Rite of Ascension

Rite of Ascension


“You'll stand at my son's right hand...”

Blue eyes rose from the floor, and looked not at the Pharaoh bestowing the honor upon him, but at smaller form of the Prince beside and behind him, to whom he was now bound. Blood red eyes were watching him back, inscrutable, and a faint shiver ran up his spine. The fact that red was the color of evil touched his mind, but he replaced it with the fact that red was the color of the god he served. That pulled some of the intimidation from the gaze; he nodded slightly to his new lord. There was no reply from the prince.


The new pharaoh watch with an impassive expression as the final stone was set in place in the tomb. It had been finished hastily, barely in enough time to accept his newly-mummified body... the paint on some of the hieroglyphics inside was still wet. The last pharaoh had ruled for only three days, after all...

Tomorrow was his official coronation. With his predecessor buried he could take the place that had been given him, finally, and work to fix the kingdom of the evils wrought by the evil god, in all his forms.

Long fingers absently traced the contours of the Puzzle hanging around his neck, missing the weight of the Rod still. No one could rightfully bear two Sennen Items, though, and the Puzzle was the mark of his ascension to the throne, and so he would continue to miss the Rod that had grown so familiar over the last several years. Restlessly, he clasped his hands behind his back as he oversaw the priests around the tomb to keep them from fondling the heavy Item on his chest again, forcing them not to seek out the Rod to grasp. Eventually he would get used to this...

The sun's heat was an almost oppressive weight around them, but he didn't move even as the procession started the long trek back toward the palace. When a guard approached he ordered him off before he could even speak, telling him he would return alone, and approached the tomb pensively.


“Seth, is it?”

Head bowed submissively as he knelt before the blank voice, he nodded slightly. Anyone else and he would have corrected them – 'High Priest Seth'. With all the years he had worked for that title, he wouldn't allow anyone to forget it if there was anything he could do about it. The speaker being who it was, he said nothing but “Yes, my prince.”

For a long moment, there wasn't another word. The young priest glanced up, to find the younger prince looking around, as though bored with the conversation. There were rooms exactly like these all over the palace, and he had no real personal effects to be of any interest; eventually, the oddly dark crimson eyes fell back to him, and narrowed just slightly. “Eyes down.”

With a blink and a small jerk, almost imperceptible save for his hand tightening around the Rod that he held flat against the floor, he obeyed, remembering himself. The cool stones beneath him led smoothly forward, to where he could just see the prince's bare feet through his dark bangs, but aside from that did nothing particularly interesting.

“I'm trying to see why Father gave you to me...”

His position gave him opportunity to really pay attention to the prince's voice, and consider that it was odd to hear a voice so deep from someone both so small and so young. Then a frown crossed his features as the words sank in.

“With all respect, Prince, he didn't 'give me to you'... He merely set me at your right hand.” The phrase the prince had used had uncomfortable connotations of slavery, and that was something he would never be... A subject, a priest, yes, even a servant to those who owned his loyalty, but never a slave.

“He made you the highest of my priests.” His voice was still utterly calm, even bored with the situation, even. “I'm still trying to figure out why. I thought for sure it would be Mahaado, when it became necessary... You're barely any older than I am. You haven't even studied very long... You're really not any good at magic... Then again, you must be a prodigy of some sort to be here now. Even Mahaado's been studying since he was four, and he became High Priest just last year... You showed up out of nowhere, from some little destroyed village, last year and were chosen by the Rod almost immediately... Perhaps that's why. There must be potential in you...”

Silently, he studied the pale stones intently, letting the insults in that description wash over him and focusing on the, very true, compliments. There was great untouched potential in him... And the prince couldn't know how he disliked being reminded of his less than stellar past. There was no need to ever think about that again, because he had risen above all that.

“In placing you there, though, he made you the highest of my servants.” The prince's feet moved, and he heard the faint rustling of linen as he stepped away, out of his line of sight without lifting his head, which he wouldn't do. His voice hadn't changed at all. “Your loyalty to me is on par with that to your god... You'll no more disobey an order from me than you would a directive from Sutekh. Isn't that right?”

“Of course it is, my Prince.” There was no question of it – was he testing his loyalty? Let him do so, if it eased his mind. It would stand any test.

