ugly emotion, but Isetheperu felt it just as strongly as any of those such men, when she considered that all of her intellect and skill and power amounted to nothing in the light of the fact that she did not possess some unsightly lump of flesh between her legs. But then, if she did, she still wouldn't have climbed to the reaches she had over the last fifty years, would she? No, she owed that much, at least, to being a woman -- a woman who had married a Pharaoh, a woman who had not been slain the way all her brothers had, a woman who birthed the last hope of her family's long legacy.
That legacy was all that mattered now.
Isetheperu made no decisions lightly, and her daughter surely understood that. If not now, then she would eventually, whether she came to realize it herself or the Queen Mother had to teach her as much. Unfortunately, it appeared the latter may be the necessary option, as the familiar rhythmic stride of her daughter beat hastily against the floor down the hallway. It was a small sound behind the sanctuary of the door and thick stone walls, but it was enough to break the evening silence, especially once the doors of the room swung inward.
A guard stood on the other side. "Your Majesty," he began, bending meekly at the waist. "Her Evening Radiance approaches --"
"I can see," Isetheperu dismissed him, her gaze locking onto Hatshepsut as she breezed into the room, young, vibrant, angry, and looking very much like her father.
Isetheperu remained sitting, motionless save to nod a signal at the guards to close the doors once more and leave mother and daughter in privacy. "I presume you've heard the good news, then."
It was not only the news that infuriated her but the way it had been delivered. The Council had not even called her before them; instead they had sent her a very brief note informing her that a new Pharaoh had been chosen. Hatsepshut had known that her feelings would not be taken into account and that she must marry whomever her advisors selected, but she had hoped to at least be present when the decision was made.
She had planned to protest if Osorsen was not chosen, to speak of his prowess in battle, his intelligence and cleverness, and his loyalty to Egypt in order to sway them to change their minds. The young Queen had even written a speech to read to them, which she thought was quite good. Though she had been fairly certain that Osorsen would be chosen … there was no man more suitable to be Pharaoh … she had planned for the other eventuality should it occur.
And occur it had. Hatsepshut read the note once more, willing it to change, but the name 'Iahotep' remained on the parchment, seeming to mock her and the future she and Osorsen had spoken about so often. Iahotep wasn't even a noble. He was only the son of a merchant … an old man with gray hair and scars who was nearly old enough to be her grandfather. She hadn't had much contact with him. He was not one of those men who had wooed her. He would probably see her as a necessary inconvenience to be endured so that he could reach every Egyptian's goal.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
Crumpling up the note, she threw it across the room. The spark of anger inside her ignited and quickly transformed into a blazing inferno. What if the reason she had not been called to the meeting was because the Council was afraid that she would finally speak her mind? Her fondness for Osorsen was well-known, though the love and intimacy they shared remained a carefully guarded secret between them. The advisors had not risen to such prestigious positions by being stupid. They must have known what she wanted and had barred her from challenging their decision.
There was one person who might be able to do so. Her mother. Isethepuru was still the power behind the throne. Surely the council would listen to her and reverse their ruling before it became public. All Hatsepshut needed to do was speak to her.
Now.
Picking up the crinkled note and leaving her rooms, she strode to her mother's chambers, not even bothering to hide her outrage. Servants scurried out of the way, their eyes surreptitiously watching the progress of their angry Queen. Her bare feet slapped across the stone floors and her golden anklets jiggled with each step she took. She had not even bothered to make herself presentable and wore only a soft linen kalisaris that tightly hugged her nubile young body, along with simple gold jewelry. Her long ebony hair bounced against her back and her face was bare of makeup.
When she reached the heavy doors, she glared at the guards standing in front of it and they immediately opened it. One of them tried to announce her as she swept into the room. Hatsepshut was a bit taken aback by her mother's nonchalance. It was almost as if she had been expecting her. Stopping in front of Isetheperu's chair, her dark eyes glittered indignantly. Her hands were balled into fists so tight that her knuckles were turning white. “You mean this?” She opened one hand and tossed the note at her mother's feet. “I will not marry Iahotep, Mother! I won't do it! You must make the Council see the error of their ways!”
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It was not only the news that infuriated her but the way it had been delivered. The Council had not even called her before them; instead they had sent her a very brief note informing her that a new Pharaoh had been chosen. Hatsepshut had known that her feelings would not be taken into account and that she must marry whomever her advisors selected, but she had hoped to at least be present when the decision was made.
She had planned to protest if Osorsen was not chosen, to speak of his prowess in battle, his intelligence and cleverness, and his loyalty to Egypt in order to sway them to change their minds. The young Queen had even written a speech to read to them, which she thought was quite good. Though she had been fairly certain that Osorsen would be chosen … there was no man more suitable to be Pharaoh … she had planned for the other eventuality should it occur.
And occur it had. Hatsepshut read the note once more, willing it to change, but the name 'Iahotep' remained on the parchment, seeming to mock her and the future she and Osorsen had spoken about so often. Iahotep wasn't even a noble. He was only the son of a merchant … an old man with gray hair and scars who was nearly old enough to be her grandfather. She hadn't had much contact with him. He was not one of those men who had wooed her. He would probably see her as a necessary inconvenience to be endured so that he could reach every Egyptian's goal.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
Crumpling up the note, she threw it across the room. The spark of anger inside her ignited and quickly transformed into a blazing inferno. What if the reason she had not been called to the meeting was because the Council was afraid that she would finally speak her mind? Her fondness for Osorsen was well-known, though the love and intimacy they shared remained a carefully guarded secret between them. The advisors had not risen to such prestigious positions by being stupid. They must have known what she wanted and had barred her from challenging their decision.
There was one person who might be able to do so. Her mother. Isethepuru was still the power behind the throne. Surely the council would listen to her and reverse their ruling before it became public. All Hatsepshut needed to do was speak to her.
Now.
Picking up the crinkled note and leaving her rooms, she strode to her mother's chambers, not even bothering to hide her outrage. Servants scurried out of the way, their eyes surreptitiously watching the progress of their angry Queen. Her bare feet slapped across the stone floors and her golden anklets jiggled with each step she took. She had not even bothered to make herself presentable and wore only a soft linen kalisaris that tightly hugged her nubile young body, along with simple gold jewelry. Her long ebony hair bounced against her back and her face was bare of makeup.
When she reached the heavy doors, she glared at the guards standing in front of it and they immediately opened it. One of them tried to announce her as she swept into the room. Hatsepshut was a bit taken aback by her mother's nonchalance. It was almost as if she had been expecting her. Stopping in front of Isetheperu's chair, her dark eyes glittered indignantly. Her hands were balled into fists so tight that her knuckles were turning white. “You mean this?” She opened one hand and tossed the note at her mother's feet. “I will not marry Iahotep, Mother! I won't do it! You must make the Council see the error of their ways!”
It was not only the news that infuriated her but the way it had been delivered. The Council had not even called her before them; instead they had sent her a very brief note informing her that a new Pharaoh had been chosen. Hatsepshut had known that her feelings would not be taken into account and that she must marry whomever her advisors selected, but she had hoped to at least be present when the decision was made.
She had planned to protest if Osorsen was not chosen, to speak of his prowess in battle, his intelligence and cleverness, and his loyalty to Egypt in order to sway them to change their minds. The young Queen had even written a speech to read to them, which she thought was quite good. Though she had been fairly certain that Osorsen would be chosen … there was no man more suitable to be Pharaoh … she had planned for the other eventuality should it occur.
And occur it had. Hatsepshut read the note once more, willing it to change, but the name 'Iahotep' remained on the parchment, seeming to mock her and the future she and Osorsen had spoken about so often. Iahotep wasn't even a noble. He was only the son of a merchant … an old man with gray hair and scars who was nearly old enough to be her grandfather. She hadn't had much contact with him. He was not one of those men who had wooed her. He would probably see her as a necessary inconvenience to be endured so that he could reach every Egyptian's goal.
“No, no, no, no, no, no, no!”
Crumpling up the note, she threw it across the room. The spark of anger inside her ignited and quickly transformed into a blazing inferno. What if the reason she had not been called to the meeting was because the Council was afraid that she would finally speak her mind? Her fondness for Osorsen was well-known, though the love and intimacy they shared remained a carefully guarded secret between them. The advisors had not risen to such prestigious positions by being stupid. They must have known what she wanted and had barred her from challenging their decision.
There was one person who might be able to do so. Her mother. Isethepuru was still the power behind the throne. Surely the council would listen to her and reverse their ruling before it became public. All Hatsepshut needed to do was speak to her.
Now.
Picking up the crinkled note and leaving her rooms, she strode to her mother's chambers, not even bothering to hide her outrage. Servants scurried out of the way, their eyes surreptitiously watching the progress of their angry Queen. Her bare feet slapped across the stone floors and her golden anklets jiggled with each step she took. She had not even bothered to make herself presentable and wore only a soft linen kalisaris that tightly hugged her nubile young body, along with simple gold jewelry. Her long ebony hair bounced against her back and her face was bare of makeup.
When she reached the heavy doors, she glared at the guards standing in front of it and they immediately opened it. One of them tried to announce her as she swept into the room. Hatsepshut was a bit taken aback by her mother's nonchalance. It was almost as if she had been expecting her. Stopping in front of Isetheperu's chair, her dark eyes glittered indignantly. Her hands were balled into fists so tight that her knuckles were turning white. “You mean this?” She opened one hand and tossed the note at her mother's feet. “I will not marry Iahotep, Mother! I won't do it! You must make the Council see the error of their ways!”
How impertinent, how naive. Isetheperu pursed her lips as the wrinkled missive fell silently to her feet, before looking back up to meet her daughter's stormy glare. She had known Hatshepsut would not take the news well -- the girl clearly had a preference in suitors, and Iahotep was not him. But she had not bee certain what action the young queen would take upon first receiving it. Despite Isetheperu's displeasure for having the floor of her her library littered, she could forgive her daughter for her childish outburst. Isetheperu supposed that, from Hatshepsut's perspective, this was some of the worst news she could have received.
The girl, of course, did not know of the way her mother had strong-armed the Council into this very conclusion, how much planning and work she had put into making sure that her desired outcome was the only viable option. The decision was never the Council's to make. It was Isetheperu's family to shape, and Isetheperu's crown to give away. She wondered if Hatshepsut could appreciate what her mother had done for her. Wed to a man of common birth, her daughter would have more authority and autonomy than she ever would have if she were to be attached by marriage to another noble family.
"Must I?" Isetheperu countered. With a heaving sigh, she braced her hands on the arms of her chair and lifted herself to her feet. She met her daughter's gaze for only a second more before turning away, treading over the discarded slip of paper on the floor as she circled over to one of the many shelves lining the wall, bracing her hand against the planks for support as she moved. "Why would I do that?"
The pauses of silence that stretched between her words were a familiar trick, she used them deliberately when giving speeches or addressing the Council. They were not meant to be intercepted by the other's words, but rather to draw in attention, to emphasize the weight and gravitas of the idea she was communicating.
Isetheperu considered for a moment, as her fingers traced over the ends of several scrolls, whether she should disclose to Hatshepsut exactly how much of a hand she had had in the final decision. The thought that her daughter might believe she had been brow-beaten into accepting a match she did not acquiesce to was deeply unpleasant; yet, even so, she would much rather the girl direct her ire towards the scapegoat she had made of the Council. She could not risk being pushed out of her own child's good graces in this most important hour.
Still, Hatshepsut needed to understand why this was in her best interests.
"Iahotep is a good match," she continued, almost absently as she stopped at one shelf and began searching through it until her fingers alighted on their prize. She plucked the heavy scroll from the wall and turned to face her daughter once more, but rather than looking at Hatshepsut, she instead meandered over to her nearby desk and began unfolding the worn parchment. "He is a skilled general and tactician, yes, but that is not unique. It is his other qualities that make him the best option for you, and for your family."
She looked up then, and cocked her brown inquisitively.
Before her, Isetheperu had unraveled an extensive, generation-by-generation record of the lineage of Hei Fakhouri, a legacy on paper, one of the queen mother's most prized possessions. "Is this not a small sacrifice to make, to preserve your heritage? Tell me Hatshepsut, what is it that makes the prospect so alarming?"
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How impertinent, how naive. Isetheperu pursed her lips as the wrinkled missive fell silently to her feet, before looking back up to meet her daughter's stormy glare. She had known Hatshepsut would not take the news well -- the girl clearly had a preference in suitors, and Iahotep was not him. But she had not bee certain what action the young queen would take upon first receiving it. Despite Isetheperu's displeasure for having the floor of her her library littered, she could forgive her daughter for her childish outburst. Isetheperu supposed that, from Hatshepsut's perspective, this was some of the worst news she could have received.
The girl, of course, did not know of the way her mother had strong-armed the Council into this very conclusion, how much planning and work she had put into making sure that her desired outcome was the only viable option. The decision was never the Council's to make. It was Isetheperu's family to shape, and Isetheperu's crown to give away. She wondered if Hatshepsut could appreciate what her mother had done for her. Wed to a man of common birth, her daughter would have more authority and autonomy than she ever would have if she were to be attached by marriage to another noble family.
"Must I?" Isetheperu countered. With a heaving sigh, she braced her hands on the arms of her chair and lifted herself to her feet. She met her daughter's gaze for only a second more before turning away, treading over the discarded slip of paper on the floor as she circled over to one of the many shelves lining the wall, bracing her hand against the planks for support as she moved. "Why would I do that?"
