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Jawahir was grateful to have survived through the sandstorm in her homeland. She'd thanked all the ancestors she had been able to remember, said a few words to each of them, went into a deep meditation the night before the Rwandi planned to leave the port, Jawahir unaware of the farewells that were being said between childhood friends as she veiled her face completely, something she did only when planning to give thanks or other prayer to the ancestors, otherwise leaving her facial beauty uncovered for any to look upon.
Jawahir's father, Morathi, had been contacted regarding the education of the young queen of Egypt in their ways. Jawahir still remembered the look of surprise, then thoughtfulness that had crossed her father's face as he whispered quietly with the Leierin, Durah, his first wife, then with Farashuu, who looked more surprised than he had, and muttered a short argumentative tone before Morathi had silenced her with one word 'Later.' It made Jawahir wonder what they had been speaking about, but soon the topic appeared to be focused on her. Her greatness, her father, was speaking to her about traveling to Egypt: the country seemed soon to go to war with Greece, and would like words and advice from their fellow Africans.
She was still picking up on the Egyptian language, having been practicing for a few years, since she had met the odd Zaire woman at the marketplace and speaking of travel, she had considered traveling to other lands, and her father already spoke conversationally in the Egyptian language, believing in the truly diplomatic ways of the Rwandi tribe. Should Jawahir need to read anything, she would be out of luck, but she was able to ask for a few things, and the four warriors and two slaves that would be accompanying Jawahir had some brief knowledge, especially the eldest, a friend of her father's, who would be able to advise her.
Her mother, Farashuu, would not be coming. Jawahir knew why, that she should be fertile soon, and her father and her would be once again attempting to have a son. Jawahir had heard her mother's rants about the 'window closing.' It made sense, complete sense, but being without her mother in a foreign land where she knew little of the culture would be unsettling, but, believing she would be seen as a better woman than Bashira, Jawahir has eagerly accepted, and would be in Egypt, if everything went well, by the end of Awwal. She'd seen some members of other tribes and mentioned she would be going, not thinking anything wrong with this.
The way over had been tedious, and while Jawahir was fascinated by the stories the warriors told, her bottom ached from riding on the camel. While she did believe her hips were pleasantly shaped for her future husband, at times she wished she was more suited for camel riding. The first glimpse of Egypt had been worth it though. It was so utterly...utterly Non-Bedoan. She wrapped the veil around her head, preparing to enter into Egypt.
The eldest warrior spoke, clearing his throat in the deep timbre that reminded her so of her father. She might have thought they were brothers, had she not known her family tree almost better than she knew herself. The man reminded her that, in Egypt, it was common for women to go bare-chested even if they were not mothers, and that 'her blessedness should be prepared for a sight that may be shocking'
It had been at least a year since anyone in Jawahir's tribe had been punished, to the best of her knowledge. She forgot at times, that people had been stoned in front of her when she was a young girl, and she had not blinked an eye.
It turned out that the adviser, as she called him in her head, was correct. She saw young women, who did not even appear to be married, let alone have birthed a child, dressed in things that were barely covering. She also saw a woman with a cloak a few shades brighter than her own, and immediately felt jealous. She barely felt the pain in her bottom from riding so long. The palace was grand, and the more permanent buildings drew interest. Jawahir wondered how it felt not to be able to arrange your walls to your liking, to be stuck with the same structure.
The adviser had a cheerful smile on his face as the Bedoan group turned towards the palace. "Oh...my." Jawahir's eyes widened in surprise at the tall building. This was certainly a house for royalty. The adviser confirmed this with a nod, and helped Jawahir dismount the camel. She adjusted her clothing, once more checking her veil was in place and covering her hair and a small portion of her face. One of the other warriors led the camels otherwise as Jawahir and her most trusted warrior entered the palace.
She was curious to know of the Egyptian rulers. According to Morathi and the adviser, there was a man on the throne with a young wife, and a child on the way, as well as a 'Dowager,' a title which Jawahir was beyond understanding. Hiri would be sure to make her congratulations to the couple for the arrival of a new life, and she would keep a mind to listen to whatever titles they were addressed by--Jawahir would default to 'his greatness' and 'her blessedness,' which were high titles in Bedoa, and she was curious to know what the Egyptian royalty went by.
The adviser whispered to a servant, who nodded and took off, potentially to get somebody--Jawahir hadn't heard what had been whispered, though it was no care to her. She was looking forward to meeting the Egyptain royalty.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Jawahir was grateful to have survived through the sandstorm in her homeland. She'd thanked all the ancestors she had been able to remember, said a few words to each of them, went into a deep meditation the night before the Rwandi planned to leave the port, Jawahir unaware of the farewells that were being said between childhood friends as she veiled her face completely, something she did only when planning to give thanks or other prayer to the ancestors, otherwise leaving her facial beauty uncovered for any to look upon.
Jawahir's father, Morathi, had been contacted regarding the education of the young queen of Egypt in their ways. Jawahir still remembered the look of surprise, then thoughtfulness that had crossed her father's face as he whispered quietly with the Leierin, Durah, his first wife, then with Farashuu, who looked more surprised than he had, and muttered a short argumentative tone before Morathi had silenced her with one word 'Later.' It made Jawahir wonder what they had been speaking about, but soon the topic appeared to be focused on her. Her greatness, her father, was speaking to her about traveling to Egypt: the country seemed soon to go to war with Greece, and would like words and advice from their fellow Africans.
She was still picking up on the Egyptian language, having been practicing for a few years, since she had met the odd Zaire woman at the marketplace and speaking of travel, she had considered traveling to other lands, and her father already spoke conversationally in the Egyptian language, believing in the truly diplomatic ways of the Rwandi tribe. Should Jawahir need to read anything, she would be out of luck, but she was able to ask for a few things, and the four warriors and two slaves that would be accompanying Jawahir had some brief knowledge, especially the eldest, a friend of her father's, who would be able to advise her.
Her mother, Farashuu, would not be coming. Jawahir knew why, that she should be fertile soon, and her father and her would be once again attempting to have a son. Jawahir had heard her mother's rants about the 'window closing.' It made sense, complete sense, but being without her mother in a foreign land where she knew little of the culture would be unsettling, but, believing she would be seen as a better woman than Bashira, Jawahir has eagerly accepted, and would be in Egypt, if everything went well, by the end of Awwal. She'd seen some members of other tribes and mentioned she would be going, not thinking anything wrong with this.
The way over had been tedious, and while Jawahir was fascinated by the stories the warriors told, her bottom ached from riding on the camel. While she did believe her hips were pleasantly shaped for her future husband, at times she wished she was more suited for camel riding. The first glimpse of Egypt had been worth it though. It was so utterly...utterly Non-Bedoan. She wrapped the veil around her head, preparing to enter into Egypt.
The eldest warrior spoke, clearing his throat in the deep timbre that reminded her so of her father. She might have thought they were brothers, had she not known her family tree almost better than she knew herself. The man reminded her that, in Egypt, it was common for women to go bare-chested even if they were not mothers, and that 'her blessedness should be prepared for a sight that may be shocking'
It had been at least a year since anyone in Jawahir's tribe had been punished, to the best of her knowledge. She forgot at times, that people had been stoned in front of her when she was a young girl, and she had not blinked an eye.
It turned out that the adviser, as she called him in her head, was correct. She saw young women, who did not even appear to be married, let alone have birthed a child, dressed in things that were barely covering. She also saw a woman with a cloak a few shades brighter than her own, and immediately felt jealous. She barely felt the pain in her bottom from riding so long. The palace was grand, and the more permanent buildings drew interest. Jawahir wondered how it felt not to be able to arrange your walls to your liking, to be stuck with the same structure.
The adviser had a cheerful smile on his face as the Bedoan group turned towards the palace. "Oh...my." Jawahir's eyes widened in surprise at the tall building. This was certainly a house for royalty. The adviser confirmed this with a nod, and helped Jawahir dismount the camel. She adjusted her clothing, once more checking her veil was in place and covering her hair and a small portion of her face. One of the other warriors led the camels otherwise as Jawahir and her most trusted warrior entered the palace.
She was curious to know of the Egyptian rulers. According to Morathi and the adviser, there was a man on the throne with a young wife, and a child on the way, as well as a 'Dowager,' a title which Jawahir was beyond understanding. Hiri would be sure to make her congratulations to the couple for the arrival of a new life, and she would keep a mind to listen to whatever titles they were addressed by--Jawahir would default to 'his greatness' and 'her blessedness,' which were high titles in Bedoa, and she was curious to know what the Egyptian royalty went by.
The adviser whispered to a servant, who nodded and took off, potentially to get somebody--Jawahir hadn't heard what had been whispered, though it was no care to her. She was looking forward to meeting the Egyptain royalty.
Jawahir was grateful to have survived through the sandstorm in her homeland. She'd thanked all the ancestors she had been able to remember, said a few words to each of them, went into a deep meditation the night before the Rwandi planned to leave the port, Jawahir unaware of the farewells that were being said between childhood friends as she veiled her face completely, something she did only when planning to give thanks or other prayer to the ancestors, otherwise leaving her facial beauty uncovered for any to look upon.
Jawahir's father, Morathi, had been contacted regarding the education of the young queen of Egypt in their ways. Jawahir still remembered the look of surprise, then thoughtfulness that had crossed her father's face as he whispered quietly with the Leierin, Durah, his first wife, then with Farashuu, who looked more surprised than he had, and muttered a short argumentative tone before Morathi had silenced her with one word 'Later.' It made Jawahir wonder what they had been speaking about, but soon the topic appeared to be focused on her. Her greatness, her father, was speaking to her about traveling to Egypt: the country seemed soon to go to war with Greece, and would like words and advice from their fellow Africans.