“As the highest of my priests this is doubly true of you. Where you might have some leeway otherwise, neither of us can afford that now.” His feet came slowly back into view; it seemed that he was pacing, by the casual and measured strides. “You have to set a good example. There can't be the slightest hint of disobedience, or questioning my orders. People will look to you in how to react to me... and so the consequences are doubly severe as well. The slightest hint of insubordination from you will be punished swiftly and harshly, and quite possibly with death...”

It sounded like a threat. There was no need for it – he was completely loyal, as time would prove. There was not an order he could imagine that he would think of disobeying.

“Of course, Prince. I would expect no less.”

“Good.” His feet stopped before him once again, closer now than when he had moved first, and one hand pulled lightly back on his head until he looked up, meeting captivating red obs, that suddenly seemed as fiery as the sun over the desert...

“So you see, Seth, in a very real way, you are mine.”


The curse on the tomb didn't trouble him; he had set it, and he meant no harm to its occupant or his treasures. It wouldn't be entirely sealed for some time yet, as the priests would still have to enter, and so going inside was relatively easy. The dark halls he navigated easily, following a memorized path to the former Pharaoh's actual burial chamber far below the surface, evading traps flawlessly, taking a secret route that avoided the tests.

An ornate golden sarcophagus greeted him, all he would see again of his cousin in this life or any other. Once again his fingers lightly traced the outline of the Puzzle he wore, traveling over the raised eye emblazoned on the front. His soul would never even enter the afterlife, not truly... he had trapped it himself within this Item in a blaze of martyrly glory as he trapped the dark soul of Zork within another, the Ring that still lay unclaimed beside the Rod back at the palace. It was a dark fate... darker still he fact that his name would be forgotten, and he would truly cease to live on. Truly, he was gone forever, and there would be nothing more for him...

As his hand stilled on the Puzzle, the other traced the face on the coffin, which in truth was nothing like its occupant... nothing like the face that had burned its contours into his memory. It was not a fate he thought that he could have borne himself... to be forgotten. Any tortures but that. To have never mattered...

No, but he had always known there were greater men than he, and that his lord had been one of them.

And he had always known that there were some men who deserved such a fate...


“So nice of you to finally join me, Seth.”

Perhaps it was supposed to be friendly, that his prince never called him by his title, but only by name. Instead it seemed vaguely insulting, because it stood that they weren't in fact friends... as though he were vaguely mocking that fact. Or mocking him, placing him so effortlessly beneath him. What was there that he could do, though? It was out of the question to demand that his prince recognize his title.

“My apologies.” As he reached the space before the seat that held the lithe form of his prince he knelt and bowed his head, suppressing the urge to question why he had been requested, and in a private setting no less. The urge to look around was nearly overwhelming,but he suppressed it. “I was training when the message found me, and I had to bathe before I could answer your summons.”

“Very well.” The rich voice was neutral; he took that to mean he was forgiven. There was no question that he would have smelled and probably looked less than attractive if he hadn't cleaned himself first.

“What can I do for you, my Prince?”

The answer was casual. “Strip.”

“What?” Surprise jerked his head up, meeting the prince's eyes with a slight frown.

His red eyes darkened. “Strip. Remove your robes and sit on the bed.”

Still he didn't move at first, and quick anger flashed in those stormy eyes, glinting hard as rubies. The memory of his words came back to him – the least insubordination could be greeted with death. There was no choice for him but to do as he was commanded... not that he could find, and his quick mind was running through possibilities even as he slowly rose to obey the order. The prince watched him as he hesitated, and narrowed his eyes; he took a breath and obeyed, setting aside the heavy robes as he found no escape, trapped by his duty...

The young man all but prowled toward him, confidence evident in every subtle hint in his carriage and bearing, firmly taking his shoulder as he approached and pushing him down into the firm mat, leaning over him with his eyes gleaming. There was no resistance on his part, for he could find no way to resist that would not get him killed, and he doubted this was a thing to get killed over...

“My Prince...” he began, taking a chance.

“Lord.” The prince cut him off. “When we are alone, Seth, you will refer to me either as Lord... or Master.”

“My... lord...” It was the best of bad choices. This entire situation was so far out of his control... Never again should he had been out of control of a situation. Never. That had been his entire goal in working to become a priest... “This isn't right.”

“Who are you to tell me so?”