The pauses of silence that stretched between her words were a familiar trick, she used them deliberately when giving speeches or addressing the Council. They were not meant to be intercepted by the other's words, but rather to draw in attention, to emphasize the weight and gravitas of the idea she was communicating.
Isetheperu considered for a moment, as her fingers traced over the ends of several scrolls, whether she should disclose to Hatshepsut exactly how much of a hand she had had in the final decision. The thought that her daughter might believe she had been brow-beaten into accepting a match she did not acquiesce to was deeply unpleasant; yet, even so, she would much rather the girl direct her ire towards the scapegoat she had made of the Council. She could not risk being pushed out of her own child's good graces in this most important hour.
Still, Hatshepsut needed to understand why this was in her best interests.
"Iahotep is a good match," she continued, almost absently as she stopped at one shelf and began searching through it until her fingers alighted on their prize. She plucked the heavy scroll from the wall and turned to face her daughter once more, but rather than looking at Hatshepsut, she instead meandered over to her nearby desk and began unfolding the worn parchment. "He is a skilled general and tactician, yes, but that is not unique. It is his other qualities that make him the best option for you, and for your family."
She looked up then, and cocked her brown inquisitively.
Before her, Isetheperu had unraveled an extensive, generation-by-generation record of the lineage of Hei Fakhouri, a legacy on paper, one of the queen mother's most prized possessions. "Is this not a small sacrifice to make, to preserve your heritage? Tell me Hatshepsut, what is it that makes the prospect so alarming?"
How impertinent, how naive. Isetheperu pursed her lips as the wrinkled missive fell silently to her feet, before looking back up to meet her daughter's stormy glare. She had known Hatshepsut would not take the news well -- the girl clearly had a preference in suitors, and Iahotep was not him. But she had not bee certain what action the young queen would take upon first receiving it. Despite Isetheperu's displeasure for having the floor of her her library littered, she could forgive her daughter for her childish outburst. Isetheperu supposed that, from Hatshepsut's perspective, this was some of the worst news she could have received.
The girl, of course, did not know of the way her mother had strong-armed the Council into this very conclusion, how much planning and work she had put into making sure that her desired outcome was the only viable option. The decision was never the Council's to make. It was Isetheperu's family to shape, and Isetheperu's crown to give away. She wondered if Hatshepsut could appreciate what her mother had done for her. Wed to a man of common birth, her daughter would have more authority and autonomy than she ever would have if she were to be attached by marriage to another noble family.
"Must I?" Isetheperu countered. With a heaving sigh, she braced her hands on the arms of her chair and lifted herself to her feet. She met her daughter's gaze for only a second more before turning away, treading over the discarded slip of paper on the floor as she circled over to one of the many shelves lining the wall, bracing her hand against the planks for support as she moved. "Why would I do that?"
The pauses of silence that stretched between her words were a familiar trick, she used them deliberately when giving speeches or addressing the Council. They were not meant to be intercepted by the other's words, but rather to draw in attention, to emphasize the weight and gravitas of the idea she was communicating.
Isetheperu considered for a moment, as her fingers traced over the ends of several scrolls, whether she should disclose to Hatshepsut exactly how much of a hand she had had in the final decision. The thought that her daughter might believe she had been brow-beaten into accepting a match she did not acquiesce to was deeply unpleasant; yet, even so, she would much rather the girl direct her ire towards the scapegoat she had made of the Council. She could not risk being pushed out of her own child's good graces in this most important hour.
Still, Hatshepsut needed to understand why this was in her best interests.
"Iahotep is a good match," she continued, almost absently as she stopped at one shelf and began searching through it until her fingers alighted on their prize. She plucked the heavy scroll from the wall and turned to face her daughter once more, but rather than looking at Hatshepsut, she instead meandered over to her nearby desk and began unfolding the worn parchment. "He is a skilled general and tactician, yes, but that is not unique. It is his other qualities that make him the best option for you, and for your family."
She looked up then, and cocked her brown inquisitively.
Before her, Isetheperu had unraveled an extensive, generation-by-generation record of the lineage of Hei Fakhouri, a legacy on paper, one of the queen mother's most prized possessions. "Is this not a small sacrifice to make, to preserve your heritage? Tell me Hatshepsut, what is it that makes the prospect so alarming?"
Hatshepsut felt guilty for her outburst as soon as she heard her mother's sigh and saw herself heave herself to her feet. She had always seemed so strong, so larger than life, to the young girl, but now she looked frail and wearied by the cares of the world. Maybe she had already tried to warn the Council that their decision was foolish and she had failed. Her question, which had first seemed like a denial, may have been a declaration that she had already done so and knew that trying to sway the Council again would be as fruitless as her first attempt.
Why had they chosen Iahotep over Osorsen? What had he done to outshine the man who had stolen her heart? He was not braver nor more intelligent than Osorsen. Did he have some leverage over them? Had he blackmailed them? She doubted not that he had pressured them into it in some way and that he had picked his time carefully, waiting until Osorsen was away.
Her mother must have seen it too and would do something to stop it. Hatshepsut knew that Isetheperu cared for her happiness and probably knew more about her love for Osorsen than she had ever let on. Maybe she was searching through the scrolls to find one that had some sort of precedent that could overturn the Council's decision. Surely there must be one. Hatshepsut was Queen. If she was truly against the match, wouldn't her apprehension be taken into account?
Her mother's next sentence chilled her to the bone. She had not protested the Council's decision after all, and saw no reason why she should. ”Because Iahotep will be a tyrannical Pharaoh!" Hatshepsut no longer felt remorse over her fit of temper. Her voice rose, louder than it had ever risen in Isetheperu's presence. “Egypt will suffer under his rule! Why can't you see that. Mother?”
While she told herself that her main concern was for her people, deep down inside she knew she was thinking mostly of herself and Osorsen and the grand plans they had made. Unable to stand still any longer, she strode over to the crumpled paper and kicked it, thinking how much she would like to kick Iahotep out of her kingdom for good. Her eyes spun from the note to her mother when Isetheperu claimed that Iahotep was a good match.
The older woman had pulled a scroll from the shelf and walked over to her desk without meeting her daughter's eyes. Why won't she look at me? Could it be that she actually backed the Council's decision? No she would never have done that. Yet her words said otherwise. Her own mother believed that Iahotep was the best choice for her. Isetheperu finally met her gaze with a cocked eyebrow and Hatshepsut's curiosity was piqued. She walked to the desk and stood beside her mother, looking down at the lineage of Hei Fakhouri.
And she thought she understood at last. If Hatshepsut had just one son, he would not only be next in line for the throne, but he would be the head of her mother's Hei as well. If she married Osorsen, then Hei Fakhouri might be absorbed into Hei Moghadam and no longer have an identity of its own. Since Isetheperu had lost so many children, she probably feared that Hatshepsut would have trouble bringing babies into the world as well. By agreeing with the Council's decision, she was safeguarding her own heritage, for Iahotep was a commoner and belonged to no great house.
“Yes and no, Mother,” she replied after a few moments of contemplation. “I know my duty to Father's family and your own, but I don't think that Iahotep is the solution you are looking for. You speak to me of sacrifices but you are willing to forfeit my own happiness. Iahotep cares nothing for me. He just wants to be Pharaoh.” Hatshepsut decided not to mention the fact that the general was far too old for her. That would sound petty. “If I marry him, how do you know that he won't wrest your Hei from your control as soon as he takes the throne? I have heard that he is as ruthless as he is ambitious. We could both lose our heritage and our happiness if the Council doesn't reverse its decision.”
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Hatshepsut felt guilty for her outburst as soon as she heard her mother's sigh and saw herself heave herself to her feet. She had always seemed so strong, so larger than life, to the young girl, but now she looked frail and wearied by the cares of the world. Maybe she had already tried to warn the Council that their decision was foolish and she had failed. Her question, which had first seemed like a denial, may have been a declaration that she had already done so and knew that trying to sway the Council again would be as fruitless as her first attempt.
Why had they chosen Iahotep over Osorsen? What had he done to outshine the man who had stolen her heart? He was not braver nor more intelligent than Osorsen. Did he have some leverage over them? Had he blackmailed them? She doubted not that he had pressured them into it in some way and that he had picked his time carefully, waiting until Osorsen was away.
Her mother must have seen it too and would do something to stop it. Hatshepsut knew that Isetheperu cared for her happiness and probably knew more about her love for Osorsen than she had ever let on. Maybe she was searching through the scrolls to find one that had some sort of precedent that could overturn the Council's decision. Surely there must be one. Hatshepsut was Queen. If she was truly against the match, wouldn't her apprehension be taken into account?
Her mother's next sentence chilled her to the bone. She had not protested the Council's decision after all, and saw no reason why she should. ”Because Iahotep will be a tyrannical Pharaoh!" Hatshepsut no longer felt remorse over her fit of temper. Her voice rose, louder than it had ever risen in Isetheperu's presence. “Egypt will suffer under his rule! Why can't you see that. Mother?”
While she told herself that her main concern was for her people, deep down inside she knew she was thinking mostly of herself and Osorsen and the grand plans they had made. Unable to stand still any longer, she strode over to the crumpled paper and kicked it, thinking how much she would like to kick Iahotep out of her kingdom for good. Her eyes spun from the note to her mother when Isetheperu claimed that Iahotep was a good match.
The older woman had pulled a scroll from the shelf and walked over to her desk without meeting her daughter's eyes. Why won't she look at me? Could it be that she actually backed the Council's decision? No she would never have done that. Yet her words said otherwise. Her own mother believed that Iahotep was the best choice for her. Isetheperu finally met her gaze with a cocked eyebrow and Hatshepsut's curiosity was piqued. She walked to the desk and stood beside her mother, looking down at the lineage of Hei Fakhouri.
And she thought she understood at last. If Hatshepsut had just one son, he would not only be next in line for the throne, but he would be the head of her mother's Hei as well. If she married Osorsen, then Hei Fakhouri might be absorbed into Hei Moghadam and no longer have an identity of its own. Since Isetheperu had lost so many children, she probably feared that Hatshepsut would have trouble bringing babies into the world as well. By agreeing with the Council's decision, she was safeguarding her own heritage, for Iahotep was a commoner and belonged to no great house.
“Yes and no, Mother,” she replied after a few moments of contemplation. “I know my duty to Father's family and your own, but I don't think that Iahotep is the solution you are looking for. You speak to me of sacrifices but you are willing to forfeit my own happiness. Iahotep cares nothing for me. He just wants to be Pharaoh.” Hatshepsut decided not to mention the fact that the general was far too old for her. That would sound petty. “If I marry him, how do you know that he won't wrest your Hei from your control as soon as he takes the throne? I have heard that he is as ruthless as he is ambitious. We could both lose our heritage and our happiness if the Council doesn't reverse its decision.”
Hatshepsut felt guilty for her outburst as soon as she heard her mother's sigh and saw herself heave herself to her feet. She had always seemed so strong, so larger than life, to the young girl, but now she looked frail and wearied by the cares of the world. Maybe she had already tried to warn the Council that their decision was foolish and she had failed. Her question, which had first seemed like a denial, may have been a declaration that she had already done so and knew that trying to sway the Council again would be as fruitless as her first attempt.
Why had they chosen Iahotep over Osorsen? What had he done to outshine the man who had stolen her heart? He was not braver nor more intelligent than Osorsen. Did he have some leverage over them? Had he blackmailed them? She doubted not that he had pressured them into it in some way and that he had picked his time carefully, waiting until Osorsen was away.
Her mother must have seen it too and would do something to stop it. Hatshepsut knew that Isetheperu cared for her happiness and probably knew more about her love for Osorsen than she had ever let on. Maybe she was searching through the scrolls to find one that had some sort of precedent that could overturn the Council's decision. Surely there must be one. Hatshepsut was Queen. If she was truly against the match, wouldn't her apprehension be taken into account?
Her mother's next sentence chilled her to the bone. She had not protested the Council's decision after all, and saw no reason why she should. ”Because Iahotep will be a tyrannical Pharaoh!" Hatshepsut no longer felt remorse over her fit of temper. Her voice rose, louder than it had ever risen in Isetheperu's presence. “Egypt will suffer under his rule! Why can't you see that. Mother?”
While she told herself that her main concern was for her people, deep down inside she knew she was thinking mostly of herself and Osorsen and the grand plans they had made. Unable to stand still any longer, she strode over to the crumpled paper and kicked it, thinking how much she would like to kick Iahotep out of her kingdom for good. Her eyes spun from the note to her mother when Isetheperu claimed that Iahotep was a good match.
The older woman had pulled a scroll from the shelf and walked over to her desk without meeting her daughter's eyes. Why won't she look at me? Could it be that she actually backed the Council's decision? No she would never have done that. Yet her words said otherwise. Her own mother believed that Iahotep was the best choice for her. Isetheperu finally met her gaze with a cocked eyebrow and Hatshepsut's curiosity was piqued. She walked to the desk and stood beside her mother, looking down at the lineage of Hei Fakhouri.
And she thought she understood at last. If Hatshepsut had just one son, he would not only be next in line for the throne, but he would be the head of her mother's Hei as well. If she married Osorsen, then Hei Fakhouri might be absorbed into Hei Moghadam and no longer have an identity of its own. Since Isetheperu had lost so many children, she probably feared that Hatshepsut would have trouble bringing babies into the world as well. By agreeing with the Council's decision, she was safeguarding her own heritage, for Iahotep was a commoner and belonged to no great house.