She was still picking up on the Egyptian language, having been practicing for a few years, since she had met the odd Zaire woman at the marketplace and speaking of travel, she had considered traveling to other lands, and her father already spoke conversationally in the Egyptian language, believing in the truly diplomatic ways of the Rwandi tribe. Should Jawahir need to read anything, she would be out of luck, but she was able to ask for a few things, and the four warriors and two slaves that would be accompanying Jawahir had some brief knowledge, especially the eldest, a friend of her father's, who would be able to advise her.
Her mother, Farashuu, would not be coming. Jawahir knew why, that she should be fertile soon, and her father and her would be once again attempting to have a son. Jawahir had heard her mother's rants about the 'window closing.' It made sense, complete sense, but being without her mother in a foreign land where she knew little of the culture would be unsettling, but, believing she would be seen as a better woman than Bashira, Jawahir has eagerly accepted, and would be in Egypt, if everything went well, by the end of Awwal. She'd seen some members of other tribes and mentioned she would be going, not thinking anything wrong with this.
The way over had been tedious, and while Jawahir was fascinated by the stories the warriors told, her bottom ached from riding on the camel. While she did believe her hips were pleasantly shaped for her future husband, at times she wished she was more suited for camel riding. The first glimpse of Egypt had been worth it though. It was so utterly...utterly Non-Bedoan. She wrapped the veil around her head, preparing to enter into Egypt.
The eldest warrior spoke, clearing his throat in the deep timbre that reminded her so of her father. She might have thought they were brothers, had she not known her family tree almost better than she knew herself. The man reminded her that, in Egypt, it was common for women to go bare-chested even if they were not mothers, and that 'her blessedness should be prepared for a sight that may be shocking'
It had been at least a year since anyone in Jawahir's tribe had been punished, to the best of her knowledge. She forgot at times, that people had been stoned in front of her when she was a young girl, and she had not blinked an eye.
It turned out that the adviser, as she called him in her head, was correct. She saw young women, who did not even appear to be married, let alone have birthed a child, dressed in things that were barely covering. She also saw a woman with a cloak a few shades brighter than her own, and immediately felt jealous. She barely felt the pain in her bottom from riding so long. The palace was grand, and the more permanent buildings drew interest. Jawahir wondered how it felt not to be able to arrange your walls to your liking, to be stuck with the same structure.
The adviser had a cheerful smile on his face as the Bedoan group turned towards the palace. "Oh...my." Jawahir's eyes widened in surprise at the tall building. This was certainly a house for royalty. The adviser confirmed this with a nod, and helped Jawahir dismount the camel. She adjusted her clothing, once more checking her veil was in place and covering her hair and a small portion of her face. One of the other warriors led the camels otherwise as Jawahir and her most trusted warrior entered the palace.
She was curious to know of the Egyptian rulers. According to Morathi and the adviser, there was a man on the throne with a young wife, and a child on the way, as well as a 'Dowager,' a title which Jawahir was beyond understanding. Hiri would be sure to make her congratulations to the couple for the arrival of a new life, and she would keep a mind to listen to whatever titles they were addressed by--Jawahir would default to 'his greatness' and 'her blessedness,' which were high titles in Bedoa, and she was curious to know what the Egyptian royalty went by.
The adviser whispered to a servant, who nodded and took off, potentially to get somebody--Jawahir hadn't heard what had been whispered, though it was no care to her. She was looking forward to meeting the Egyptain royalty.
Isetheperu had desired a great many things in her many years; it was known that she was a woman who wanted far too much and far too often, but the desire for travel was not one which had possessed her. Why would it, when there was so much to grasp her imagination within her own sphere of influence? Whatever she did not already have could be summoned, and whatever little was outside of her reach was never worth the time spent lamenting its absence.
Time -- that was the key. Mankind was gifted with precious little of it, and Isetheperu ached to simply think of how much was squandered on ships and roadways, how much could be accomplished within the time it took to move from one city to the next or, gods forbid, across the northern sea, if only one stood still. Even the routine commute between Cairo and Thebes many times throughout the year was enough to have Isetheperu’s bones quaking with agitation. The queen mother certainly would not have risen to the heights she had, if she had not focused so intently, so forcefully, on this one spot, until she saw herself in every woven tapestry, every perfect corner, every servant’s face -- and further, to the nation unfolding beyond the horizon of her balcony until it seemed nothing was safe from the beacon of her influence.
Though it was no longer her home in law, Isetheperu’s soul would always haunt the gilded walls of the Evening Star palace.
“Your Majesty.” A knot of a man edged into the open door of her chamber. “The Rwandi liaison is arriving.”
An uncommon smile quickly replaced the queen dowager’s looming frown. “Good,” she purred, sliding away the ledger splayed across her table. “Fetch my retainers.”
...
How curious, that this was to be the first step towards an alliance of so much importance, yet Isetheperu felt as if she had more in common with any Greek national than the woman she now approached. The Bedoan woman stood before Isetheperu swathed almost entirely in cloth, even her face partially obscured despite the insinuation of her body beneath and the symmetrical, sharp gaze which hinted at hidden beauty. Even before the distance between them closed enough to speak, the queen dowager felt herself compelled to know this creature, to unwind the unknown. Perhaps she could begin to understand, then, men’s inexplicable fascination with the likes of the similarly-adorned Iaheru H’Sheifa.
A low hum seemed to follow the queen mother through the cavernous anteroom as servants swarmed in her wake. Perhaps they had not anticipated that Isetheperu would receive the visitors herself, but such was one of the few advantages of having yielded the rule of Egypt. She was free now to play diplomat on her own terms rather than staying within the orbit of the throne.
“Leierseunin Jawahir,” Isetheperu began, exercising what little knowledge she had of Bedoan royalty, and in doing so cutting off her retainer’s attempt to herald her approach. Her hands fell open in a welcoming gesture. “Egypt opens her doors to you.”
The contrast between she and the Bedoan grew more stark as Isetheperu he came to rest before her, the queen mother draped in the thinnest of kalasiris, heavy gold banded around her neck and across her shoulders. As Isetheperu paused, her retainer stepped forward with a bow at her waist, wide-eyed and appearing somewhat lost in the wake of Isetheperu’s disregard for social routine. She attempted to introduce the queen mother once again, and Isetheperu acquiesced to the formality with a wave of her hand. “Her Majesty, Queen Dowager Isetheperu of Hei Naddar.”
Isetheperu did not make a habit of being overly friendly with the nation’s guests, her patience for entertaining others having grown thin over the years, but occasionally it would suit her purposes to have a foreign hand on her side of the table, and this was one such instance where it suited her greatly, given the totality of recent events. It was necessary for Egypt to court allies given the looming threat of war, yes, but it was also necessary for Isetheperu to do much the same within the palace halls. She could feel Hatshepsut slipping from her grasp at Osorsen’s beckoning, and the girl was growing less and less enchanted with the mythos of her mother. Perhaps this Rwandi girl would be Isetheperu’s way back into the high opinion of her daughter. Perhaps not. In either case, it could not hurt to invest in the possibility.
“I am quite grateful for your generosity in travelling all this way to lend yourself to the service of my daughter.” A tight smile falling into its well-practiced place on her lips, and Isetheperu turned, her arm extending gracefully to the side to beckon Jawahir and her advisor further into the palace. “There is much I should like to discuss with you, but after such a trek as yours, I’ll not needlessly delay your opportunity to rest. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to our Pharaoh and Queen.”
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Isetheperu had desired a great many things in her many years; it was known that she was a woman who wanted far too much and far too often, but the desire for travel was not one which had possessed her. Why would it, when there was so much to grasp her imagination within her own sphere of influence? Whatever she did not already have could be summoned, and whatever little was outside of her reach was never worth the time spent lamenting its absence.
Time -- that was the key. Mankind was gifted with precious little of it, and Isetheperu ached to simply think of how much was squandered on ships and roadways, how much could be accomplished within the time it took to move from one city to the next or, gods forbid, across the northern sea, if only one stood still. Even the routine commute between Cairo and Thebes many times throughout the year was enough to have Isetheperu’s bones quaking with agitation. The queen mother certainly would not have risen to the heights she had, if she had not focused so intently, so forcefully, on this one spot, until she saw herself in every woven tapestry, every perfect corner, every servant’s face -- and further, to the nation unfolding beyond the horizon of her balcony until it seemed nothing was safe from the beacon of her influence.
Though it was no longer her home in law, Isetheperu’s soul would always haunt the gilded walls of the Evening Star palace.
“Your Majesty.” A knot of a man edged into the open door of her chamber. “The Rwandi liaison is arriving.”
An uncommon smile quickly replaced the queen dowager’s looming frown. “Good,” she purred, sliding away the ledger splayed across her table. “Fetch my retainers.”
...
How curious, that this was to be the first step towards an alliance of so much importance, yet Isetheperu felt as if she had more in common with any Greek national than the woman she now approached. The Bedoan woman stood before Isetheperu swathed almost entirely in cloth, even her face partially obscured despite the insinuation of her body beneath and the symmetrical, sharp gaze which hinted at hidden beauty. Even before the distance between them closed enough to speak, the queen dowager felt herself compelled to know this creature, to unwind the unknown. Perhaps she could begin to understand, then, men’s inexplicable fascination with the likes of the similarly-adorned Iaheru H’Sheifa.
A low hum seemed to follow the queen mother through the cavernous anteroom as servants swarmed in her wake. Perhaps they had not anticipated that Isetheperu would receive the visitors herself, but such was one of the few advantages of having yielded the rule of Egypt. She was free now to play diplomat on her own terms rather than staying within the orbit of the throne.
“Leierseunin Jawahir,” Isetheperu began, exercising what little knowledge she had of Bedoan royalty, and in doing so cutting off her retainer’s attempt to herald her approach. Her hands fell open in a welcoming gesture. “Egypt opens her doors to you.”