No one.

And it hurt as his lord took him, but he had expected no less.

It was different as he kissed him in the heat of the moment – there were emotions there that he didn't display anywhere else, such a fiery burning passion and desperation that they overwhelmed him, and left him feeling something unidentifiable in their wake.


Staring blankly down at the coffin that held the body of the man he would never have titled his lover, the smell of blood and the feel of old pains drifted around him. There were scars on his body that would never heal. The scars that were less visible were far deeper.

With a superhuman effort, he tore his eyes from it, grasping the Puzzle tightly. The cartouche on the wall grabbed his eyes... it had been sanded down and was blank. That image disturbed him beyond anything else...


“Say my name, Seth.” The knife bit deeply into his chest as he pulled against the pure darkness holding his wrists down, bloody eyes glowing in the darkness.

“A... Atem...”

The knife stabbed between two ribs, drawing a muffled cry of surprised pain. “Never forget it.”


His hand had left the Puzzle behind to rub lightly at his chest. Atem's name was carved there, as it no longer was in the wall of his tomb. No... he would never forget. Atem would be with him always. In that mark, in the Puzzle he would wear, in his dreams...

Lightly his fingers trailed along the walls as he paced the room, watching solemnly as he passed scenes of the afterlife his cousin would never see. His impassive face hid the turmoil in his mind, as it alternately affirmed that his fate was a tragedy, no one should be subject to this... and that if there was anyone who should it was he man who had kept him a willing prisoner for the last three years. It was easier to let it fight than to interfere and choose a side... he had been fighting with himself for the last forty days as the body was embalmed and nothing had come of it yet. His sleep was strangely peaceful, knowing he wouldn't be woken by a knife piercing his flesh or a pair of hands wrapped around his throat, and yet his dreams had been haunted by the glowing eyes he had seen so many times, and always expected to see upon waking...


His lord's smaller form molded to his body, one hand trailing through the drying blood on his chest, aggravating the wounds there, the hieroglyphics he had carved there. “Love me, Seth...” he said in a small voice, not looking up, watching his hand.

Staring at the ceiling, he gingerly wrapped his arms around him, helpless to disobey his master.


His traitor feet brought him to the sarcophagus again, and he looked down once more, watching the serene and immobile face. Flashes of old pain reoccurred to him, every torture he had experienced at his hands rushing back through his mind, the pain he had felt coming back to him in a flood of purely imagined physical sensation so intense and overwhelming he nearly cried out. In a fit of rage, all of the defiance he had been denied in his tormentor's lifetime burst forth and he yanked the Puzzle from his neck, snapping the cord that held it, slamming the fragile artifact into the face that it turned out was actually far, far too similar to the one it was meant to represent and shattering it into its component pieces.

The voice that hissed “You don't own me anymore” was unrecognizable, choked with pain and hatred and blinding fury, the glare that his cold blue eyes sent at the coffin enough to perhaps reach a dead man in his prison. The golden pieces clattered over the floor, spreading out in a wide circle around them.

“Gods, I hate you...”

His anger faded as the last of the pieces finally fell still on the stones. That was it... that was the end. There was no one in the world who could reassemble the Puzzle, and that soul within was trapped forever, to wander ceaselessly with no hope of return... It was too much.

Silently, he went to his knees and gathered the pieces of the Puzzle together, carefully seeking them out to the smallest one and placing them carefully in a bag. His first act as Pharaoh would be to hide the Items beneath the sands, where they belonged, so that they could never again cause harm... The Puzzle especially would be locked away in a tomb where no one could hope to get to it.

His soul would never be freed.

It was enough.


Atem's balcony stretched out around them, the chill night air silent as they watched the stars overhead. Nothing disturbed their peace, as his lord's fingers slid silently down his arm, tracing the jewelry that was all he wore. Lithe fingers trailed through his hair, and he leaned against him lightly.

“Seth...” Atem murmured, tugging him close and running his fingers down his chest.

“My lord?” he asked quietly, too content to move.

“Say you love me.” Coldness crept along his throat as the thin edge of a knife blade traced leisurely patterns across it.

His head tilted back, exposing his throat as he looked up into intense red eyes, glowing in the starlight. He knew this man owned him heart, body, and soul, for the rest of eternity...

“I love you, Atem.”