“Yes and no, Mother,” she replied after a few moments of contemplation. “I know my duty to Father's family and your own, but I don't think that Iahotep is the solution you are looking for. You speak to me of sacrifices but you are willing to forfeit my own happiness. Iahotep cares nothing for me. He just wants to be Pharaoh.” Hatshepsut decided not to mention the fact that the general was far too old for her. That would sound petty. “If I marry him, how do you know that he won't wrest your Hei from your control as soon as he takes the throne? I have heard that he is as ruthless as he is ambitious. We could both lose our heritage and our happiness if the Council doesn't reverse its decision.”
A wan smile tugged at Isetheperu's lips at the protestations of her daughter. The girl was either pitiably naive, or she was thoroughly won over by the charms of Sirdar Moghadam. Likely both. As a mother, she could see the anger, the disappointment and fear warring in Hatshepsut's wide eyes -- the very same eyes Isetheperu had seen reflected in her mirror many years ago but which now stared back at her as almost a stranger.
Was there anything she could have done, she wondered, to make the girl more like her? More cunning and ruthless and endlessly wanting for more and more and more? Or would she be unsatisfied with that too, with any approximation of herself which would be poised to take her place in the years to come?
Well, the girl could start by handling her role with the gravitas it deserved. Isetheperu knew, had seen firsthand, that her daughter was intelligent, was observant and not without her own cunning. But she was also inexperienced and impressionable. A child by spirit if no longer by body. She might one day make a fine queen if only Isetheperu could get through to her, to make her understand.
Fear would always be a more powerful motivator than love. Men took love for granted, forgetting their loyalties so easily, believing that what they had already conquered would be theirs forever. It was only the fear of loss which kept them clinging to those things. It was fear that drove men to action, which enticed them to march towards their deaths, which inspired them to obey, to cherish what they had, to seek greatness.
Of course Iahotep would be a tyrant; he and Isetheperu were too similar. But the young queen-to-be was fooling herself if she believed that the path to the throne required anything less.
Love had no place in leading.
"Oh, my little star," Isetheperu lamented, reaching forward to run her fingers through her daughter's silken hair. Her head nodded slightly side to side, a fleeting moment of true regret darkening her own expression before Isetheperu pulled herself in, bowing Hatshepsut's head under her hand as she planted a kiss to the girl's brow. She lingered there briefly before releasing her, her hand sliding down to rest against her daughter's cheek, then her shoulder.
Of everyone Isetheperu had met in her decades of life, she was sure none deserved happiness more than the darling girl before her now. How precious Hatshapesut was, how gentle and charming and altogether beautiful in all the best ways, free from the desperate yawning void which Isetheperu felt consuming every second of her own life. The girl was good and kind. Unfortunately, fate was not.
"You must know, happiness is the price we pay for this life." She gestured vaguely at the room, the gilded furnishings, their fines clothes, the palace around them, the guards waiting behind the door, the parchment laid out before them.
All of this had to be earned one way or another, coming as a gift from the gods, but the cost was a steep one, and though many yearned for it, few were willing to accept the cost. It was not a debt Hatshepsut had asked to inherit in the way Isetheperu had, but inherit it she had. And now, regardless of whether or not such was fair or just, she must live with the consequences of her mother's sins. They wielded the power to have anything they so desired, save one exception. Since the dawn of time, men had put their lives on the line to risk just a glimpse of such power. But if there was one thing Isetheperu felt sorry for, it was entangling the life of her innocent child in the chains of such nasty business.
Still, she had made her choices, had sown her lot, and there was no room for regret in the endless pit of her desire. She had done only ever done what was right for her and her family. There was only ever one way forward.
Isetheperu took in her daughter's plea, trying not to lash out as her own frustration ebbed and swelled with every passing word. "The same things have often been said about me, my dear. How far your opinion of me must have fallen, to think that I would be manipulated as you've described." A part of her almost wished Iahotep would have the gall to take control of her house, if only to have the satisfaction of watching him try before recoiling like a man burned alive. Her old friend knew Isetheperu as well as she knew him, and understood that whatever move he tried to make against her would be reflected and amplified tenfold.
"All men just want to be Pharaoh," she intoned, taking a half-step back and turning once more to re-wrap the scroll on her desk, her point having been made. Delicate sheepskin coiled tenderly in her hands as she continued, hoping that her words would be taken as the warning that they were. Surely she did not need to speak Osorsen H'Moghadam's name for him to be near in her daughter's thoughts. Isetheperu liked the man and his family, but the friendship between himself and Hatshepsut had festered into something which had grown beyond even her control. The sirdar was no fool himself, being as sharp as he was charming, and though the Queen Regent had looked upon him as a son for many years, she was not convinced that his motives were wholly pure when he sunk his hooks into the Queen-to-be.
"Do not think that I -- and the Council," Isetheperu added hastily, not wishing to alienate her daughter by admitting outright that the decision had been almost entirely hers, "-- have neglected to consider this result from every conceivable angle. You do not have to like the decision, but you do have to accept it. The sooner you do so, the sooner you will see that your situation is not so bleak as you believe."
As she finished wrapping the leather cover back across the diameter of the scroll in her hands, Isetheperu continued. "Egypt has survived far worse than Iahotep," she angled to lift the scroll into the space between them as if to emphasize and meeting her daughter's gaze with her own pointed look. "So will you."
She paused and tilted her head in consideration before adding, "And before you protest his age, just consider: you won't have to wait so long before you are free."
Not so long as I did, Isetheperu thought but refrained from adding. Hatshepsut had such in idealized memory of her father Imopehatsuma. There was no need to further antagonize her by denying the girl that as well.
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A wan smile tugged at Isetheperu's lips at the protestations of her daughter. The girl was either pitiably naive, or she was thoroughly won over by the charms of Sirdar Moghadam. Likely both. As a mother, she could see the anger, the disappointment and fear warring in Hatshepsut's wide eyes -- the very same eyes Isetheperu had seen reflected in her mirror many years ago but which now stared back at her as almost a stranger.
Was there anything she could have done, she wondered, to make the girl more like her? More cunning and ruthless and endlessly wanting for more and more and more? Or would she be unsatisfied with that too, with any approximation of herself which would be poised to take her place in the years to come?
Well, the girl could start by handling her role with the gravitas it deserved. Isetheperu knew, had seen firsthand, that her daughter was intelligent, was observant and not without her own cunning. But she was also inexperienced and impressionable. A child by spirit if no longer by body. She might one day make a fine queen if only Isetheperu could get through to her, to make her understand.
Fear would always be a more powerful motivator than love. Men took love for granted, forgetting their loyalties so easily, believing that what they had already conquered would be theirs forever. It was only the fear of loss which kept them clinging to those things. It was fear that drove men to action, which enticed them to march towards their deaths, which inspired them to obey, to cherish what they had, to seek greatness.
Of course Iahotep would be a tyrant; he and Isetheperu were too similar. But the young queen-to-be was fooling herself if she believed that the path to the throne required anything less.
Love had no place in leading.
"Oh, my little star," Isetheperu lamented, reaching forward to run her fingers through her daughter's silken hair. Her head nodded slightly side to side, a fleeting moment of true regret darkening her own expression before Isetheperu pulled herself in, bowing Hatshepsut's head under her hand as she planted a kiss to the girl's brow. She lingered there briefly before releasing her, her hand sliding down to rest against her daughter's cheek, then her shoulder.
Of everyone Isetheperu had met in her decades of life, she was sure none deserved happiness more than the darling girl before her now. How precious Hatshapesut was, how gentle and charming and altogether beautiful in all the best ways, free from the desperate yawning void which Isetheperu felt consuming every second of her own life. The girl was good and kind. Unfortunately, fate was not.
"You must know, happiness is the price we pay for this life." She gestured vaguely at the room, the gilded furnishings, their fines clothes, the palace around them, the guards waiting behind the door, the parchment laid out before them.
All of this had to be earned one way or another, coming as a gift from the gods, but the cost was a steep one, and though many yearned for it, few were willing to accept the cost. It was not a debt Hatshepsut had asked to inherit in the way Isetheperu had, but inherit it she had. And now, regardless of whether or not such was fair or just, she must live with the consequences of her mother's sins. They wielded the power to have anything they so desired, save one exception. Since the dawn of time, men had put their lives on the line to risk just a glimpse of such power. But if there was one thing Isetheperu felt sorry for, it was entangling the life of her innocent child in the chains of such nasty business.
Still, she had made her choices, had sown her lot, and there was no room for regret in the endless pit of her desire. She had done only ever done what was right for her and her family. There was only ever one way forward.
Isetheperu took in her daughter's plea, trying not to lash out as her own frustration ebbed and swelled with every passing word. "The same things have often been said about me, my dear. How far your opinion of me must have fallen, to think that I would be manipulated as you've described." A part of her almost wished Iahotep would have the gall to take control of her house, if only to have the satisfaction of watching him try before recoiling like a man burned alive. Her old friend knew Isetheperu as well as she knew him, and understood that whatever move he tried to make against her would be reflected and amplified tenfold.
"All men just want to be Pharaoh," she intoned, taking a half-step back and turning once more to re-wrap the scroll on her desk, her point having been made. Delicate sheepskin coiled tenderly in her hands as she continued, hoping that her words would be taken as the warning that they were. Surely she did not need to speak Osorsen H'Moghadam's name for him to be near in her daughter's thoughts. Isetheperu liked the man and his family, but the friendship between himself and Hatshepsut had festered into something which had grown beyond even her control. The sirdar was no fool himself, being as sharp as he was charming, and though the Queen Regent had looked upon him as a son for many years, she was not convinced that his motives were wholly pure when he sunk his hooks into the Queen-to-be.
"Do not think that I -- and the Council," Isetheperu added hastily, not wishing to alienate her daughter by admitting outright that the decision had been almost entirely hers, "-- have neglected to consider this result from every conceivable angle. You do not have to like the decision, but you do have to accept it. The sooner you do so, the sooner you will see that your situation is not so bleak as you believe."
As she finished wrapping the leather cover back across the diameter of the scroll in her hands, Isetheperu continued. "Egypt has survived far worse than Iahotep," she angled to lift the scroll into the space between them as if to emphasize and meeting her daughter's gaze with her own pointed look. "So will you."
She paused and tilted her head in consideration before adding, "And before you protest his age, just consider: you won't have to wait so long before you are free."
Not so long as I did, Isetheperu thought but refrained from adding. Hatshepsut had such in idealized memory of her father Imopehatsuma. There was no need to further antagonize her by denying the girl that as well.
A wan smile tugged at Isetheperu's lips at the protestations of her daughter. The girl was either pitiably naive, or she was thoroughly won over by the charms of Sirdar Moghadam. Likely both. As a mother, she could see the anger, the disappointment and fear warring in Hatshepsut's wide eyes -- the very same eyes Isetheperu had seen reflected in her mirror many years ago but which now stared back at her as almost a stranger.
Was there anything she could have done, she wondered, to make the girl more like her? More cunning and ruthless and endlessly wanting for more and more and more? Or would she be unsatisfied with that too, with any approximation of herself which would be poised to take her place in the years to come?
Well, the girl could start by handling her role with the gravitas it deserved. Isetheperu knew, had seen firsthand, that her daughter was intelligent, was observant and not without her own cunning. But she was also inexperienced and impressionable. A child by spirit if no longer by body. She might one day make a fine queen if only Isetheperu could get through to her, to make her understand.
Fear would always be a more powerful motivator than love. Men took love for granted, forgetting their loyalties so easily, believing that what they had already conquered would be theirs forever. It was only the fear of loss which kept them clinging to those things. It was fear that drove men to action, which enticed them to march towards their deaths, which inspired them to obey, to cherish what they had, to seek greatness.
Of course Iahotep would be a tyrant; he and Isetheperu were too similar. But the young queen-to-be was fooling herself if she believed that the path to the throne required anything less.
Love had no place in leading.
"Oh, my little star," Isetheperu lamented, reaching forward to run her fingers through her daughter's silken hair. Her head nodded slightly side to side, a fleeting moment of true regret darkening her own expression before Isetheperu pulled herself in, bowing Hatshepsut's head under her hand as she planted a kiss to the girl's brow. She lingered there briefly before releasing her, her hand sliding down to rest against her daughter's cheek, then her shoulder.
Of everyone Isetheperu had met in her decades of life, she was sure none deserved happiness more than the darling girl before her now. How precious Hatshapesut was, how gentle and charming and altogether beautiful in all the best ways, free from the desperate yawning void which Isetheperu felt consuming every second of her own life. The girl was good and kind. Unfortunately, fate was not.
"You must know, happiness is the price we pay for this life." She gestured vaguely at the room, the gilded furnishings, their fines clothes, the palace around them, the guards waiting behind the door, the parchment laid out before them.
All of this had to be earned one way or another, coming as a gift from the gods, but the cost was a steep one, and though many yearned for it, few were willing to accept the cost. It was not a debt Hatshepsut had asked to inherit in the way Isetheperu had, but inherit it she had. And now, regardless of whether or not such was fair or just, she must live with the consequences of her mother's sins. They wielded the power to have anything they so desired, save one exception. Since the dawn of time, men had put their lives on the line to risk just a glimpse of such power. But if there was one thing Isetheperu felt sorry for, it was entangling the life of her innocent child in the chains of such nasty business.