The contrast between she and the Bedoan grew more stark as Isetheperu he came to rest before her, the queen mother draped in the thinnest of kalasiris, heavy gold banded around her neck and across her shoulders. As Isetheperu paused, her retainer stepped forward with a bow at her waist, wide-eyed and appearing somewhat lost in the wake of Isetheperu’s disregard for social routine. She attempted to introduce the queen mother once again, and Isetheperu acquiesced to the formality with a wave of her hand. “Her Majesty, Queen Dowager Isetheperu of Hei Naddar.”
Isetheperu did not make a habit of being overly friendly with the nation’s guests, her patience for entertaining others having grown thin over the years, but occasionally it would suit her purposes to have a foreign hand on her side of the table, and this was one such instance where it suited her greatly, given the totality of recent events. It was necessary for Egypt to court allies given the looming threat of war, yes, but it was also necessary for Isetheperu to do much the same within the palace halls. She could feel Hatshepsut slipping from her grasp at Osorsen’s beckoning, and the girl was growing less and less enchanted with the mythos of her mother. Perhaps this Rwandi girl would be Isetheperu’s way back into the high opinion of her daughter. Perhaps not. In either case, it could not hurt to invest in the possibility.
“I am quite grateful for your generosity in travelling all this way to lend yourself to the service of my daughter.” A tight smile falling into its well-practiced place on her lips, and Isetheperu turned, her arm extending gracefully to the side to beckon Jawahir and her advisor further into the palace. “There is much I should like to discuss with you, but after such a trek as yours, I’ll not needlessly delay your opportunity to rest. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to our Pharaoh and Queen.”
Isetheperu had desired a great many things in her many years; it was known that she was a woman who wanted far too much and far too often, but the desire for travel was not one which had possessed her. Why would it, when there was so much to grasp her imagination within her own sphere of influence? Whatever she did not already have could be summoned, and whatever little was outside of her reach was never worth the time spent lamenting its absence.
Time -- that was the key. Mankind was gifted with precious little of it, and Isetheperu ached to simply think of how much was squandered on ships and roadways, how much could be accomplished within the time it took to move from one city to the next or, gods forbid, across the northern sea, if only one stood still. Even the routine commute between Cairo and Thebes many times throughout the year was enough to have Isetheperu’s bones quaking with agitation. The queen mother certainly would not have risen to the heights she had, if she had not focused so intently, so forcefully, on this one spot, until she saw herself in every woven tapestry, every perfect corner, every servant’s face -- and further, to the nation unfolding beyond the horizon of her balcony until it seemed nothing was safe from the beacon of her influence.
Though it was no longer her home in law, Isetheperu’s soul would always haunt the gilded walls of the Evening Star palace.
“Your Majesty.” A knot of a man edged into the open door of her chamber. “The Rwandi liaison is arriving.”
An uncommon smile quickly replaced the queen dowager’s looming frown. “Good,” she purred, sliding away the ledger splayed across her table. “Fetch my retainers.”
...
How curious, that this was to be the first step towards an alliance of so much importance, yet Isetheperu felt as if she had more in common with any Greek national than the woman she now approached. The Bedoan woman stood before Isetheperu swathed almost entirely in cloth, even her face partially obscured despite the insinuation of her body beneath and the symmetrical, sharp gaze which hinted at hidden beauty. Even before the distance between them closed enough to speak, the queen dowager felt herself compelled to know this creature, to unwind the unknown. Perhaps she could begin to understand, then, men’s inexplicable fascination with the likes of the similarly-adorned Iaheru H’Sheifa.
A low hum seemed to follow the queen mother through the cavernous anteroom as servants swarmed in her wake. Perhaps they had not anticipated that Isetheperu would receive the visitors herself, but such was one of the few advantages of having yielded the rule of Egypt. She was free now to play diplomat on her own terms rather than staying within the orbit of the throne.
“Leierseunin Jawahir,” Isetheperu began, exercising what little knowledge she had of Bedoan royalty, and in doing so cutting off her retainer’s attempt to herald her approach. Her hands fell open in a welcoming gesture. “Egypt opens her doors to you.”
The contrast between she and the Bedoan grew more stark as Isetheperu he came to rest before her, the queen mother draped in the thinnest of kalasiris, heavy gold banded around her neck and across her shoulders. As Isetheperu paused, her retainer stepped forward with a bow at her waist, wide-eyed and appearing somewhat lost in the wake of Isetheperu’s disregard for social routine. She attempted to introduce the queen mother once again, and Isetheperu acquiesced to the formality with a wave of her hand. “Her Majesty, Queen Dowager Isetheperu of Hei Naddar.”
Isetheperu did not make a habit of being overly friendly with the nation’s guests, her patience for entertaining others having grown thin over the years, but occasionally it would suit her purposes to have a foreign hand on her side of the table, and this was one such instance where it suited her greatly, given the totality of recent events. It was necessary for Egypt to court allies given the looming threat of war, yes, but it was also necessary for Isetheperu to do much the same within the palace halls. She could feel Hatshepsut slipping from her grasp at Osorsen’s beckoning, and the girl was growing less and less enchanted with the mythos of her mother. Perhaps this Rwandi girl would be Isetheperu’s way back into the high opinion of her daughter. Perhaps not. In either case, it could not hurt to invest in the possibility.
“I am quite grateful for your generosity in travelling all this way to lend yourself to the service of my daughter.” A tight smile falling into its well-practiced place on her lips, and Isetheperu turned, her arm extending gracefully to the side to beckon Jawahir and her advisor further into the palace. “There is much I should like to discuss with you, but after such a trek as yours, I’ll not needlessly delay your opportunity to rest. Allow me the pleasure of introducing you to our Pharaoh and Queen.”
Excitement, Hatshepsut had discovered, did not always agree with the baby.
She had been told that it was likely that the contingent from Bedoa would be arriving today and she was looking forward immensely to meeting the Rwandi princess who had been selected to teach her the language and culture of her homeland. Learning was one of the petite Queen's greatest joys, and while she had been taught a bit about the history and geography of the that country, she had always longed to know more. Perhaps had she been born a common man instead of a royal woman, she would have journeyed there herself, but that was impossible for one of her station. Emissaries were sent to foreign lands instead of its rulers.
Hatshepsut had resigned herself to the reality that she would likely never leave Egypt, especially now that she was married and expecting a child. Her life was too important to risk and often visitors to other countries contracted diseases that the natives were immune to. And there was also the threat of violence and assassination. It was safer to stay put and let those who were trained in international diplomacy handle foreign affairs.
But that didn't stop the wanderlust that meandered through her veins. Living vicariously through another might satisfy those cravings, just as Osorsen's stories had always done. His tales were so vivid that she had been able to imagine herself in the places he had visited, almost as if she was really there. Perhaps the Rwandi princess would have a similar way with words.
She wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything the woman said if this queasiness continued. The herbal remedies Skylla had been giving her helped a lot, but her stomach was tied up in knots today with excitement mixed with an unhealthy dose of anxiety. She had sent for the royal physician only a few minutes ago, with the message that she felt nauseous and needed something to ease it.
Now she reclined upon a beautifully upholstered chaise with carved golden legs, her face much paler than usual and one hand upon the budding roundness of her belly. Quiet down, little one, she urged the tiny life inside her. I need to be at my best today.
The door opened and Hatshepsut turned her head toward the entrance to her opulent chambers, sighing when a servant stepped through the door instead of Skylla. The man, bare-chested and wearing only a kilt, bowed low before her and waited until she told him that he could rise and speak. “The Bedoans have arrived, Your Evening Radiance,” he informed her. “The Dowager Queen is going to greet them.”
This time, the young Queen's sigh was one of relief. Her mother was the perfect person to welcome them, and she suspected that Isetheperu would relish the opportunity. Her duties had diminished now that Iahotep ruled Egypt, but she was still … and forever would be, in her daughter's opinion … a force to be reckoned with. She seemed uncannily aware of everything that happened in the palace, so perhaps she knew that Hatshepsut was not feeling well.
Still, she wanted to greet Princess Jawahir herself and hopefully, Skylla would arrive soon and provide her with some relief from her queasiness so that she could join her mother.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Excitement, Hatshepsut had discovered, did not always agree with the baby.
She had been told that it was likely that the contingent from Bedoa would be arriving today and she was looking forward immensely to meeting the Rwandi princess who had been selected to teach her the language and culture of her homeland. Learning was one of the petite Queen's greatest joys, and while she had been taught a bit about the history and geography of the that country, she had always longed to know more. Perhaps had she been born a common man instead of a royal woman, she would have journeyed there herself, but that was impossible for one of her station. Emissaries were sent to foreign lands instead of its rulers.
Hatshepsut had resigned herself to the reality that she would likely never leave Egypt, especially now that she was married and expecting a child. Her life was too important to risk and often visitors to other countries contracted diseases that the natives were immune to. And there was also the threat of violence and assassination. It was safer to stay put and let those who were trained in international diplomacy handle foreign affairs.
But that didn't stop the wanderlust that meandered through her veins. Living vicariously through another might satisfy those cravings, just as Osorsen's stories had always done. His tales were so vivid that she had been able to imagine herself in the places he had visited, almost as if she was really there. Perhaps the Rwandi princess would have a similar way with words.
She wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything the woman said if this queasiness continued. The herbal remedies Skylla had been giving her helped a lot, but her stomach was tied up in knots today with excitement mixed with an unhealthy dose of anxiety. She had sent for the royal physician only a few minutes ago, with the message that she felt nauseous and needed something to ease it.
Now she reclined upon a beautifully upholstered chaise with carved golden legs, her face much paler than usual and one hand upon the budding roundness of her belly. Quiet down, little one, she urged the tiny life inside her. I need to be at my best today.