Still, she had made her choices, had sown her lot, and there was no room for regret in the endless pit of her desire. She had done only ever done what was right for her and her family. There was only ever one way forward.
Isetheperu took in her daughter's plea, trying not to lash out as her own frustration ebbed and swelled with every passing word. "The same things have often been said about me, my dear. How far your opinion of me must have fallen, to think that I would be manipulated as you've described." A part of her almost wished Iahotep would have the gall to take control of her house, if only to have the satisfaction of watching him try before recoiling like a man burned alive. Her old friend knew Isetheperu as well as she knew him, and understood that whatever move he tried to make against her would be reflected and amplified tenfold.
"All men just want to be Pharaoh," she intoned, taking a half-step back and turning once more to re-wrap the scroll on her desk, her point having been made. Delicate sheepskin coiled tenderly in her hands as she continued, hoping that her words would be taken as the warning that they were. Surely she did not need to speak Osorsen H'Moghadam's name for him to be near in her daughter's thoughts. Isetheperu liked the man and his family, but the friendship between himself and Hatshepsut had festered into something which had grown beyond even her control. The sirdar was no fool himself, being as sharp as he was charming, and though the Queen Regent had looked upon him as a son for many years, she was not convinced that his motives were wholly pure when he sunk his hooks into the Queen-to-be.
"Do not think that I -- and the Council," Isetheperu added hastily, not wishing to alienate her daughter by admitting outright that the decision had been almost entirely hers, "-- have neglected to consider this result from every conceivable angle. You do not have to like the decision, but you do have to accept it. The sooner you do so, the sooner you will see that your situation is not so bleak as you believe."
As she finished wrapping the leather cover back across the diameter of the scroll in her hands, Isetheperu continued. "Egypt has survived far worse than Iahotep," she angled to lift the scroll into the space between them as if to emphasize and meeting her daughter's gaze with her own pointed look. "So will you."
She paused and tilted her head in consideration before adding, "And before you protest his age, just consider: you won't have to wait so long before you are free."
Not so long as I did, Isetheperu thought but refrained from adding. Hatshepsut had such in idealized memory of her father Imopehatsuma. There was no need to further antagonize her by denying the girl that as well.
By assuming the position of Queen of Egypt at only six years old, Hatshepsut had not been able to enjoy a normal childhood. Sometimes she had been distracted from her studies by the laughter of the servant's children and had watched them through the window as they played on the palace grounds. Oh, how she had wished to join them, to be so blissfully carefree. Yet even then she'd had to prepare for the role that she had been born to and had little time for herself. She had been happy but she had not had the freedom to do as she pleased despite the power of her exalted position. The young girl had felt trapped, and that feeling had intensified since she had received the note. Her life was not her own … had never been … and she knew that, but why did what she loved most have to be cruelly snatched away from her?
At nearly sixteen, she believed herself to be quite worldly and sophisticated, but in truth, she had been pampered and coddled and protected from the harsher realities of life. Hatshepsut had never thought of herself as naïve or unambitious at all. She had made plans with Osorsen for ruling Egypt together. They had even discussed this eventuality … that another man would be chosen instead of him and they would have to fight for what they both believed in. Now that he was gone and she had to face this on her own, she was beginning to realize just how young and inexperienced she really was. But that was a secret. Nobody else could know of her own insecurities. Not even her own mother.
She felt vulnerable, exposed, afraid. The young Queen had thought that her future with Osorsen was set in stone, that she had her life under control, but now the destiny she thought had been hers had been pulled from underneath her. Now she was falling, falling, into unknown waters, flailing to keep her head above water though she knew that she was slowly drowning. The Council stood above her on safe ground, laughing at her. And her own mother …
My little star.
How long had it been since Isetheperu called her that sweet affectionate name from her childhood? It seemed like forever but it might have been only yesterday. Her entire world had changed in the last hour. Some of the tension in her body eased as her mother's fingers gently brushed through her long dark hair. Hatshepsut wanted to rush into her arms and cling to her as she had done when she was a little girl, but she was grown now and she was afraid that the woman she worshiped above all others would push her away. Instead, she must be content with a kiss upon her forehead and a brief caress, which was comforting in its own way, but left her wanting more.
“Yes, I know,” she said softly, her expressive dark following her mother's hand as she gestured to the finely appointed room. Since she became capable of coherent thought, she had known that she must sacrifice her happiness for the good of the kingdom, but she had never imagined the future laid out for her would be so unbearable. Even before she had fallen in love with Osorsen, she had hoped for a husband whom she could at least like. She felt nothing but contempt for Iahotep. “But not like this. I am being condemned to a fate worse than death.”
That sounded so childish, but it was the way she felt. “You are not a tyrant, Mother, no matter what people say. Everything you did, every decision you made, was for the sake of Egypt. Iahotep's main concern will be for himself, and if he wants what's yours, he will find a way to take it.” Maybe he wouldn't succeed. Isetheperu was ruthless and ambitious as well, but Hatshepsut feared if anyone stood in the new Pharaoh's way, he would find a way to rid himself of them. “Our son will be head of your Hei. If you stand in his way, he might have you assassinated so that he can rule through your grandchild.”
Her mother was right. All men wanted to be Pharaoh. That was precisely the reason so many of them had tried to gain her favor even when she was a child. But Osorsen was different. Hatshepsut believed that even had she been a lowly slave girl, he would still have loved her enough to marry her. Ruling Egypt was secondary to his devotion for her. She saw it in his eyes whenever he looked upon her.
As Isetheperu reminded her of her duty, the young Queen wondered if her mother would have accepted her fate as readily as she urged her daughter to do, or if she would have fought against it tooth and nail. Her situation had been different. She'd had to marry the Pharaoh to become Queen and the most important and most revered woman in the kingdom. Hatshepsut had been born into that position and she would gain nothing from this union but eternal misery. It also seemed as if Isetheperu agreed with the Council and would not try to get her out of a future she wanted no part of.
Her anger returned in full force and she whirled away from her mother, her dark eyes flashing fire. “Egypt never had to sleep with her Pharaoh or put her life in danger by bearing his children!” Hatshepsut shivered at the notion of being intimate with Iahotep. “The thought of him touching me appalls me. It will be torture to submit to him as a wife must do to a husband. Maybe you're right and I will still be young when he passes away, but I will have to endure his attentions until then. I don't want his children either. I want ...” She almost said 'Osorsen's children' but stopped herself in time.
Suddenly, she flew into her mother's arms, clinging to her as if she was her lifeline. Tears streamed down her face. “I cannot accept it, Mother. I know my duty, but there must be another way, a better choice, something ...”
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By assuming the position of Queen of Egypt at only six years old, Hatshepsut had not been able to enjoy a normal childhood. Sometimes she had been distracted from her studies by the laughter of the servant's children and had watched them through the window as they played on the palace grounds. Oh, how she had wished to join them, to be so blissfully carefree. Yet even then she'd had to prepare for the role that she had been born to and had little time for herself. She had been happy but she had not had the freedom to do as she pleased despite the power of her exalted position. The young girl had felt trapped, and that feeling had intensified since she had received the note. Her life was not her own … had never been … and she knew that, but why did what she loved most have to be cruelly snatched away from her?
At nearly sixteen, she believed herself to be quite worldly and sophisticated, but in truth, she had been pampered and coddled and protected from the harsher realities of life. Hatshepsut had never thought of herself as naïve or unambitious at all. She had made plans with Osorsen for ruling Egypt together. They had even discussed this eventuality … that another man would be chosen instead of him and they would have to fight for what they both believed in. Now that he was gone and she had to face this on her own, she was beginning to realize just how young and inexperienced she really was. But that was a secret. Nobody else could know of her own insecurities. Not even her own mother.
She felt vulnerable, exposed, afraid. The young Queen had thought that her future with Osorsen was set in stone, that she had her life under control, but now the destiny she thought had been hers had been pulled from underneath her. Now she was falling, falling, into unknown waters, flailing to keep her head above water though she knew that she was slowly drowning. The Council stood above her on safe ground, laughing at her. And her own mother …
My little star.
How long had it been since Isetheperu called her that sweet affectionate name from her childhood? It seemed like forever but it might have been only yesterday. Her entire world had changed in the last hour. Some of the tension in her body eased as her mother's fingers gently brushed through her long dark hair. Hatshepsut wanted to rush into her arms and cling to her as she had done when she was a little girl, but she was grown now and she was afraid that the woman she worshiped above all others would push her away. Instead, she must be content with a kiss upon her forehead and a brief caress, which was comforting in its own way, but left her wanting more.
“Yes, I know,” she said softly, her expressive dark following her mother's hand as she gestured to the finely appointed room. Since she became capable of coherent thought, she had known that she must sacrifice her happiness for the good of the kingdom, but she had never imagined the future laid out for her would be so unbearable. Even before she had fallen in love with Osorsen, she had hoped for a husband whom she could at least like. She felt nothing but contempt for Iahotep. “But not like this. I am being condemned to a fate worse than death.”
That sounded so childish, but it was the way she felt. “You are not a tyrant, Mother, no matter what people say. Everything you did, every decision you made, was for the sake of Egypt. Iahotep's main concern will be for himself, and if he wants what's yours, he will find a way to take it.” Maybe he wouldn't succeed. Isetheperu was ruthless and ambitious as well, but Hatshepsut feared if anyone stood in the new Pharaoh's way, he would find a way to rid himself of them. “Our son will be head of your Hei. If you stand in his way, he might have you assassinated so that he can rule through your grandchild.”
Her mother was right. All men wanted to be Pharaoh. That was precisely the reason so many of them had tried to gain her favor even when she was a child. But Osorsen was different. Hatshepsut believed that even had she been a lowly slave girl, he would still have loved her enough to marry her. Ruling Egypt was secondary to his devotion for her. She saw it in his eyes whenever he looked upon her.
As Isetheperu reminded her of her duty, the young Queen wondered if her mother would have accepted her fate as readily as she urged her daughter to do, or if she would have fought against it tooth and nail. Her situation had been different. She'd had to marry the Pharaoh to become Queen and the most important and most revered woman in the kingdom. Hatshepsut had been born into that position and she would gain nothing from this union but eternal misery. It also seemed as if Isetheperu agreed with the Council and would not try to get her out of a future she wanted no part of.
Her anger returned in full force and she whirled away from her mother, her dark eyes flashing fire. “Egypt never had to sleep with her Pharaoh or put her life in danger by bearing his children!” Hatshepsut shivered at the notion of being intimate with Iahotep. “The thought of him touching me appalls me. It will be torture to submit to him as a wife must do to a husband. Maybe you're right and I will still be young when he passes away, but I will have to endure his attentions until then. I don't want his children either. I want ...” She almost said 'Osorsen's children' but stopped herself in time.
Suddenly, she flew into her mother's arms, clinging to her as if she was her lifeline. Tears streamed down her face. “I cannot accept it, Mother. I know my duty, but there must be another way, a better choice, something ...”
By assuming the position of Queen of Egypt at only six years old, Hatshepsut had not been able to enjoy a normal childhood. Sometimes she had been distracted from her studies by the laughter of the servant's children and had watched them through the window as they played on the palace grounds. Oh, how she had wished to join them, to be so blissfully carefree. Yet even then she'd had to prepare for the role that she had been born to and had little time for herself. She had been happy but she had not had the freedom to do as she pleased despite the power of her exalted position. The young girl had felt trapped, and that feeling had intensified since she had received the note. Her life was not her own … had never been … and she knew that, but why did what she loved most have to be cruelly snatched away from her?
At nearly sixteen, she believed herself to be quite worldly and sophisticated, but in truth, she had been pampered and coddled and protected from the harsher realities of life. Hatshepsut had never thought of herself as naïve or unambitious at all. She had made plans with Osorsen for ruling Egypt together. They had even discussed this eventuality … that another man would be chosen instead of him and they would have to fight for what they both believed in. Now that he was gone and she had to face this on her own, she was beginning to realize just how young and inexperienced she really was. But that was a secret. Nobody else could know of her own insecurities. Not even her own mother.
She felt vulnerable, exposed, afraid. The young Queen had thought that her future with Osorsen was set in stone, that she had her life under control, but now the destiny she thought had been hers had been pulled from underneath her. Now she was falling, falling, into unknown waters, flailing to keep her head above water though she knew that she was slowly drowning. The Council stood above her on safe ground, laughing at her. And her own mother …
My little star.
How long had it been since Isetheperu called her that sweet affectionate name from her childhood? It seemed like forever but it might have been only yesterday. Her entire world had changed in the last hour. Some of the tension in her body eased as her mother's fingers gently brushed through her long dark hair. Hatshepsut wanted to rush into her arms and cling to her as she had done when she was a little girl, but she was grown now and she was afraid that the woman she worshiped above all others would push her away. Instead, she must be content with a kiss upon her forehead and a brief caress, which was comforting in its own way, but left her wanting more.
“Yes, I know,” she said softly, her expressive dark following her mother's hand as she gestured to the finely appointed room. Since she became capable of coherent thought, she had known that she must sacrifice her happiness for the good of the kingdom, but she had never imagined the future laid out for her would be so unbearable. Even before she had fallen in love with Osorsen, she had hoped for a husband whom she could at least like. She felt nothing but contempt for Iahotep. “But not like this. I am being condemned to a fate worse than death.”
That sounded so childish, but it was the way she felt. “You are not a tyrant, Mother, no matter what people say. Everything you did, every decision you made, was for the sake of Egypt. Iahotep's main concern will be for himself, and if he wants what's yours, he will find a way to take it.” Maybe he wouldn't succeed. Isetheperu was ruthless and ambitious as well, but Hatshepsut feared if anyone stood in the new Pharaoh's way, he would find a way to rid himself of them. “Our son will be head of your Hei. If you stand in his way, he might have you assassinated so that he can rule through your grandchild.”
Her mother was right. All men wanted to be Pharaoh. That was precisely the reason so many of them had tried to gain her favor even when she was a child. But Osorsen was different. Hatshepsut believed that even had she been a lowly slave girl, he would still have loved her enough to marry her. Ruling Egypt was secondary to his devotion for her. She saw it in his eyes whenever he looked upon her.
As Isetheperu reminded her of her duty, the young Queen wondered if her mother would have accepted her fate as readily as she urged her daughter to do, or if she would have fought against it tooth and nail. Her situation had been different. She'd had to marry the Pharaoh to become Queen and the most important and most revered woman in the kingdom. Hatshepsut had been born into that position and she would gain nothing from this union but eternal misery. It also seemed as if Isetheperu agreed with the Council and would not try to get her out of a future she wanted no part of.
Her anger returned in full force and she whirled away from her mother, her dark eyes flashing fire. “Egypt never had to sleep with her Pharaoh or put her life in danger by bearing his children!” Hatshepsut shivered at the notion of being intimate with Iahotep. “The thought of him touching me appalls me. It will be torture to submit to him as a wife must do to a husband. Maybe you're right and I will still be young when he passes away, but I will have to endure his attentions until then. I don't want his children either. I want ...” She almost said 'Osorsen's children' but stopped herself in time.
Suddenly, she flew into her mother's arms, clinging to her as if she was her lifeline. Tears streamed down her face. “I cannot accept it, Mother. I know my duty, but there must be another way, a better choice, something ...”
The fear in her daughter’s voice was palpable, an icy fist whose fingers wound around Isetheperu’s own heart with its vice grip. As a mother, of course all she longed for was for Hatshepsut to be happy and safe, to put a smile on her lips, and the girl’s own anxieties spread like a sickness from her to her mother. The girl genuinely believed that Iahotep was the most wicked of men, that he was all but evil incarnate, and Isetheperu couldn’t blame her. To this day, she herself still wavered on the grounds of whether or not she actually liked the man, but she would also hazard to claim that she knew him better than most. She could tell from the first moment she met him that he was a cruel sort of man, but that hadn't stopped her from managing him in the past.
Hatshepsut’s contention had her pushing her mother away, then pulling her closer in the same breath, and the heat in her gaze, the defiance, was comforting in their familiarity. The girl was special, chosen by the gods for life when so many of her brothers and sisters had been denied the privilege. Though she often grew frustrated with her daughter’s idealism, Isetheperu knew that Hatshepsut embodied the best of both her parents. If the girl only took after her mother, if she were cunning and ruthless, Isetheperu would not have had to worry so much about her. She could have trusted that the girl would be able to look after herself in the absence of her mother. But it was the traits of her father, the naivete and passion and wonder, which had so endeared Hatshepsut to the people of Egypt. If the girl could embrace both halves with the same fiery acuity Isetheperu saw in that one look, perhaps there was some hope for the girl’s future after all.
But for now, as Isetheperu folded her arms around Hatsheptsut’s softly quivering form, a daughter needed her mother. Perhaps all a girl needed was a safe harbor. The best course of action was not telling Hatshepsut to simply accept her fate and move forward, but instead guiding her through the process. After all, there was nothing Isetheperu could say to make her revile Iahotep any less, when the alternative of the young and charming Osorsen in her daughter’s mind was so much more appealing. There was no changing the girl’s feelings, not here and not now.
“Shh…” the Queen Mother cooed as she held her daughter in a tight embrace, wishing that her touch alone could bring some semblance of peace to Hatshepsut’s troubled mind. A few wordless moments passed with Isetheperu running her hands lightly through the girl’s hair and over her back. When she spoke, it was as if some long-forgotten emotion was strangling the air in her throat. “Do not think I would not subject you to anything so horrible that I would not bear it myself.” The grim nature of her words were softened by the tone with which they were spoken.
“It will be difficult for you, I will not deny that, and you are within your rights to be angry, and to express that anger.” She pulled back slightly, enough to cup a hand on her daughter’s wet cheek and gently stroke at the tear tracks stained there. “But my girl, if you have any love for me, you must do this. I beg of you to trust me when I say that there is no other way. Trust me to protect you, as I have always done."
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The fear in her daughter’s voice was palpable, an icy fist whose fingers wound around Isetheperu’s own heart with its vice grip. As a mother, of course all she longed for was for Hatshepsut to be happy and safe, to put a smile on her lips, and the girl’s own anxieties spread like a sickness from her to her mother. The girl genuinely believed that Iahotep was the most wicked of men, that he was all but evil incarnate, and Isetheperu couldn’t blame her. To this day, she herself still wavered on the grounds of whether or not she actually liked the man, but she would also hazard to claim that she knew him better than most. She could tell from the first moment she met him that he was a cruel sort of man, but that hadn't stopped her from managing him in the past.
Hatshepsut’s contention had her pushing her mother away, then pulling her closer in the same breath, and the heat in her gaze, the defiance, was comforting in their familiarity. The girl was special, chosen by the gods for life when so many of her brothers and sisters had been denied the privilege. Though she often grew frustrated with her daughter’s idealism, Isetheperu knew that Hatshepsut embodied the best of both her parents. If the girl only took after her mother, if she were cunning and ruthless, Isetheperu would not have had to worry so much about her. She could have trusted that the girl would be able to look after herself in the absence of her mother. But it was the traits of her father, the naivete and passion and wonder, which had so endeared Hatshepsut to the people of Egypt. If the girl could embrace both halves with the same fiery acuity Isetheperu saw in that one look, perhaps there was some hope for the girl’s future after all.
But for now, as Isetheperu folded her arms around Hatsheptsut’s softly quivering form, a daughter needed her mother. Perhaps all a girl needed was a safe harbor. The best course of action was not telling Hatshepsut to simply accept her fate and move forward, but instead guiding her through the process. After all, there was nothing Isetheperu could say to make her revile Iahotep any less, when the alternative of the young and charming Osorsen in her daughter’s mind was so much more appealing. There was no changing the girl’s feelings, not here and not now.
“Shh…” the Queen Mother cooed as she held her daughter in a tight embrace, wishing that her touch alone could bring some semblance of peace to Hatshepsut’s troubled mind. A few wordless moments passed with Isetheperu running her hands lightly through the girl’s hair and over her back. When she spoke, it was as if some long-forgotten emotion was strangling the air in her throat. “Do not think I would not subject you to anything so horrible that I would not bear it myself.” The grim nature of her words were softened by the tone with which they were spoken.
“It will be difficult for you, I will not deny that, and you are within your rights to be angry, and to express that anger.” She pulled back slightly, enough to cup a hand on her daughter’s wet cheek and gently stroke at the tear tracks stained there. “But my girl, if you have any love for me, you must do this. I beg of you to trust me when I say that there is no other way. Trust me to protect you, as I have always done."
The fear in her daughter’s voice was palpable, an icy fist whose fingers wound around Isetheperu’s own heart with its vice grip. As a mother, of course all she longed for was for Hatshepsut to be happy and safe, to put a smile on her lips, and the girl’s own anxieties spread like a sickness from her to her mother. The girl genuinely believed that Iahotep was the most wicked of men, that he was all but evil incarnate, and Isetheperu couldn’t blame her. To this day, she herself still wavered on the grounds of whether or not she actually liked the man, but she would also hazard to claim that she knew him better than most. She could tell from the first moment she met him that he was a cruel sort of man, but that hadn't stopped her from managing him in the past.
Hatshepsut’s contention had her pushing her mother away, then pulling her closer in the same breath, and the heat in her gaze, the defiance, was comforting in their familiarity. The girl was special, chosen by the gods for life when so many of her brothers and sisters had been denied the privilege. Though she often grew frustrated with her daughter’s idealism, Isetheperu knew that Hatshepsut embodied the best of both her parents. If the girl only took after her mother, if she were cunning and ruthless, Isetheperu would not have had to worry so much about her. She could have trusted that the girl would be able to look after herself in the absence of her mother. But it was the traits of her father, the naivete and passion and wonder, which had so endeared Hatshepsut to the people of Egypt. If the girl could embrace both halves with the same fiery acuity Isetheperu saw in that one look, perhaps there was some hope for the girl’s future after all.
But for now, as Isetheperu folded her arms around Hatsheptsut’s softly quivering form, a daughter needed her mother. Perhaps all a girl needed was a safe harbor. The best course of action was not telling Hatshepsut to simply accept her fate and move forward, but instead guiding her through the process. After all, there was nothing Isetheperu could say to make her revile Iahotep any less, when the alternative of the young and charming Osorsen in her daughter’s mind was so much more appealing. There was no changing the girl’s feelings, not here and not now.
“Shh…” the Queen Mother cooed as she held her daughter in a tight embrace, wishing that her touch alone could bring some semblance of peace to Hatshepsut’s troubled mind. A few wordless moments passed with Isetheperu running her hands lightly through the girl’s hair and over her back. When she spoke, it was as if some long-forgotten emotion was strangling the air in her throat. “Do not think I would not subject you to anything so horrible that I would not bear it myself.” The grim nature of her words were softened by the tone with which they were spoken.
“It will be difficult for you, I will not deny that, and you are within your rights to be angry, and to express that anger.” She pulled back slightly, enough to cup a hand on her daughter’s wet cheek and gently stroke at the tear tracks stained there. “But my girl, if you have any love for me, you must do this. I beg of you to trust me when I say that there is no other way. Trust me to protect you, as I have always done."
Some of the tension left Hatshepsut’s young body as her mother’s arms closed around her. Within the circle of her embrace, she was safe and always would be. It was quite rare for Isetheperu to show so much affection, though the petite Queen knew that she loved her … the only daughter she had borne who had actually drawn breath. She savored her mother’s warmth and breathed deeply of her perfume, at peace with the world for at least this one moment in time. A long sigh escaped her lips as she felt the loving strokes on her hair and her back. Isetheperu did not seem to mind the tears that soaked her kalisaris, tears that would not stop flowing even though Hatshepsut willed them to.
She was showing weakness, a luxury that a Queen could not indulge in. The young girl had began learning that lesson as soon as she was capable of coherent thought, as well as constantly being reminded that her life was not … and never would be … her own. Sacrifices for the sake of Egypt would always be required of her and she had believed that she would be willing to make them.
Just not this one.
Demanding that she marry Iahotep was asking too much of her. She wanted Osorsen and as she clung to her mother, she realized that she would have protested a marriage with anyone other than him. If she had been betrothed to the kindest, most handsome man in the kingdom, she would still not be happy. Osorson was her world and no one else would ever hold a candle to him.
Still, she didn’t think she was exaggerating Iahotep’s cruelty. Hatshepsut had never spoken to him but she had seen him a few times. Everything about him oozed wickedness and depravity, from the way he walked to the way he observed other people. He wanted power and he had found a way to get it.
And there. Her mother had just admitted that what her daughter was facing was a horrendous fate. It was easy to say that she would be willing to subject herself to the same thing, since she would never have to. The young Queen’s father had been a kind and gentle man. At least that was how she remembered him. Now that she was grown, she suspected that Isetheperu had been the power behind the throne all along and that the late Pharaoh had listened to her and taken her advice. He would have objected to this course of action, though. He would never give his precious only child to a man she could not stand.
Her mother told her that the path that had been chosen for her would not be easy. That’s the understatement of the year, she thought bitterly, but as Isetheperu pulled back and caressed her wet cheek, wiping her tears away, Hatshepsut felt her anger slowly dissipating. Maybe there was something that she didn’t know, a crucial piece of this disturbing and perplexing puzzle that was being withheld from her for some reason she could not fathom. Her mother never begged, yet now she was pleading for the young Queen to trust her. Maybe she really could shield her from Iahotep’s malicious nature.
“I do trust you, Mother,” she said in a small, timid voice. The tears had finally stopped flowing. “And I know you will always protect me. But why is this the only way?” A thought suddenly occurred to her and she met Isetheperu’s gaze. “This union was not the Council’s idea, was it?” She stepped back and regarded her mother suspiciously. “It was yours.”
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Some of the tension left Hatshepsut’s young body as her mother’s arms closed around her. Within the circle of her embrace, she was safe and always would be. It was quite rare for Isetheperu to show so much affection, though the petite Queen knew that she loved her … the only daughter she had borne who had actually drawn breath. She savored her mother’s warmth and breathed deeply of her perfume, at peace with the world for at least this one moment in time. A long sigh escaped her lips as she felt the loving strokes on her hair and her back. Isetheperu did not seem to mind the tears that soaked her kalisaris, tears that would not stop flowing even though Hatshepsut willed them to.
She was showing weakness, a luxury that a Queen could not indulge in. The young girl had began learning that lesson as soon as she was capable of coherent thought, as well as constantly being reminded that her life was not … and never would be … her own. Sacrifices for the sake of Egypt would always be required of her and she had believed that she would be willing to make them.
Just not this one.
Demanding that she marry Iahotep was asking too much of her. She wanted Osorsen and as she clung to her mother, she realized that she would have protested a marriage with anyone other than him. If she had been betrothed to the kindest, most handsome man in the kingdom, she would still not be happy. Osorson was her world and no one else would ever hold a candle to him.