The door opened and Hatshepsut turned her head toward the entrance to her opulent chambers, sighing when a servant stepped through the door instead of Skylla. The man, bare-chested and wearing only a kilt, bowed low before her and waited until she told him that he could rise and speak. “The Bedoans have arrived, Your Evening Radiance,” he informed her. “The Dowager Queen is going to greet them.”
This time, the young Queen's sigh was one of relief. Her mother was the perfect person to welcome them, and she suspected that Isetheperu would relish the opportunity. Her duties had diminished now that Iahotep ruled Egypt, but she was still … and forever would be, in her daughter's opinion … a force to be reckoned with. She seemed uncannily aware of everything that happened in the palace, so perhaps she knew that Hatshepsut was not feeling well.
Still, she wanted to greet Princess Jawahir herself and hopefully, Skylla would arrive soon and provide her with some relief from her queasiness so that she could join her mother.
Excitement, Hatshepsut had discovered, did not always agree with the baby.
She had been told that it was likely that the contingent from Bedoa would be arriving today and she was looking forward immensely to meeting the Rwandi princess who had been selected to teach her the language and culture of her homeland. Learning was one of the petite Queen's greatest joys, and while she had been taught a bit about the history and geography of the that country, she had always longed to know more. Perhaps had she been born a common man instead of a royal woman, she would have journeyed there herself, but that was impossible for one of her station. Emissaries were sent to foreign lands instead of its rulers.
Hatshepsut had resigned herself to the reality that she would likely never leave Egypt, especially now that she was married and expecting a child. Her life was too important to risk and often visitors to other countries contracted diseases that the natives were immune to. And there was also the threat of violence and assassination. It was safer to stay put and let those who were trained in international diplomacy handle foreign affairs.
But that didn't stop the wanderlust that meandered through her veins. Living vicariously through another might satisfy those cravings, just as Osorsen's stories had always done. His tales were so vivid that she had been able to imagine herself in the places he had visited, almost as if she was really there. Perhaps the Rwandi princess would have a similar way with words.
She wouldn't be able to concentrate on anything the woman said if this queasiness continued. The herbal remedies Skylla had been giving her helped a lot, but her stomach was tied up in knots today with excitement mixed with an unhealthy dose of anxiety. She had sent for the royal physician only a few minutes ago, with the message that she felt nauseous and needed something to ease it.
Now she reclined upon a beautifully upholstered chaise with carved golden legs, her face much paler than usual and one hand upon the budding roundness of her belly. Quiet down, little one, she urged the tiny life inside her. I need to be at my best today.
The door opened and Hatshepsut turned her head toward the entrance to her opulent chambers, sighing when a servant stepped through the door instead of Skylla. The man, bare-chested and wearing only a kilt, bowed low before her and waited until she told him that he could rise and speak. “The Bedoans have arrived, Your Evening Radiance,” he informed her. “The Dowager Queen is going to greet them.”
This time, the young Queen's sigh was one of relief. Her mother was the perfect person to welcome them, and she suspected that Isetheperu would relish the opportunity. Her duties had diminished now that Iahotep ruled Egypt, but she was still … and forever would be, in her daughter's opinion … a force to be reckoned with. She seemed uncannily aware of everything that happened in the palace, so perhaps she knew that Hatshepsut was not feeling well.
Still, she wanted to greet Princess Jawahir herself and hopefully, Skylla would arrive soon and provide her with some relief from her queasiness so that she could join her mother.
Jawahir smiled at the woman greeting her, ever polite even though she did not recognize much of her. Advanced in years, for certain, but still standing tall, with jewelry Jawahir admired, especially the gold the elder wore. The clothing was different from what her friends, even her mother wore with her own tribe, but Jawahir was not here to judge differences. Not publicly, anyways. She appreciated both the use of her title, though it held not much meaning to those of Bedoa, as it could easily find itself blown to the wind, covered like the bodies of those in the sand, and the phrase she used. A place opening its doors. It was true Jawahir did not have much experience with physical doors, other than the flaps of tents others constructed for her, but she enjoyed the sentiment nonetheless.
The trouble came with speaking the language. Jawahir was by no means fluent, after only speaking it for two years, and while she was conversational, sometimes things didn't flow quite as properly as they should have, grammatically. That was what the adviser was for. So Jawahir politely bowed her head, wondering if that was showing enough respect for Her Majesty. "Thank you, Her Majesty." Jawahir said, and after a corrective whisper from her father's friend, amended, "Ah, I see. Your Majesty, forgive me for the mistake."
Fretful of making a bad impression on someone so important, someone she imagined in the same position as her paternal grandmother, she bowed deeper, almost deep as the servant had. She was certain this was the way to behave among Egyptian royalty, absolutely. Nevermind that this was her first diplomatic engagement with someone not of her people, of the Bedoans. She could only imagine how much worse it would be to have to learn Greek, with them being so far away, no, this was much better. It would be fascinating to learn of a people so close to Jawahir's own.
Her bottom ached from riding the camel, and she was tired from having traveled so far, and for so long with hearing all about Egypt from her father's friend, but she was far too interested by the Egyptian palace and meeting her other hosts to complain at all. She wondered if she looked very strange to the Queen Dowager, who, oddly enough, reminded her of her mother. Only slightly, though, and Jawahir wasn't certain of why it was. There were certainly many differences, not the least that the Queen Dowager was from Egypt and not actually related to Jawahir other than for this diplomatic mission.
"It will be nothing, your Majesty," Jawahir smiled gracefully, "It will be an honor to get to know your daughter and the history of your land as well." she nodded her head respectfully, ready to follow the Queen Dowager wherever the Pharaoh and his queen were. She did hope that they would be polite, in the very least, and she did hope she could make a friend of the Queen. Jawahir was glad, at least, that the Queen was closer to her own age. And quite lucky to be married already, Jawahir thought.
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Jawahir smiled at the woman greeting her, ever polite even though she did not recognize much of her. Advanced in years, for certain, but still standing tall, with jewelry Jawahir admired, especially the gold the elder wore. The clothing was different from what her friends, even her mother wore with her own tribe, but Jawahir was not here to judge differences. Not publicly, anyways. She appreciated both the use of her title, though it held not much meaning to those of Bedoa, as it could easily find itself blown to the wind, covered like the bodies of those in the sand, and the phrase she used. A place opening its doors. It was true Jawahir did not have much experience with physical doors, other than the flaps of tents others constructed for her, but she enjoyed the sentiment nonetheless.
The trouble came with speaking the language. Jawahir was by no means fluent, after only speaking it for two years, and while she was conversational, sometimes things didn't flow quite as properly as they should have, grammatically. That was what the adviser was for. So Jawahir politely bowed her head, wondering if that was showing enough respect for Her Majesty. "Thank you, Her Majesty." Jawahir said, and after a corrective whisper from her father's friend, amended, "Ah, I see. Your Majesty, forgive me for the mistake."
Fretful of making a bad impression on someone so important, someone she imagined in the same position as her paternal grandmother, she bowed deeper, almost deep as the servant had. She was certain this was the way to behave among Egyptian royalty, absolutely. Nevermind that this was her first diplomatic engagement with someone not of her people, of the Bedoans. She could only imagine how much worse it would be to have to learn Greek, with them being so far away, no, this was much better. It would be fascinating to learn of a people so close to Jawahir's own.
Her bottom ached from riding the camel, and she was tired from having traveled so far, and for so long with hearing all about Egypt from her father's friend, but she was far too interested by the Egyptian palace and meeting her other hosts to complain at all. She wondered if she looked very strange to the Queen Dowager, who, oddly enough, reminded her of her mother. Only slightly, though, and Jawahir wasn't certain of why it was. There were certainly many differences, not the least that the Queen Dowager was from Egypt and not actually related to Jawahir other than for this diplomatic mission.
"It will be nothing, your Majesty," Jawahir smiled gracefully, "It will be an honor to get to know your daughter and the history of your land as well." she nodded her head respectfully, ready to follow the Queen Dowager wherever the Pharaoh and his queen were. She did hope that they would be polite, in the very least, and she did hope she could make a friend of the Queen. Jawahir was glad, at least, that the Queen was closer to her own age. And quite lucky to be married already, Jawahir thought.
Jawahir smiled at the woman greeting her, ever polite even though she did not recognize much of her. Advanced in years, for certain, but still standing tall, with jewelry Jawahir admired, especially the gold the elder wore. The clothing was different from what her friends, even her mother wore with her own tribe, but Jawahir was not here to judge differences. Not publicly, anyways. She appreciated both the use of her title, though it held not much meaning to those of Bedoa, as it could easily find itself blown to the wind, covered like the bodies of those in the sand, and the phrase she used. A place opening its doors. It was true Jawahir did not have much experience with physical doors, other than the flaps of tents others constructed for her, but she enjoyed the sentiment nonetheless.
The trouble came with speaking the language. Jawahir was by no means fluent, after only speaking it for two years, and while she was conversational, sometimes things didn't flow quite as properly as they should have, grammatically. That was what the adviser was for. So Jawahir politely bowed her head, wondering if that was showing enough respect for Her Majesty. "Thank you, Her Majesty." Jawahir said, and after a corrective whisper from her father's friend, amended, "Ah, I see. Your Majesty, forgive me for the mistake."
Fretful of making a bad impression on someone so important, someone she imagined in the same position as her paternal grandmother, she bowed deeper, almost deep as the servant had. She was certain this was the way to behave among Egyptian royalty, absolutely. Nevermind that this was her first diplomatic engagement with someone not of her people, of the Bedoans. She could only imagine how much worse it would be to have to learn Greek, with them being so far away, no, this was much better. It would be fascinating to learn of a people so close to Jawahir's own.