Still, she didn’t think she was exaggerating Iahotep’s cruelty. Hatshepsut had never spoken to him but she had seen him a few times. Everything about him oozed wickedness and depravity, from the way he walked to the way he observed other people. He wanted power and he had found a way to get it.
And there. Her mother had just admitted that what her daughter was facing was a horrendous fate. It was easy to say that she would be willing to subject herself to the same thing, since she would never have to. The young Queen’s father had been a kind and gentle man. At least that was how she remembered him. Now that she was grown, she suspected that Isetheperu had been the power behind the throne all along and that the late Pharaoh had listened to her and taken her advice. He would have objected to this course of action, though. He would never give his precious only child to a man she could not stand.
Her mother told her that the path that had been chosen for her would not be easy. That’s the understatement of the year, she thought bitterly, but as Isetheperu pulled back and caressed her wet cheek, wiping her tears away, Hatshepsut felt her anger slowly dissipating. Maybe there was something that she didn’t know, a crucial piece of this disturbing and perplexing puzzle that was being withheld from her for some reason she could not fathom. Her mother never begged, yet now she was pleading for the young Queen to trust her. Maybe she really could shield her from Iahotep’s malicious nature.
“I do trust you, Mother,” she said in a small, timid voice. The tears had finally stopped flowing. “And I know you will always protect me. But why is this the only way?” A thought suddenly occurred to her and she met Isetheperu’s gaze. “This union was not the Council’s idea, was it?” She stepped back and regarded her mother suspiciously. “It was yours.”
Some of the tension left Hatshepsut’s young body as her mother’s arms closed around her. Within the circle of her embrace, she was safe and always would be. It was quite rare for Isetheperu to show so much affection, though the petite Queen knew that she loved her … the only daughter she had borne who had actually drawn breath. She savored her mother’s warmth and breathed deeply of her perfume, at peace with the world for at least this one moment in time. A long sigh escaped her lips as she felt the loving strokes on her hair and her back. Isetheperu did not seem to mind the tears that soaked her kalisaris, tears that would not stop flowing even though Hatshepsut willed them to.
She was showing weakness, a luxury that a Queen could not indulge in. The young girl had began learning that lesson as soon as she was capable of coherent thought, as well as constantly being reminded that her life was not … and never would be … her own. Sacrifices for the sake of Egypt would always be required of her and she had believed that she would be willing to make them.
Just not this one.
Demanding that she marry Iahotep was asking too much of her. She wanted Osorsen and as she clung to her mother, she realized that she would have protested a marriage with anyone other than him. If she had been betrothed to the kindest, most handsome man in the kingdom, she would still not be happy. Osorson was her world and no one else would ever hold a candle to him.
Still, she didn’t think she was exaggerating Iahotep’s cruelty. Hatshepsut had never spoken to him but she had seen him a few times. Everything about him oozed wickedness and depravity, from the way he walked to the way he observed other people. He wanted power and he had found a way to get it.
And there. Her mother had just admitted that what her daughter was facing was a horrendous fate. It was easy to say that she would be willing to subject herself to the same thing, since she would never have to. The young Queen’s father had been a kind and gentle man. At least that was how she remembered him. Now that she was grown, she suspected that Isetheperu had been the power behind the throne all along and that the late Pharaoh had listened to her and taken her advice. He would have objected to this course of action, though. He would never give his precious only child to a man she could not stand.
Her mother told her that the path that had been chosen for her would not be easy. That’s the understatement of the year, she thought bitterly, but as Isetheperu pulled back and caressed her wet cheek, wiping her tears away, Hatshepsut felt her anger slowly dissipating. Maybe there was something that she didn’t know, a crucial piece of this disturbing and perplexing puzzle that was being withheld from her for some reason she could not fathom. Her mother never begged, yet now she was pleading for the young Queen to trust her. Maybe she really could shield her from Iahotep’s malicious nature.
“I do trust you, Mother,” she said in a small, timid voice. The tears had finally stopped flowing. “And I know you will always protect me. But why is this the only way?” A thought suddenly occurred to her and she met Isetheperu’s gaze. “This union was not the Council’s idea, was it?” She stepped back and regarded her mother suspiciously. “It was yours.”
Isetheperu had never been a caring sort of woman, but she regarded her daughter with warmth as she met her gaze. With her wide eyes and delicate features, so much like her own at the same age, how could the former queen not love her creation? How could she not want only the best of things for the girl? She watched as the flash of Hatshepsut’s anger drained from her eyes, replaced by a familiar look of contemplation. She was puzzling something out, a snagged thought, but she seemed to accept – or at least understand – Isetheperu’s position on the matter.
A wan, pitying smile found its way to the corners of Isetheperu’s lips at her daughter’s questioning. She withdrew a breath to prepare herself for her answer. Oh, how desperately she wished she could disclose to Hatshepsut the purpose and importance of her match with Iahotep. Much deliberation and careful thought had gone into the decision. It was not one Isetheperu made lightly.
Yet as much as she loved the girl, Hatshepsut was a Naddar before she was a Fakhouri. Isetheperu did not expect the girl to come to terms cleanly with her mother’s intentions. And with the girl on the throne, Isetheperu could not risk alienating her for her role as the hand of fate.
Even so, it seemed fate had other intentions of its own. Before Isetheperu could proffer her prepared statement, it seemed a realization had struck the girl, sending her reeling back from her mother’s embrace. Isetheperu bristled at the sudden chill of her daughter’s absence and the cool manner with which she narrowed her eyes. The Queen Dowager froze in place, still as stone as the accusation dropped between them.
For the first time in a long time, Isetheperu felt an icy seed of genuine fear settle in her sternum, though she couldn’t yet detect which of her emotions dominated her response: pride at her daughter’s keen insight, surprise at the sudden tide which wrenched the situation from her control, or the anxiety over what the truth would mean for their relationship.
In the span of but a second, Isetheperu’s mind ran through a gauntlet of different ways she could walk back the conversation, to get herself off of the defensive. But each solution she invented required some slanting of the truth, if not an outright lie. She could say that it had been a mere suggestion on her part, which the Council ran with. Or perhaps Hatshepsut was simply outright incorrect in her suspicion. Isethepery could certainly manage an elegant shift of the topic to obscure the need to answer in the first place. All options were an insult to the intelligence of Hatshepsut, however, and Isetheperu was not certain she could abide it.
“Do not pass judgement without first coming to terms with the predicament,” she stated carefully, the words drawn low like a warning. Isetheperu felt her hands floundering in the air between them, still poised to reach out for the girl. Slowly and with intention, Isetheperu drew them back towards her body, her fingers steepling in front of her chest in a familiar posture, a stance she used when she wished to turn her own unease into a weapon. In the same stroke, her features, once soft, hardened once more – the visage of the imperious queen who would brook no such accusatory tones.
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Isetheperu had never been a caring sort of woman, but she regarded her daughter with warmth as she met her gaze. With her wide eyes and delicate features, so much like her own at the same age, how could the former queen not love her creation? How could she not want only the best of things for the girl? She watched as the flash of Hatshepsut’s anger drained from her eyes, replaced by a familiar look of contemplation. She was puzzling something out, a snagged thought, but she seemed to accept – or at least understand – Isetheperu’s position on the matter.
A wan, pitying smile found its way to the corners of Isetheperu’s lips at her daughter’s questioning. She withdrew a breath to prepare herself for her answer. Oh, how desperately she wished she could disclose to Hatshepsut the purpose and importance of her match with Iahotep. Much deliberation and careful thought had gone into the decision. It was not one Isetheperu made lightly.
Yet as much as she loved the girl, Hatshepsut was a Naddar before she was a Fakhouri. Isetheperu did not expect the girl to come to terms cleanly with her mother’s intentions. And with the girl on the throne, Isetheperu could not risk alienating her for her role as the hand of fate.
Even so, it seemed fate had other intentions of its own. Before Isetheperu could proffer her prepared statement, it seemed a realization had struck the girl, sending her reeling back from her mother’s embrace. Isetheperu bristled at the sudden chill of her daughter’s absence and the cool manner with which she narrowed her eyes. The Queen Dowager froze in place, still as stone as the accusation dropped between them.
For the first time in a long time, Isetheperu felt an icy seed of genuine fear settle in her sternum, though she couldn’t yet detect which of her emotions dominated her response: pride at her daughter’s keen insight, surprise at the sudden tide which wrenched the situation from her control, or the anxiety over what the truth would mean for their relationship.
In the span of but a second, Isetheperu’s mind ran through a gauntlet of different ways she could walk back the conversation, to get herself off of the defensive. But each solution she invented required some slanting of the truth, if not an outright lie. She could say that it had been a mere suggestion on her part, which the Council ran with. Or perhaps Hatshepsut was simply outright incorrect in her suspicion. Isethepery could certainly manage an elegant shift of the topic to obscure the need to answer in the first place. All options were an insult to the intelligence of Hatshepsut, however, and Isetheperu was not certain she could abide it.
“Do not pass judgement without first coming to terms with the predicament,” she stated carefully, the words drawn low like a warning. Isetheperu felt her hands floundering in the air between them, still poised to reach out for the girl. Slowly and with intention, Isetheperu drew them back towards her body, her fingers steepling in front of her chest in a familiar posture, a stance she used when she wished to turn her own unease into a weapon. In the same stroke, her features, once soft, hardened once more – the visage of the imperious queen who would brook no such accusatory tones.
Isetheperu had never been a caring sort of woman, but she regarded her daughter with warmth as she met her gaze. With her wide eyes and delicate features, so much like her own at the same age, how could the former queen not love her creation? How could she not want only the best of things for the girl? She watched as the flash of Hatshepsut’s anger drained from her eyes, replaced by a familiar look of contemplation. She was puzzling something out, a snagged thought, but she seemed to accept – or at least understand – Isetheperu’s position on the matter.
A wan, pitying smile found its way to the corners of Isetheperu’s lips at her daughter’s questioning. She withdrew a breath to prepare herself for her answer. Oh, how desperately she wished she could disclose to Hatshepsut the purpose and importance of her match with Iahotep. Much deliberation and careful thought had gone into the decision. It was not one Isetheperu made lightly.
Yet as much as she loved the girl, Hatshepsut was a Naddar before she was a Fakhouri. Isetheperu did not expect the girl to come to terms cleanly with her mother’s intentions. And with the girl on the throne, Isetheperu could not risk alienating her for her role as the hand of fate.
Even so, it seemed fate had other intentions of its own. Before Isetheperu could proffer her prepared statement, it seemed a realization had struck the girl, sending her reeling back from her mother’s embrace. Isetheperu bristled at the sudden chill of her daughter’s absence and the cool manner with which she narrowed her eyes. The Queen Dowager froze in place, still as stone as the accusation dropped between them.
For the first time in a long time, Isetheperu felt an icy seed of genuine fear settle in her sternum, though she couldn’t yet detect which of her emotions dominated her response: pride at her daughter’s keen insight, surprise at the sudden tide which wrenched the situation from her control, or the anxiety over what the truth would mean for their relationship.
In the span of but a second, Isetheperu’s mind ran through a gauntlet of different ways she could walk back the conversation, to get herself off of the defensive. But each solution she invented required some slanting of the truth, if not an outright lie. She could say that it had been a mere suggestion on her part, which the Council ran with. Or perhaps Hatshepsut was simply outright incorrect in her suspicion. Isethepery could certainly manage an elegant shift of the topic to obscure the need to answer in the first place. All options were an insult to the intelligence of Hatshepsut, however, and Isetheperu was not certain she could abide it.
“Do not pass judgement without first coming to terms with the predicament,” she stated carefully, the words drawn low like a warning. Isetheperu felt her hands floundering in the air between them, still poised to reach out for the girl. Slowly and with intention, Isetheperu drew them back towards her body, her fingers steepling in front of her chest in a familiar posture, a stance she used when she wished to turn her own unease into a weapon. In the same stroke, her features, once soft, hardened once more – the visage of the imperious queen who would brook no such accusatory tones.
Hatshepsut could never remember being as angry as she was now. As usual, she couldn’t read Isteheperu’s expression. The Dowager Queen was an expert at hiding her emotions, a control that her daughter didn’t think she would ever master. She knew how she must appear … her dark eyes flashing with fury and her chin tilted defiantly upwards. Her fists were clenched at her sides. This she knew because she could feel her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. She was right. She knew she was. If not, her mother would have already denied it.
Isetheperu’s hands were still reaching toward her. If she had not been so livid and so certain that her mother was condemning her to a fate worse than death, Hatshepsut would have run back into her embrace, hugging her tightly and apologizing. In a way she wanted to. She didn’t like being at odds with her mother … it felt wrong. They were supposed to be on the same side in the matter of her marriage but the woman who had given birth to her and raised her was not protecting her. She was feeding her to the lions as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
This was her future and the future of Egypt they were discussing. General Iahotep would bring her beloved kingdom to ruin. His would be a reign of terror and not even her mother would be ruthless enough to stop him. He would never allow Hatshepsut to rule beside him. He would see her as nothing but a vessel for his heirs. Her stomach churned once more at the thought of sharing his bed, not just because she would fell like she was betraying Osorsen, but because the thought of him inside her was repulsive.
Was her mother waiting for her to back down? If so, she would be waiting for a long long time. Hatshepsut wanted to know if the Dowager Queen was behind this vile betrothal and the longer she remained silent, the more guilty she appeared. In truth, only mere seconds had passed, but it felt like a lifetime to the young girl. It seemed as if they had been frozen in this surreal tableau as the seasons passed, wars were won and lost, and people were born, lived, and died. It took a century for her to inhale and another for her to exhale.
When her mother finally spoke, her words sounded like a warning. Her neutral expression turned hard and cold. What did her statement mean? Egypt was her kingdom. She needed to know everything that was going on, both positive and negative. Hatshepsut wasn’t a child anymore. She was nearly sixteen and didn’t want to be shielded from Egypt’s problems. What could be so terrible that the only solution was to make a cruel and tyrannical commoner the Pharaoh?
The young Queen’s eyes never left her mother’s. “Then perhaps you should explain. I deserve to know why this choice has been made for me.”
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Hatshepsut could never remember being as angry as she was now. As usual, she couldn’t read Isteheperu’s expression. The Dowager Queen was an expert at hiding her emotions, a control that her daughter didn’t think she would ever master. She knew how she must appear … her dark eyes flashing with fury and her chin tilted defiantly upwards. Her fists were clenched at her sides. This she knew because she could feel her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. She was right. She knew she was. If not, her mother would have already denied it.
Isetheperu’s hands were still reaching toward her. If she had not been so livid and so certain that her mother was condemning her to a fate worse than death, Hatshepsut would have run back into her embrace, hugging her tightly and apologizing. In a way she wanted to. She didn’t like being at odds with her mother … it felt wrong. They were supposed to be on the same side in the matter of her marriage but the woman who had given birth to her and raised her was not protecting her. She was feeding her to the lions as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
This was her future and the future of Egypt they were discussing. General Iahotep would bring her beloved kingdom to ruin. His would be a reign of terror and not even her mother would be ruthless enough to stop him. He would never allow Hatshepsut to rule beside him. He would see her as nothing but a vessel for his heirs. Her stomach churned once more at the thought of sharing his bed, not just because she would fell like she was betraying Osorsen, but because the thought of him inside her was repulsive.
Was her mother waiting for her to back down? If so, she would be waiting for a long long time. Hatshepsut wanted to know if the Dowager Queen was behind this vile betrothal and the longer she remained silent, the more guilty she appeared. In truth, only mere seconds had passed, but it felt like a lifetime to the young girl. It seemed as if they had been frozen in this surreal tableau as the seasons passed, wars were won and lost, and people were born, lived, and died. It took a century for her to inhale and another for her to exhale.
When her mother finally spoke, her words sounded like a warning. Her neutral expression turned hard and cold. What did her statement mean? Egypt was her kingdom. She needed to know everything that was going on, both positive and negative. Hatshepsut wasn’t a child anymore. She was nearly sixteen and didn’t want to be shielded from Egypt’s problems. What could be so terrible that the only solution was to make a cruel and tyrannical commoner the Pharaoh?
The young Queen’s eyes never left her mother’s. “Then perhaps you should explain. I deserve to know why this choice has been made for me.”
Hatshepsut could never remember being as angry as she was now. As usual, she couldn’t read Isteheperu’s expression. The Dowager Queen was an expert at hiding her emotions, a control that her daughter didn’t think she would ever master. She knew how she must appear … her dark eyes flashing with fury and her chin tilted defiantly upwards. Her fists were clenched at her sides. This she knew because she could feel her fingernails digging painfully into her palms. She was right. She knew she was. If not, her mother would have already denied it.
Isetheperu’s hands were still reaching toward her. If she had not been so livid and so certain that her mother was condemning her to a fate worse than death, Hatshepsut would have run back into her embrace, hugging her tightly and apologizing. In a way she wanted to. She didn’t like being at odds with her mother … it felt wrong. They were supposed to be on the same side in the matter of her marriage but the woman who had given birth to her and raised her was not protecting her. She was feeding her to the lions as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
This was her future and the future of Egypt they were discussing. General Iahotep would bring her beloved kingdom to ruin. His would be a reign of terror and not even her mother would be ruthless enough to stop him. He would never allow Hatshepsut to rule beside him. He would see her as nothing but a vessel for his heirs. Her stomach churned once more at the thought of sharing his bed, not just because she would fell like she was betraying Osorsen, but because the thought of him inside her was repulsive.
Was her mother waiting for her to back down? If so, she would be waiting for a long long time. Hatshepsut wanted to know if the Dowager Queen was behind this vile betrothal and the longer she remained silent, the more guilty she appeared. In truth, only mere seconds had passed, but it felt like a lifetime to the young girl. It seemed as if they had been frozen in this surreal tableau as the seasons passed, wars were won and lost, and people were born, lived, and died. It took a century for her to inhale and another for her to exhale.
When her mother finally spoke, her words sounded like a warning. Her neutral expression turned hard and cold. What did her statement mean? Egypt was her kingdom. She needed to know everything that was going on, both positive and negative. Hatshepsut wasn’t a child anymore. She was nearly sixteen and didn’t want to be shielded from Egypt’s problems. What could be so terrible that the only solution was to make a cruel and tyrannical commoner the Pharaoh?
The young Queen’s eyes never left her mother’s. “Then perhaps you should explain. I deserve to know why this choice has been made for me.”
Isetheperu took a moment of calm to allow the both of them to breathe. It was clear that her daughter was not simply throwing a childlike tantrum over events escalating beyond her control. She was convinced and convicted to her ideas of Iahotep being the wrong choice for the kingdom - a sentiment that Isetherperu could understand even if it was wrong. She could see the way that her daughter's mind was working, visualising her future husband as the barbarous general that he was and seeing that bloody ambition seeping across the lands of a kingdom that she had been raised to adore. She could witness Hatshepsut's thoughts as if they were calligraphed across papyrus for her perusal. The girl would have to learn to control that instinct, that emotive temperament and natural propensity to show her feelings upon her features. It would not serve her well in the Council.
Exhaling slowly, Isetheperu attempted a new approach, offering a sense of weakness and sympathy in her countenance. Taking a seat upon one of the raised chaises in the corner of the room, she patted the seat beside her so that her daughter might come to join her in her moment of revelation. When she had drawn her daughter to her, her fingers wrapped around Hatshepsut's hand.
"Hatshepsut you are most loved. Most adored for all that you are. I do not say it enough, for I know the world you will be forced to reign over. My lessons to you have been hard ones because I wish you to learn them from me instead of your enemies. And now, the greatest lesson is before you. Trust in your own ignorance, my daughter. You are smart and you are kind. But your knowledge of the Council and the political sphere in which you exist is not to the level of my own. That is no failing of yours and no triumph of mine; only the natural outcome of so many decades of time." She smiled a little, patting her daughter's hands.
"The choices for your husband have circled for many months, from the youngest of sons that their fathers can rule over to the oldest of men, ancient enough to be my own father. All of whom have been attached to members of the Council in a way that would see them hold majority favour within their political body. This is true for any of the Sirdars or their sons also."
Isetheperu tried to explain that to take on a man that already held political or noble connections and offer him the seat of a Pharaoh beside a Queen as inexperienced as Hatshepsut would indeed bring Egypt to ruin, as her daughter so feared.
"A man of influence will immediately override your word and have no Council as a boundary to his ambitions. The General Iahotep has no such loyalties. He has benefactors in the Council to be true but he does not hold a large enough margin of favour that would see every choice he made as instantaneous. He would be challenged. By the Council, by myself and by you." Her fingers held firmly onto Hatshepsut's fingers.
"I wished for you to have not such a powerful adversary to face in your husband. I had hoped for General Moghadam for your partner. He is old and however much his grandson attempts to hide it, he is steadily fading in the mind. But he is also a war hero. And he would claim the support of many even in his most ludicrous of insanities and I could not equate that as a reasonable risk. Instead, Iahotep is the next most malleable leader. He is a man for whom his greed and arrogance will make him predictable so that you and I will be able to corral and control him."
Isetheperu's gaze became intense upon her daughter. She did not often speak to this extent, did not frequently make such speeches. But she needed her daughter on board for this, regardless of the girl's limited powers in such decisions.
"The Council have made their choice, daughter, and to revoke it now would only see your image of Queen painted as that of a little girl. I would not see you diminished. Love is for fairytales and stories, little star. You know this."
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Isetheperu took a moment of calm to allow the both of them to breathe. It was clear that her daughter was not simply throwing a childlike tantrum over events escalating beyond her control. She was convinced and convicted to her ideas of Iahotep being the wrong choice for the kingdom - a sentiment that Isetherperu could understand even if it was wrong. She could see the way that her daughter's mind was working, visualising her future husband as the barbarous general that he was and seeing that bloody ambition seeping across the lands of a kingdom that she had been raised to adore. She could witness Hatshepsut's thoughts as if they were calligraphed across papyrus for her perusal. The girl would have to learn to control that instinct, that emotive temperament and natural propensity to show her feelings upon her features. It would not serve her well in the Council.
Exhaling slowly, Isetheperu attempted a new approach, offering a sense of weakness and sympathy in her countenance. Taking a seat upon one of the raised chaises in the corner of the room, she patted the seat beside her so that her daughter might come to join her in her moment of revelation. When she had drawn her daughter to her, her fingers wrapped around Hatshepsut's hand.
"Hatshepsut you are most loved. Most adored for all that you are. I do not say it enough, for I know the world you will be forced to reign over. My lessons to you have been hard ones because I wish you to learn them from me instead of your enemies. And now, the greatest lesson is before you. Trust in your own ignorance, my daughter. You are smart and you are kind. But your knowledge of the Council and the political sphere in which you exist is not to the level of my own. That is no failing of yours and no triumph of mine; only the natural outcome of so many decades of time." She smiled a little, patting her daughter's hands.
"The choices for your husband have circled for many months, from the youngest of sons that their fathers can rule over to the oldest of men, ancient enough to be my own father. All of whom have been attached to members of the Council in a way that would see them hold majority favour within their political body. This is true for any of the Sirdars or their sons also."
Isetheperu tried to explain that to take on a man that already held political or noble connections and offer him the seat of a Pharaoh beside a Queen as inexperienced as Hatshepsut would indeed bring Egypt to ruin, as her daughter so feared.
"A man of influence will immediately override your word and have no Council as a boundary to his ambitions. The General Iahotep has no such loyalties. He has benefactors in the Council to be true but he does not hold a large enough margin of favour that would see every choice he made as instantaneous. He would be challenged. By the Council, by myself and by you." Her fingers held firmly onto Hatshepsut's fingers.
"I wished for you to have not such a powerful adversary to face in your husband. I had hoped for General Moghadam for your partner. He is old and however much his grandson attempts to hide it, he is steadily fading in the mind. But he is also a war hero. And he would claim the support of many even in his most ludicrous of insanities and I could not equate that as a reasonable risk. Instead, Iahotep is the next most malleable leader. He is a man for whom his greed and arrogance will make him predictable so that you and I will be able to corral and control him."
Isetheperu's gaze became intense upon her daughter. She did not often speak to this extent, did not frequently make such speeches. But she needed her daughter on board for this, regardless of the girl's limited powers in such decisions.
"The Council have made their choice, daughter, and to revoke it now would only see your image of Queen painted as that of a little girl. I would not see you diminished. Love is for fairytales and stories, little star. You know this."
Isetheperu took a moment of calm to allow the both of them to breathe. It was clear that her daughter was not simply throwing a childlike tantrum over events escalating beyond her control. She was convinced and convicted to her ideas of Iahotep being the wrong choice for the kingdom - a sentiment that Isetherperu could understand even if it was wrong. She could see the way that her daughter's mind was working, visualising her future husband as the barbarous general that he was and seeing that bloody ambition seeping across the lands of a kingdom that she had been raised to adore. She could witness Hatshepsut's thoughts as if they were calligraphed across papyrus for her perusal. The girl would have to learn to control that instinct, that emotive temperament and natural propensity to show her feelings upon her features. It would not serve her well in the Council.
Exhaling slowly, Isetheperu attempted a new approach, offering a sense of weakness and sympathy in her countenance. Taking a seat upon one of the raised chaises in the corner of the room, she patted the seat beside her so that her daughter might come to join her in her moment of revelation. When she had drawn her daughter to her, her fingers wrapped around Hatshepsut's hand.
"Hatshepsut you are most loved. Most adored for all that you are. I do not say it enough, for I know the world you will be forced to reign over. My lessons to you have been hard ones because I wish you to learn them from me instead of your enemies. And now, the greatest lesson is before you. Trust in your own ignorance, my daughter. You are smart and you are kind. But your knowledge of the Council and the political sphere in which you exist is not to the level of my own. That is no failing of yours and no triumph of mine; only the natural outcome of so many decades of time." She smiled a little, patting her daughter's hands.
"The choices for your husband have circled for many months, from the youngest of sons that their fathers can rule over to the oldest of men, ancient enough to be my own father. All of whom have been attached to members of the Council in a way that would see them hold majority favour within their political body. This is true for any of the Sirdars or their sons also."
Isetheperu tried to explain that to take on a man that already held political or noble connections and offer him the seat of a Pharaoh beside a Queen as inexperienced as Hatshepsut would indeed bring Egypt to ruin, as her daughter so feared.
"A man of influence will immediately override your word and have no Council as a boundary to his ambitions. The General Iahotep has no such loyalties. He has benefactors in the Council to be true but he does not hold a large enough margin of favour that would see every choice he made as instantaneous. He would be challenged. By the Council, by myself and by you." Her fingers held firmly onto Hatshepsut's fingers.