Her bottom ached from riding the camel, and she was tired from having traveled so far, and for so long with hearing all about Egypt from her father's friend, but she was far too interested by the Egyptian palace and meeting her other hosts to complain at all. She wondered if she looked very strange to the Queen Dowager, who, oddly enough, reminded her of her mother. Only slightly, though, and Jawahir wasn't certain of why it was. There were certainly many differences, not the least that the Queen Dowager was from Egypt and not actually related to Jawahir other than for this diplomatic mission.
"It will be nothing, your Majesty," Jawahir smiled gracefully, "It will be an honor to get to know your daughter and the history of your land as well." she nodded her head respectfully, ready to follow the Queen Dowager wherever the Pharaoh and his queen were. She did hope that they would be polite, in the very least, and she did hope she could make a friend of the Queen. Jawahir was glad, at least, that the Queen was closer to her own age. And quite lucky to be married already, Jawahir thought.
Skylla had only just been alerted of the Queen’s unsettled stomach, but she had moved quickly. This was becoming a normal issue, and while Skylla could give her herbs and other things to settle the young girl’s stomach, the physician could understand that the nerves of the day’s events would only serve to make her more anxious. Not knowing whether it was the pregnancy itself or if the Queen was truly just anxious and feeling queazy from working herself up, Skylla flitted gracefully about her workshop, gathering this and that. To be prepared for anything and everything that young Hatshepsut might ask of her.
Waving the servant who had come into her space away with a single motion of her hand, the girl scrambled out of the doorway and back toward the Queen’s chambers. Knowing that the Queen was to meet someone of import that day, Skylla had dressed in an outfit far nicer than her normal day clothes. The dress of Egyptian linen was dark in color, the very same she had worn to court the one afternoon when she had first started her position within the palace. She wasn’t exactly paid enough to buy more than one or two elegant dresses for company such that was coming to the Palace that day. Especially when most of her money was being saved to find Callidora a way back to Greece.
Then the Physician was out the door and trailing through the halls, her basket of remedies tucked close against her body just in case someone bumped her. The last thing she needed was for all of her hard work to go clattering across the floor. Heading from the same direction as the honored guests of the queen, Skylla found it proper to pause and stare at the Dowager Queen as if she were surprised by her appearance. Then the look was gone and she was bowing quickly as she passed the Dowager and the Bedoan guests, keeping her head down and streaking back toward the Queen’s rooms.
She did not knock. She never really did unless it was late. The servants had stopped expecting her to simply because Skylla’s place was, quite literally, beside the Queen. Trailing into the room, she shut the door firmly behind her. “My queen,” Skylla greeted softly as she approached with her basket. “I’ve been told you’re still not feeling well this morning,” she hummed, coming to settle on her knees before the lounge that Hatshepsut lay across. Already, she was searching through her medicines. “Can you tell me your exact symptoms? We can do what we have been doing and tailor your treatment toward what you’re feeling at this moment,” Skylla instructed carefully.
Then her dark gaze lifted to the Queen’s face. “Your guest is very beautiful, my Queen,” a smile tilted her lips, “I am sure you will be pleased with her. The Queen Dowager is introducing herself, so let us get you well. Quickly,” she added as an afterthought. Snapping her fingers at the nearest servant, her sweet tone changed as her gaze slid to the young woman. “Water. Bread. Now. Don’t forget the cup,” she ordered, setting out the herbs that she could potentially be using for the queen.
Toward the end of the basket, she paused. That was right. She had gone out earlier in the morning and had spotted something she was sure the queen would like but she hadn’t thought about it until now. “When your meeting is done, my Queen. I wish to give you a gift I found from the market. When we have more time.”
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Skylla had only just been alerted of the Queen’s unsettled stomach, but she had moved quickly. This was becoming a normal issue, and while Skylla could give her herbs and other things to settle the young girl’s stomach, the physician could understand that the nerves of the day’s events would only serve to make her more anxious. Not knowing whether it was the pregnancy itself or if the Queen was truly just anxious and feeling queazy from working herself up, Skylla flitted gracefully about her workshop, gathering this and that. To be prepared for anything and everything that young Hatshepsut might ask of her.
Waving the servant who had come into her space away with a single motion of her hand, the girl scrambled out of the doorway and back toward the Queen’s chambers. Knowing that the Queen was to meet someone of import that day, Skylla had dressed in an outfit far nicer than her normal day clothes. The dress of Egyptian linen was dark in color, the very same she had worn to court the one afternoon when she had first started her position within the palace. She wasn’t exactly paid enough to buy more than one or two elegant dresses for company such that was coming to the Palace that day. Especially when most of her money was being saved to find Callidora a way back to Greece.
Then the Physician was out the door and trailing through the halls, her basket of remedies tucked close against her body just in case someone bumped her. The last thing she needed was for all of her hard work to go clattering across the floor. Heading from the same direction as the honored guests of the queen, Skylla found it proper to pause and stare at the Dowager Queen as if she were surprised by her appearance. Then the look was gone and she was bowing quickly as she passed the Dowager and the Bedoan guests, keeping her head down and streaking back toward the Queen’s rooms.
She did not knock. She never really did unless it was late. The servants had stopped expecting her to simply because Skylla’s place was, quite literally, beside the Queen. Trailing into the room, she shut the door firmly behind her. “My queen,” Skylla greeted softly as she approached with her basket. “I’ve been told you’re still not feeling well this morning,” she hummed, coming to settle on her knees before the lounge that Hatshepsut lay across. Already, she was searching through her medicines. “Can you tell me your exact symptoms? We can do what we have been doing and tailor your treatment toward what you’re feeling at this moment,” Skylla instructed carefully.
Then her dark gaze lifted to the Queen’s face. “Your guest is very beautiful, my Queen,” a smile tilted her lips, “I am sure you will be pleased with her. The Queen Dowager is introducing herself, so let us get you well. Quickly,” she added as an afterthought. Snapping her fingers at the nearest servant, her sweet tone changed as her gaze slid to the young woman. “Water. Bread. Now. Don’t forget the cup,” she ordered, setting out the herbs that she could potentially be using for the queen.
Toward the end of the basket, she paused. That was right. She had gone out earlier in the morning and had spotted something she was sure the queen would like but she hadn’t thought about it until now. “When your meeting is done, my Queen. I wish to give you a gift I found from the market. When we have more time.”
Skylla had only just been alerted of the Queen’s unsettled stomach, but she had moved quickly. This was becoming a normal issue, and while Skylla could give her herbs and other things to settle the young girl’s stomach, the physician could understand that the nerves of the day’s events would only serve to make her more anxious. Not knowing whether it was the pregnancy itself or if the Queen was truly just anxious and feeling queazy from working herself up, Skylla flitted gracefully about her workshop, gathering this and that. To be prepared for anything and everything that young Hatshepsut might ask of her.
Waving the servant who had come into her space away with a single motion of her hand, the girl scrambled out of the doorway and back toward the Queen’s chambers. Knowing that the Queen was to meet someone of import that day, Skylla had dressed in an outfit far nicer than her normal day clothes. The dress of Egyptian linen was dark in color, the very same she had worn to court the one afternoon when she had first started her position within the palace. She wasn’t exactly paid enough to buy more than one or two elegant dresses for company such that was coming to the Palace that day. Especially when most of her money was being saved to find Callidora a way back to Greece.
Then the Physician was out the door and trailing through the halls, her basket of remedies tucked close against her body just in case someone bumped her. The last thing she needed was for all of her hard work to go clattering across the floor. Heading from the same direction as the honored guests of the queen, Skylla found it proper to pause and stare at the Dowager Queen as if she were surprised by her appearance. Then the look was gone and she was bowing quickly as she passed the Dowager and the Bedoan guests, keeping her head down and streaking back toward the Queen’s rooms.
She did not knock. She never really did unless it was late. The servants had stopped expecting her to simply because Skylla’s place was, quite literally, beside the Queen. Trailing into the room, she shut the door firmly behind her. “My queen,” Skylla greeted softly as she approached with her basket. “I’ve been told you’re still not feeling well this morning,” she hummed, coming to settle on her knees before the lounge that Hatshepsut lay across. Already, she was searching through her medicines. “Can you tell me your exact symptoms? We can do what we have been doing and tailor your treatment toward what you’re feeling at this moment,” Skylla instructed carefully.
Then her dark gaze lifted to the Queen’s face. “Your guest is very beautiful, my Queen,” a smile tilted her lips, “I am sure you will be pleased with her. The Queen Dowager is introducing herself, so let us get you well. Quickly,” she added as an afterthought. Snapping her fingers at the nearest servant, her sweet tone changed as her gaze slid to the young woman. “Water. Bread. Now. Don’t forget the cup,” she ordered, setting out the herbs that she could potentially be using for the queen.
Toward the end of the basket, she paused. That was right. She had gone out earlier in the morning and had spotted something she was sure the queen would like but she hadn’t thought about it until now. “When your meeting is done, my Queen. I wish to give you a gift I found from the market. When we have more time.”
The door opened again and this time it was Skylla. She was one of the few people who would never be reprimanded for not knocking and staying in the outer chamber before she was summoned into the Queen's presence. Nor was she required to request permission before speaking. The royal physician was given more liberties when it came to protocol as it was her job to seethe well-being of Hatshepsut and her unborn child.
Before her marriage she had overlooked such things anyway, though she did understand why the formalities had to be followed. Nobody was allowed to forget that she was the representative of the gods and that they owed her deference. Now, though, she was forced to chastise those who ignored the accepted conventions for if she overlooked them, Iahotep would think her weak.
She knew that his respect wasn't going to be easy to earn but she must do it or live in misery for the rest of her life. And for some reason she didn't completely understand, she wanted to prove herself to him, perhaps just to show that she could. In a way quite different from her mother's, he was making her into a stronger Queen.
Though she didn't feel strong at all right now. Hatshepsut smiled wanly at Skylla as she knelt beside her. She trusted the woman completely despite the fact that they had not been acquainted long. Her remedies worked much better than her predecessor’s and in truth, she had found the last physcian a bit frightening. She was glad he was gone, even if the reason that Iahotep had dismissed him was not his fault. He could not have known that she would faint in public. She blamed her husband for that. If he had not squeezed her hand so hard, perhaps she would have been able to keep her composure.
But that was over and done with. There was no sense dwelling on it anymore.
“I'm feeling queasy again. My stomach is churning. I'm afraid that if I try to stand, I'll throw up.” She sighed. “And I'm always a bit nervous when meeting new people. But I do need to greet my Bedoan guest. It is important that she knows that I am eager for her to teach me her language and the customs of her people. I don't want her to think I was forced into this or that I consider myself too high and mighty to welcome her myself.”
So Skylla had already seen her and she was pleasing to look at. The physician's assessment of Princess Jawahir's beauty worried her a bit. What if Iahotep wanted her to become one of his many mistresses? Surely he must be smart enough to know that she was under no obligation to him. His advances could cause a serious political conflict between Egypt and the Rwandi tribe and they didn't need another war or even a skirmish. She prayed that her husband would behave himself.
“I'm glad my mother is with her, but I do need to be there myself. I suppose I could send a servant and request that she come to me, but I would rather her not see me like this. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.” Both literally and figuratively. She wasn't certain if food would help, but if Skylla thought it would, then she would certainly try it. The Queen had eaten nothing all day, fearing that it would just come back up.
Her dark eyes lit up when the physician said she had a gift for her. Her curiosity eclipsed some of her anxiety. Skylla knew that she didn't need to gain the Queen's friendship with gifts. She had given it to her already. All young girls loved pleasant surprises, and even though she was a married woman who was carrying a child, she was little more than a child herself. “Thank you for thinking of me. Hopefully we'll have time after the meeting. The princess will probably want to get settled and rest.” One of the finest rooms in the palace had been prepared for her.
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Check out their information page here.
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The door opened again and this time it was Skylla. She was one of the few people who would never be reprimanded for not knocking and staying in the outer chamber before she was summoned into the Queen's presence. Nor was she required to request permission before speaking. The royal physician was given more liberties when it came to protocol as it was her job to seethe well-being of Hatshepsut and her unborn child.
Before her marriage she had overlooked such things anyway, though she did understand why the formalities had to be followed. Nobody was allowed to forget that she was the representative of the gods and that they owed her deference. Now, though, she was forced to chastise those who ignored the accepted conventions for if she overlooked them, Iahotep would think her weak.
She knew that his respect wasn't going to be easy to earn but she must do it or live in misery for the rest of her life. And for some reason she didn't completely understand, she wanted to prove herself to him, perhaps just to show that she could. In a way quite different from her mother's, he was making her into a stronger Queen.
Though she didn't feel strong at all right now. Hatshepsut smiled wanly at Skylla as she knelt beside her. She trusted the woman completely despite the fact that they had not been acquainted long. Her remedies worked much better than her predecessor’s and in truth, she had found the last physcian a bit frightening. She was glad he was gone, even if the reason that Iahotep had dismissed him was not his fault. He could not have known that she would faint in public. She blamed her husband for that. If he had not squeezed her hand so hard, perhaps she would have been able to keep her composure.
But that was over and done with. There was no sense dwelling on it anymore.
“I'm feeling queasy again. My stomach is churning. I'm afraid that if I try to stand, I'll throw up.” She sighed. “And I'm always a bit nervous when meeting new people. But I do need to greet my Bedoan guest. It is important that she knows that I am eager for her to teach me her language and the customs of her people. I don't want her to think I was forced into this or that I consider myself too high and mighty to welcome her myself.”
So Skylla had already seen her and she was pleasing to look at. The physician's assessment of Princess Jawahir's beauty worried her a bit. What if Iahotep wanted her to become one of his many mistresses? Surely he must be smart enough to know that she was under no obligation to him. His advances could cause a serious political conflict between Egypt and the Rwandi tribe and they didn't need another war or even a skirmish. She prayed that her husband would behave himself.
“I'm glad my mother is with her, but I do need to be there myself. I suppose I could send a servant and request that she come to me, but I would rather her not see me like this. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.” Both literally and figuratively. She wasn't certain if food would help, but if Skylla thought it would, then she would certainly try it. The Queen had eaten nothing all day, fearing that it would just come back up.
Her dark eyes lit up when the physician said she had a gift for her. Her curiosity eclipsed some of her anxiety. Skylla knew that she didn't need to gain the Queen's friendship with gifts. She had given it to her already. All young girls loved pleasant surprises, and even though she was a married woman who was carrying a child, she was little more than a child herself. “Thank you for thinking of me. Hopefully we'll have time after the meeting. The princess will probably want to get settled and rest.” One of the finest rooms in the palace had been prepared for her.
The door opened again and this time it was Skylla. She was one of the few people who would never be reprimanded for not knocking and staying in the outer chamber before she was summoned into the Queen's presence. Nor was she required to request permission before speaking. The royal physician was given more liberties when it came to protocol as it was her job to seethe well-being of Hatshepsut and her unborn child.
Before her marriage she had overlooked such things anyway, though she did understand why the formalities had to be followed. Nobody was allowed to forget that she was the representative of the gods and that they owed her deference. Now, though, she was forced to chastise those who ignored the accepted conventions for if she overlooked them, Iahotep would think her weak.
She knew that his respect wasn't going to be easy to earn but she must do it or live in misery for the rest of her life. And for some reason she didn't completely understand, she wanted to prove herself to him, perhaps just to show that she could. In a way quite different from her mother's, he was making her into a stronger Queen.
Though she didn't feel strong at all right now. Hatshepsut smiled wanly at Skylla as she knelt beside her. She trusted the woman completely despite the fact that they had not been acquainted long. Her remedies worked much better than her predecessor’s and in truth, she had found the last physcian a bit frightening. She was glad he was gone, even if the reason that Iahotep had dismissed him was not his fault. He could not have known that she would faint in public. She blamed her husband for that. If he had not squeezed her hand so hard, perhaps she would have been able to keep her composure.
But that was over and done with. There was no sense dwelling on it anymore.
“I'm feeling queasy again. My stomach is churning. I'm afraid that if I try to stand, I'll throw up.” She sighed. “And I'm always a bit nervous when meeting new people. But I do need to greet my Bedoan guest. It is important that she knows that I am eager for her to teach me her language and the customs of her people. I don't want her to think I was forced into this or that I consider myself too high and mighty to welcome her myself.”
So Skylla had already seen her and she was pleasing to look at. The physician's assessment of Princess Jawahir's beauty worried her a bit. What if Iahotep wanted her to become one of his many mistresses? Surely he must be smart enough to know that she was under no obligation to him. His advances could cause a serious political conflict between Egypt and the Rwandi tribe and they didn't need another war or even a skirmish. She prayed that her husband would behave himself.
“I'm glad my mother is with her, but I do need to be there myself. I suppose I could send a servant and request that she come to me, but I would rather her not see me like this. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.” Both literally and figuratively. She wasn't certain if food would help, but if Skylla thought it would, then she would certainly try it. The Queen had eaten nothing all day, fearing that it would just come back up.
Her dark eyes lit up when the physician said she had a gift for her. Her curiosity eclipsed some of her anxiety. Skylla knew that she didn't need to gain the Queen's friendship with gifts. She had given it to her already. All young girls loved pleasant surprises, and even though she was a married woman who was carrying a child, she was little more than a child herself. “Thank you for thinking of me. Hopefully we'll have time after the meeting. The princess will probably want to get settled and rest.” One of the finest rooms in the palace had been prepared for her.
Skylla found it incredibly difficult not to be taken to the young queen. She was such a sweet woman that even someone as quietly uncaring at Skylla struggled not to care at all. She had quickly found it impossible not to like Hatshepsut. It wasn't the queen who was holding her hostage in this place, it was the Pharaoh. The queen, she had no ill will toward and had come to find herself incredibly friendly and attentive toward. It was rare that Skylla took any liking to any of her patients, but she had taken a very deep, protective liking to the queen. And it wasn't just because she was the queen.
Part of it was her assertions that she needed to this and that. That she needed to make good impressions, strong fronts, and prove herself worthy of others. Skylla quietly wondered if the queen remembered that others were supposed to prove how worthy they were to her, not the other way around. The young girl carried the next Pharaoh in her womb and that could not be ignored. Hatshepsut had already proven herself in every way required of her station and position within the Egyptian court. Having been the queen for a number of years already, it was hard not to admire the girl that had put so much faith into herself and her ability to reach for her own destiny.
Skylla would have liked to see her married to a commander much kinder than the current Pharaoh. She hadn't been in Egypt to witness the wedding herself, but having met the Pharaoh multiple times, and with the constant threat of execution hanging over her head, it was easy for Skylla to make the assumption that she would be much better off without the Pharaoh.
Sorting out her herbs for the queen, Skylla worked silently at first, her mind already running through the various herbs that she could give the queen to settle her stomach. Many of them were bitter and that was why the bread was required. In addition, taking herbs on any sort of empty stomach was bound to cause more problems than solutions. Smiling kindly up at the queen, Skylla dipped her head in acknowledgment while the girl spoke.
"Of course, your radiance," Skylla said slowly, "I will do my best to make sure you can meet her post haste," she murmured, reaching once more to feel the queen's forehead to ensure that she wasn't running a fever. She wasn't, so that was at least something that Skylla wouldn't have to worry about. Grinding the herbs down a bit, the physician made a face at the servant who returned with water, a cup, and the bread. "Take the water and put it over the fire for the herbs," Skylla waved the servant off with a single hand, even making a face to show that she didn't quite enjoy the company of those lower than even Skylla herself. Truth be told, she just didn't trust most Egyptians as far as she could throw them. She never knew what they would report back to the Pharaoh.