"I wished for you to have not such a powerful adversary to face in your husband. I had hoped for General Moghadam for your partner. He is old and however much his grandson attempts to hide it, he is steadily fading in the mind. But he is also a war hero. And he would claim the support of many even in his most ludicrous of insanities and I could not equate that as a reasonable risk. Instead, Iahotep is the next most malleable leader. He is a man for whom his greed and arrogance will make him predictable so that you and I will be able to corral and control him."
Isetheperu's gaze became intense upon her daughter. She did not often speak to this extent, did not frequently make such speeches. But she needed her daughter on board for this, regardless of the girl's limited powers in such decisions.
"The Council have made their choice, daughter, and to revoke it now would only see your image of Queen painted as that of a little girl. I would not see you diminished. Love is for fairytales and stories, little star. You know this."
The Dowager Queen didn’t say anything for a few moments. I have discovered the truth, Hatshepsut thought. My own mother chose Iahotep to be my husband and Pharaoh. My own mother betrayed me. She took a long deep breath to calm herself. When that didn’t work, she took another. Now that I know, will she explain why she made what I believe to be the worst decision of her life? How could she think that a mere commoner is capable of ruling Egypt? My kingdom does not need to be subdued with an iron fist. It needs to be nourished with kindness and respect.
Her mother turned and walked further into the room, settling on an ornate chaise and patting the seat beside her. Maybe my concerns have finally gotten through to her. I deserve to know why I must accept this bleak future. Hesitantly, Hatshepsut approached her and sat down on the edge of the chaise like a bird about to take flight. Isethperu reached toward her, wrapping her hand around her own, which was, she suddenly realized, balled into a fist. Relaxing her fingers, she entwined them through her mother’s. The young Queen didn’t hate her. She simply didn’t understand why it was so important that she marry a ruthless and cruel General when the better choice was her beloved Osorsen.
Hatshepsut’s eyes widened when her mother began with a confession of love. She very rarely showed affection toward her and now she explained why she had been so hard on her all of her life. It wasn’t because she was disappointed in her shyness and her compassion; she didn’t want her to fooled by the deviousness of Egypt’s enemies. A gullible Queen would lose her kingdom in a heartbeat. The Dowager had been teaching her how to be strong and clever when faced with adversity, not berating her for what she thought were her daughter’s failings.
It was true that she didn’t have the political acuity or life experience of a woman over three times her age. Isethepru had probably been as confused when she was sixteen as Hatshepsut was now. But she had learned and so could the current Queen. She did trust her mother, her regent since she was six. Since her fifteenth birthday, she had been included in Council meetings, had been asked her opinion when decisions needed to be made, and had been forced occasionally to present them to the Council herself, easing her into public speaking. She would be doing a lot of in the coming years, no matter how much the quiet young girl loathed it.
Hatshepsut understood that the Sirdars and their sons had their own political power as well as their own supporters. They could become autocratic with influential men backing them up, neglecting their subjects for their own personal gain. She herself would be powerless and seen as nothing but a figurehead and a means to make heirs. That was definitely not what she wanted. The young Queen had been born and trained to rule beside the man who would be chosen as Pharaoh. Her mother did not wish her to be cast aside.
Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of General Moghadam. Osorsen wasn’t like the other would-be Pharaohs. He loved her and would want to be with her even if she was a poor farmer’s daughter. That her husband would claim the title of Pharaoh was secondary to his affection for her. Together they would bring peace, prosperity, and unity to Egypt. Maybe now she could convince her mother that he …
Oh. She had been talking about his grandfather. Hatshepsut sighed as the Dowager finally explained why Iahotep was the Council’s choice. He was a commoner, and therefore had no influence, Nobody would stand behind his decisions and help him enforce them. He was predictable and would be easily controlled. Or would he? What if her mother’s plan backfired and he was not as malleable as she and the Council believed? Hatshepsut knew little about him but what she did know, she definitely didn’t like. Maybe he wasn’t as cruel and heartless as he seemed. Still, he wasn’t Osorsen and she would never love him.
It appeared that the Council’s decision was set in stone and any protests she made would only prove that she was immature. Yes, Hatshepsut had always known that love would not be a factor in her marriage. She had accepted it … until she had fallen in love with a man who was more suited to be Pharaoh than any other. If only Osorsen was not in Greece! He would be able to change the Council’s minds. Her wedding would not happen for a few more months. Maybe he would be back by then.
“Thank you for explaining, Mother,” the young girl said, squeezing her hand. “I understand now. I have been aware that I wouldn’t be able to choose my own husband since I was old enough to know what marriage is. I will do my duty. But I will not like it. And I hope you are not wrong about General Iahotep and he does not play us all for fools and take absolute power for himself.”
Hatshepsut could feel an ache beginning under the skin of her forehead. Standing up, she absently rubbed her temples. “I must think about this, Mother. Please excuse me.”
After kissing her mother on the cheek, she left the room and went back to her own, falling upon the bed and closing her eyes. She would never marry Iahotep. Osorsen would return and set everything straight. There was still time, and with time there was hope.
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The Dowager Queen didn’t say anything for a few moments. I have discovered the truth, Hatshepsut thought. My own mother chose Iahotep to be my husband and Pharaoh. My own mother betrayed me. She took a long deep breath to calm herself. When that didn’t work, she took another. Now that I know, will she explain why she made what I believe to be the worst decision of her life? How could she think that a mere commoner is capable of ruling Egypt? My kingdom does not need to be subdued with an iron fist. It needs to be nourished with kindness and respect.
Her mother turned and walked further into the room, settling on an ornate chaise and patting the seat beside her. Maybe my concerns have finally gotten through to her. I deserve to know why I must accept this bleak future. Hesitantly, Hatshepsut approached her and sat down on the edge of the chaise like a bird about to take flight. Isethperu reached toward her, wrapping her hand around her own, which was, she suddenly realized, balled into a fist. Relaxing her fingers, she entwined them through her mother’s. The young Queen didn’t hate her. She simply didn’t understand why it was so important that she marry a ruthless and cruel General when the better choice was her beloved Osorsen.
Hatshepsut’s eyes widened when her mother began with a confession of love. She very rarely showed affection toward her and now she explained why she had been so hard on her all of her life. It wasn’t because she was disappointed in her shyness and her compassion; she didn’t want her to fooled by the deviousness of Egypt’s enemies. A gullible Queen would lose her kingdom in a heartbeat. The Dowager had been teaching her how to be strong and clever when faced with adversity, not berating her for what she thought were her daughter’s failings.
It was true that she didn’t have the political acuity or life experience of a woman over three times her age. Isethepru had probably been as confused when she was sixteen as Hatshepsut was now. But she had learned and so could the current Queen. She did trust her mother, her regent since she was six. Since her fifteenth birthday, she had been included in Council meetings, had been asked her opinion when decisions needed to be made, and had been forced occasionally to present them to the Council herself, easing her into public speaking. She would be doing a lot of in the coming years, no matter how much the quiet young girl loathed it.
Hatshepsut understood that the Sirdars and their sons had their own political power as well as their own supporters. They could become autocratic with influential men backing them up, neglecting their subjects for their own personal gain. She herself would be powerless and seen as nothing but a figurehead and a means to make heirs. That was definitely not what she wanted. The young Queen had been born and trained to rule beside the man who would be chosen as Pharaoh. Her mother did not wish her to be cast aside.
Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of General Moghadam. Osorsen wasn’t like the other would-be Pharaohs. He loved her and would want to be with her even if she was a poor farmer’s daughter. That her husband would claim the title of Pharaoh was secondary to his affection for her. Together they would bring peace, prosperity, and unity to Egypt. Maybe now she could convince her mother that he …
Oh. She had been talking about his grandfather. Hatshepsut sighed as the Dowager finally explained why Iahotep was the Council’s choice. He was a commoner, and therefore had no influence, Nobody would stand behind his decisions and help him enforce them. He was predictable and would be easily controlled. Or would he? What if her mother’s plan backfired and he was not as malleable as she and the Council believed? Hatshepsut knew little about him but what she did know, she definitely didn’t like. Maybe he wasn’t as cruel and heartless as he seemed. Still, he wasn’t Osorsen and she would never love him.
It appeared that the Council’s decision was set in stone and any protests she made would only prove that she was immature. Yes, Hatshepsut had always known that love would not be a factor in her marriage. She had accepted it … until she had fallen in love with a man who was more suited to be Pharaoh than any other. If only Osorsen was not in Greece! He would be able to change the Council’s minds. Her wedding would not happen for a few more months. Maybe he would be back by then.
“Thank you for explaining, Mother,” the young girl said, squeezing her hand. “I understand now. I have been aware that I wouldn’t be able to choose my own husband since I was old enough to know what marriage is. I will do my duty. But I will not like it. And I hope you are not wrong about General Iahotep and he does not play us all for fools and take absolute power for himself.”
Hatshepsut could feel an ache beginning under the skin of her forehead. Standing up, she absently rubbed her temples. “I must think about this, Mother. Please excuse me.”
After kissing her mother on the cheek, she left the room and went back to her own, falling upon the bed and closing her eyes. She would never marry Iahotep. Osorsen would return and set everything straight. There was still time, and with time there was hope.
The Dowager Queen didn’t say anything for a few moments. I have discovered the truth, Hatshepsut thought. My own mother chose Iahotep to be my husband and Pharaoh. My own mother betrayed me. She took a long deep breath to calm herself. When that didn’t work, she took another. Now that I know, will she explain why she made what I believe to be the worst decision of her life? How could she think that a mere commoner is capable of ruling Egypt? My kingdom does not need to be subdued with an iron fist. It needs to be nourished with kindness and respect.
Her mother turned and walked further into the room, settling on an ornate chaise and patting the seat beside her. Maybe my concerns have finally gotten through to her. I deserve to know why I must accept this bleak future. Hesitantly, Hatshepsut approached her and sat down on the edge of the chaise like a bird about to take flight. Isethperu reached toward her, wrapping her hand around her own, which was, she suddenly realized, balled into a fist. Relaxing her fingers, she entwined them through her mother’s. The young Queen didn’t hate her. She simply didn’t understand why it was so important that she marry a ruthless and cruel General when the better choice was her beloved Osorsen.
Hatshepsut’s eyes widened when her mother began with a confession of love. She very rarely showed affection toward her and now she explained why she had been so hard on her all of her life. It wasn’t because she was disappointed in her shyness and her compassion; she didn’t want her to fooled by the deviousness of Egypt’s enemies. A gullible Queen would lose her kingdom in a heartbeat. The Dowager had been teaching her how to be strong and clever when faced with adversity, not berating her for what she thought were her daughter’s failings.
It was true that she didn’t have the political acuity or life experience of a woman over three times her age. Isethepru had probably been as confused when she was sixteen as Hatshepsut was now. But she had learned and so could the current Queen. She did trust her mother, her regent since she was six. Since her fifteenth birthday, she had been included in Council meetings, had been asked her opinion when decisions needed to be made, and had been forced occasionally to present them to the Council herself, easing her into public speaking. She would be doing a lot of in the coming years, no matter how much the quiet young girl loathed it.
Hatshepsut understood that the Sirdars and their sons had their own political power as well as their own supporters. They could become autocratic with influential men backing them up, neglecting their subjects for their own personal gain. She herself would be powerless and seen as nothing but a figurehead and a means to make heirs. That was definitely not what she wanted. The young Queen had been born and trained to rule beside the man who would be chosen as Pharaoh. Her mother did not wish her to be cast aside.
Her heart skipped a beat at the mention of General Moghadam. Osorsen wasn’t like the other would-be Pharaohs. He loved her and would want to be with her even if she was a poor farmer’s daughter. That her husband would claim the title of Pharaoh was secondary to his affection for her. Together they would bring peace, prosperity, and unity to Egypt. Maybe now she could convince her mother that he …
Oh. She had been talking about his grandfather. Hatshepsut sighed as the Dowager finally explained why Iahotep was the Council’s choice. He was a commoner, and therefore had no influence, Nobody would stand behind his decisions and help him enforce them. He was predictable and would be easily controlled. Or would he? What if her mother’s plan backfired and he was not as malleable as she and the Council believed? Hatshepsut knew little about him but what she did know, she definitely didn’t like. Maybe he wasn’t as cruel and heartless as he seemed. Still, he wasn’t Osorsen and she would never love him.
It appeared that the Council’s decision was set in stone and any protests she made would only prove that she was immature. Yes, Hatshepsut had always known that love would not be a factor in her marriage. She had accepted it … until she had fallen in love with a man who was more suited to be Pharaoh than any other. If only Osorsen was not in Greece! He would be able to change the Council’s minds. Her wedding would not happen for a few more months. Maybe he would be back by then.
“Thank you for explaining, Mother,” the young girl said, squeezing her hand. “I understand now. I have been aware that I wouldn’t be able to choose my own husband since I was old enough to know what marriage is. I will do my duty. But I will not like it. And I hope you are not wrong about General Iahotep and he does not play us all for fools and take absolute power for himself.”
Hatshepsut could feel an ache beginning under the skin of her forehead. Standing up, she absently rubbed her temples. “I must think about this, Mother. Please excuse me.”
After kissing her mother on the cheek, she left the room and went back to her own, falling upon the bed and closing her eyes. She would never marry Iahotep. Osorsen would return and set everything straight. There was still time, and with time there was hope.