When the servant came back a bit later with the hot water, Skylla mixed the herbs and hot water together, steeping them into a sort of tea. Setting it aside, she reached for the queen. "Let's get you sitting up at least a little so that you can drink, my queen. And then we will put some food on your stomach and see how you feel. With any luck, you'll be moving around soon."
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Skylla found it incredibly difficult not to be taken to the young queen. She was such a sweet woman that even someone as quietly uncaring at Skylla struggled not to care at all. She had quickly found it impossible not to like Hatshepsut. It wasn't the queen who was holding her hostage in this place, it was the Pharaoh. The queen, she had no ill will toward and had come to find herself incredibly friendly and attentive toward. It was rare that Skylla took any liking to any of her patients, but she had taken a very deep, protective liking to the queen. And it wasn't just because she was the queen.
Part of it was her assertions that she needed to this and that. That she needed to make good impressions, strong fronts, and prove herself worthy of others. Skylla quietly wondered if the queen remembered that others were supposed to prove how worthy they were to her, not the other way around. The young girl carried the next Pharaoh in her womb and that could not be ignored. Hatshepsut had already proven herself in every way required of her station and position within the Egyptian court. Having been the queen for a number of years already, it was hard not to admire the girl that had put so much faith into herself and her ability to reach for her own destiny.
Skylla would have liked to see her married to a commander much kinder than the current Pharaoh. She hadn't been in Egypt to witness the wedding herself, but having met the Pharaoh multiple times, and with the constant threat of execution hanging over her head, it was easy for Skylla to make the assumption that she would be much better off without the Pharaoh.
Sorting out her herbs for the queen, Skylla worked silently at first, her mind already running through the various herbs that she could give the queen to settle her stomach. Many of them were bitter and that was why the bread was required. In addition, taking herbs on any sort of empty stomach was bound to cause more problems than solutions. Smiling kindly up at the queen, Skylla dipped her head in acknowledgment while the girl spoke.
"Of course, your radiance," Skylla said slowly, "I will do my best to make sure you can meet her post haste," she murmured, reaching once more to feel the queen's forehead to ensure that she wasn't running a fever. She wasn't, so that was at least something that Skylla wouldn't have to worry about. Grinding the herbs down a bit, the physician made a face at the servant who returned with water, a cup, and the bread. "Take the water and put it over the fire for the herbs," Skylla waved the servant off with a single hand, even making a face to show that she didn't quite enjoy the company of those lower than even Skylla herself. Truth be told, she just didn't trust most Egyptians as far as she could throw them. She never knew what they would report back to the Pharaoh.
When the servant came back a bit later with the hot water, Skylla mixed the herbs and hot water together, steeping them into a sort of tea. Setting it aside, she reached for the queen. "Let's get you sitting up at least a little so that you can drink, my queen. And then we will put some food on your stomach and see how you feel. With any luck, you'll be moving around soon."
Skylla found it incredibly difficult not to be taken to the young queen. She was such a sweet woman that even someone as quietly uncaring at Skylla struggled not to care at all. She had quickly found it impossible not to like Hatshepsut. It wasn't the queen who was holding her hostage in this place, it was the Pharaoh. The queen, she had no ill will toward and had come to find herself incredibly friendly and attentive toward. It was rare that Skylla took any liking to any of her patients, but she had taken a very deep, protective liking to the queen. And it wasn't just because she was the queen.
Part of it was her assertions that she needed to this and that. That she needed to make good impressions, strong fronts, and prove herself worthy of others. Skylla quietly wondered if the queen remembered that others were supposed to prove how worthy they were to her, not the other way around. The young girl carried the next Pharaoh in her womb and that could not be ignored. Hatshepsut had already proven herself in every way required of her station and position within the Egyptian court. Having been the queen for a number of years already, it was hard not to admire the girl that had put so much faith into herself and her ability to reach for her own destiny.
Skylla would have liked to see her married to a commander much kinder than the current Pharaoh. She hadn't been in Egypt to witness the wedding herself, but having met the Pharaoh multiple times, and with the constant threat of execution hanging over her head, it was easy for Skylla to make the assumption that she would be much better off without the Pharaoh.
Sorting out her herbs for the queen, Skylla worked silently at first, her mind already running through the various herbs that she could give the queen to settle her stomach. Many of them were bitter and that was why the bread was required. In addition, taking herbs on any sort of empty stomach was bound to cause more problems than solutions. Smiling kindly up at the queen, Skylla dipped her head in acknowledgment while the girl spoke.
"Of course, your radiance," Skylla said slowly, "I will do my best to make sure you can meet her post haste," she murmured, reaching once more to feel the queen's forehead to ensure that she wasn't running a fever. She wasn't, so that was at least something that Skylla wouldn't have to worry about. Grinding the herbs down a bit, the physician made a face at the servant who returned with water, a cup, and the bread. "Take the water and put it over the fire for the herbs," Skylla waved the servant off with a single hand, even making a face to show that she didn't quite enjoy the company of those lower than even Skylla herself. Truth be told, she just didn't trust most Egyptians as far as she could throw them. She never knew what they would report back to the Pharaoh.
When the servant came back a bit later with the hot water, Skylla mixed the herbs and hot water together, steeping them into a sort of tea. Setting it aside, she reached for the queen. "Let's get you sitting up at least a little so that you can drink, my queen. And then we will put some food on your stomach and see how you feel. With any luck, you'll be moving around soon."
Isetheperu appraised the Bedoan woman with a quick sweep, taking in the uncertain physicality with which the princess greeted her. Her brow quirked at Jawahir’s unexpected grammatical error, telegraphing her amusement before she could quite mask it with her practiced veneer of dignity.
Surely Isetheperu herself could not judge too harshly the linguistic errors of others; her own skill was largely untested, having never travelled where the lessons she had received in her own youth would be more useful than as a trite display of intellect. Though she would have imagined the visiting princess would have brushed up on her knowledge of honorifics beforehand, perhaps that much could be chalked up to the differences between Egyptian and Bedoan culture which, as Isetheperu vaguely recalled, had fewer divisions between those with power and those without.
“Of course,” she answered simply, not wishing to delay the Queen’s guest at the door any longer than prudent. She angled her body and extended her arm to usher Jawahir through the threshold of the palace and into the antechamber. Servants filed around them as Isetheperu began to escort the woman through the antechamber, moving to swiftly turn out of the way of the queen mother’s path, but remain just close enough to be at service should she need it. The Rewandi delegation too seemed to fall in step behind the pair.
“I’m sure that the Queen is quite pleased at the news of your arrival. She has been eager to learn about your land and language as well,” Isetheperu ventured as they walked, past large silken tapestries which adorned the gilded walls from ceiling to floor, depicting gods and kings, scenes from the annals of the nation’s history and extolling the virtues of its current rulers. Past the antechamber, they entered into a large indoor courtyard, the center of its ceiling was open to the sky to welcome the presence of Ra, and held aloft by a circle of columns. Underneath the skylight was a well-manicured garden and clear pool of water, and the walls around it were adorned with benches and cushions and various other boons of luxury. Other nobles, servants, and fixtures of palace life milled about or passed through the courtyard as well, though Isetheperu, used to such constant presence, paid them no mind.
“If you would rest here for a moment, I will ensure that the Her Evening Radiance is ready to receive you,” Isetheperu beckoned, even as one of her personal servants approached briskly from an adjoining corridor, bowing low before whispering in Isetheperu’s ear the news that Hatshepsut had sent for her physician not long ago. The queen mother stiffened visibly, her hands gripping one another with unease where they were clasped in front of her.
The queen mother inclined her head, and the handmaid slipped away once more in the direction from which she had come. Isetheperu turned to one of her own attendants. “Fetch some fans for our guests,” she ordered, and with a scuffling of bare feet on the stone slab floor, servants pulled large palmiform fans from where they rested in the corners of the room, milling them about to generate a calm breeze.
“If you require anything, the servants will be happy to oblige,” Isetheperu added by way of parting to Jawahir, punctuated by a graceful flick of her wrist, before turning to make her way down the same corridor into which her retainer disappeared. She expertly navigated the wide and labyrinthine halls of the palace toward Hatshepsut’s chambers.
Where she would normally simply enter her daughter’s quarters on authority that she was her mother, Isetheperu now hesitated. Would her daughter even want her company, or would she rather her mother not see her in whatever state she may be in? Isetheperu desperately desired to be able to protect her child from the pains of bearing children, quiet suffering she so intimately knew herself. But that thought itself lent another question: Could Isetheperu herself handle seeing her daughter in such a state?
Drawing herself up to her full height as if to brace herself, Isetheperu nodded to her handmaid, indicating her intention. The handmaid, understanding, pushed forward to knock, announcing that the Queen Dowager had arrived seeking an audience.
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Isetheperu appraised the Bedoan woman with a quick sweep, taking in the uncertain physicality with which the princess greeted her. Her brow quirked at Jawahir’s unexpected grammatical error, telegraphing her amusement before she could quite mask it with her practiced veneer of dignity.
Surely Isetheperu herself could not judge too harshly the linguistic errors of others; her own skill was largely untested, having never travelled where the lessons she had received in her own youth would be more useful than as a trite display of intellect. Though she would have imagined the visiting princess would have brushed up on her knowledge of honorifics beforehand, perhaps that much could be chalked up to the differences between Egyptian and Bedoan culture which, as Isetheperu vaguely recalled, had fewer divisions between those with power and those without.
“Of course,” she answered simply, not wishing to delay the Queen’s guest at the door any longer than prudent. She angled her body and extended her arm to usher Jawahir through the threshold of the palace and into the antechamber. Servants filed around them as Isetheperu began to escort the woman through the antechamber, moving to swiftly turn out of the way of the queen mother’s path, but remain just close enough to be at service should she need it. The Rewandi delegation too seemed to fall in step behind the pair.
“I’m sure that the Queen is quite pleased at the news of your arrival. She has been eager to learn about your land and language as well,” Isetheperu ventured as they walked, past large silken tapestries which adorned the gilded walls from ceiling to floor, depicting gods and kings, scenes from the annals of the nation’s history and extolling the virtues of its current rulers. Past the antechamber, they entered into a large indoor courtyard, the center of its ceiling was open to the sky to welcome the presence of Ra, and held aloft by a circle of columns. Underneath the skylight was a well-manicured garden and clear pool of water, and the walls around it were adorned with benches and cushions and various other boons of luxury. Other nobles, servants, and fixtures of palace life milled about or passed through the courtyard as well, though Isetheperu, used to such constant presence, paid them no mind.
“If you would rest here for a moment, I will ensure that the Her Evening Radiance is ready to receive you,” Isetheperu beckoned, even as one of her personal servants approached briskly from an adjoining corridor, bowing low before whispering in Isetheperu’s ear the news that Hatshepsut had sent for her physician not long ago. The queen mother stiffened visibly, her hands gripping one another with unease where they were clasped in front of her.
The queen mother inclined her head, and the handmaid slipped away once more in the direction from which she had come. Isetheperu turned to one of her own attendants. “Fetch some fans for our guests,” she ordered, and with a scuffling of bare feet on the stone slab floor, servants pulled large palmiform fans from where they rested in the corners of the room, milling them about to generate a calm breeze.
“If you require anything, the servants will be happy to oblige,” Isetheperu added by way of parting to Jawahir, punctuated by a graceful flick of her wrist, before turning to make her way down the same corridor into which her retainer disappeared. She expertly navigated the wide and labyrinthine halls of the palace toward Hatshepsut’s chambers.
Where she would normally simply enter her daughter’s quarters on authority that she was her mother, Isetheperu now hesitated. Would her daughter even want her company, or would she rather her mother not see her in whatever state she may be in? Isetheperu desperately desired to be able to protect her child from the pains of bearing children, quiet suffering she so intimately knew herself. But that thought itself lent another question: Could Isetheperu herself handle seeing her daughter in such a state?
Drawing herself up to her full height as if to brace herself, Isetheperu nodded to her handmaid, indicating her intention. The handmaid, understanding, pushed forward to knock, announcing that the Queen Dowager had arrived seeking an audience.
Isetheperu appraised the Bedoan woman with a quick sweep, taking in the uncertain physicality with which the princess greeted her. Her brow quirked at Jawahir’s unexpected grammatical error, telegraphing her amusement before she could quite mask it with her practiced veneer of dignity.
Surely Isetheperu herself could not judge too harshly the linguistic errors of others; her own skill was largely untested, having never travelled where the lessons she had received in her own youth would be more useful than as a trite display of intellect. Though she would have imagined the visiting princess would have brushed up on her knowledge of honorifics beforehand, perhaps that much could be chalked up to the differences between Egyptian and Bedoan culture which, as Isetheperu vaguely recalled, had fewer divisions between those with power and those without.
“Of course,” she answered simply, not wishing to delay the Queen’s guest at the door any longer than prudent. She angled her body and extended her arm to usher Jawahir through the threshold of the palace and into the antechamber. Servants filed around them as Isetheperu began to escort the woman through the antechamber, moving to swiftly turn out of the way of the queen mother’s path, but remain just close enough to be at service should she need it. The Rewandi delegation too seemed to fall in step behind the pair.
“I’m sure that the Queen is quite pleased at the news of your arrival. She has been eager to learn about your land and language as well,” Isetheperu ventured as they walked, past large silken tapestries which adorned the gilded walls from ceiling to floor, depicting gods and kings, scenes from the annals of the nation’s history and extolling the virtues of its current rulers. Past the antechamber, they entered into a large indoor courtyard, the center of its ceiling was open to the sky to welcome the presence of Ra, and held aloft by a circle of columns. Underneath the skylight was a well-manicured garden and clear pool of water, and the walls around it were adorned with benches and cushions and various other boons of luxury. Other nobles, servants, and fixtures of palace life milled about or passed through the courtyard as well, though Isetheperu, used to such constant presence, paid them no mind.
“If you would rest here for a moment, I will ensure that the Her Evening Radiance is ready to receive you,” Isetheperu beckoned, even as one of her personal servants approached briskly from an adjoining corridor, bowing low before whispering in Isetheperu’s ear the news that Hatshepsut had sent for her physician not long ago. The queen mother stiffened visibly, her hands gripping one another with unease where they were clasped in front of her.
The queen mother inclined her head, and the handmaid slipped away once more in the direction from which she had come. Isetheperu turned to one of her own attendants. “Fetch some fans for our guests,” she ordered, and with a scuffling of bare feet on the stone slab floor, servants pulled large palmiform fans from where they rested in the corners of the room, milling them about to generate a calm breeze.
“If you require anything, the servants will be happy to oblige,” Isetheperu added by way of parting to Jawahir, punctuated by a graceful flick of her wrist, before turning to make her way down the same corridor into which her retainer disappeared. She expertly navigated the wide and labyrinthine halls of the palace toward Hatshepsut’s chambers.
Where she would normally simply enter her daughter’s quarters on authority that she was her mother, Isetheperu now hesitated. Would her daughter even want her company, or would she rather her mother not see her in whatever state she may be in? Isetheperu desperately desired to be able to protect her child from the pains of bearing children, quiet suffering she so intimately knew herself. But that thought itself lent another question: Could Isetheperu herself handle seeing her daughter in such a state?
Drawing herself up to her full height as if to brace herself, Isetheperu nodded to her handmaid, indicating her intention. The handmaid, understanding, pushed forward to knock, announcing that the Queen Dowager had arrived seeking an audience.
Though she was looking forward to meeting the Rwandi princess, Hatshepsut wondered if her nausea had been caused by worry. She was insecure and was sometimes tongue-tied when she tried to speak to people she did not know well, and she knew that she must make an excellent impression on this foreigner. If she seemed stupid, word would soon get back to Bedoa that Egypt had a moron for a queen. She didn’t think that Jawahir herself would spread such rumors, but the servants would. Servants were the source of most damaging gossip, in her opinion. They talked far too freely, but there was nothing that could stop them short of cutting out their tongues. The very thought of such a harsh punishment made her stomach heave, though she knew that if one of them was caught spreading rumors about Iahotep, true or otherwise, he wouldn’t hesitate. For all she knew there were already a few tongueless servants in the palace.
Those distressing notions were not helpful at all, and she tried her best to push them to the back of her mind. She had only been a bit queasy when she had received the news that her guest would be arriving that day, but her malady had quickly worsened, lending more credibility to her suspicion that her nerves were to blame. Somehow, she had to learn to calm herself or the next six months were going to be unbearable and her inner turmoil could be dangerous for the baby. She was also afraid that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and have many miscarriages before she finally delivered a healthy child. Iahotep would consider her inability to bear his children a weakness, and if he won over the people, he could kill her and still keep the throne.
Stop it! she commanded herself. Hatshepsut concentrated on watching Skylla grind her herbs, trying to keep her mind blank. They smelled good, strangely enough, but the young Queen had always loved the sharp scent of spices. She knew that the brew would not be completely unpalatable. Skylla’s remedies always helped her and didn’t induce her to vomit like the old royal physician’s had. Now she wondered if that was his intent … that purging the contents of her stomach was the only way to help her. What did a man know about pregnancy and childbirth other than what he had read or been taught? No man could understand exactly what she was going through.
Hatshepsut closed her eyes and waited until everything that Skylla asked for had been brought and prepared. She felt a little better already. Whether the physician was aware of it or not, the young Queen trusted her and was willing to do whatever she asked of her. “I certainly hope so,” she replied when Skylla surmised that she would be walking around soon. She allowed the physician to help her into a sitting position and obediently drank the cup of tea she was handed. It was slightly bitter but the taste was not unpleasant. Immediately, her stomach began to settle down. Reaching for Skylla’s hand, she squeezed it. “Thank you. I’m so glad that you were chosen to see me through this pregnancy.”
She was eating her second bite of bread when a servant hurried in and informed her that her mother was requesting an audience. Had she taken too long or was Isetheperu just concerned for her? Maybe she had already sent the Bedoan princess to her quarters with the promise that the queen would see her soon. She knew that her mother would have handled the situation admirably, the way she handled everything.
Hatshepsut really didn’t want her mother to see her ill, but she did need to know what was happening with their guest. “Send her in,” she sighed, taking another bite of bread. As soon as Isetheperu stepped through the door, she regarded her with sorrowful eyes. “Mother, I don’t think I’m well enough to meet the princess now. I think I shall be better this evening, like I usually am. Tell her that I shall have dinner with her tonight, and until then, she can rest. She must be tired after such a long journey.”
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Though she was looking forward to meeting the Rwandi princess, Hatshepsut wondered if her nausea had been caused by worry. She was insecure and was sometimes tongue-tied when she tried to speak to people she did not know well, and she knew that she must make an excellent impression on this foreigner. If she seemed stupid, word would soon get back to Bedoa that Egypt had a moron for a queen. She didn’t think that Jawahir herself would spread such rumors, but the servants would. Servants were the source of most damaging gossip, in her opinion. They talked far too freely, but there was nothing that could stop them short of cutting out their tongues. The very thought of such a harsh punishment made her stomach heave, though she knew that if one of them was caught spreading rumors about Iahotep, true or otherwise, he wouldn’t hesitate. For all she knew there were already a few tongueless servants in the palace.
Those distressing notions were not helpful at all, and she tried her best to push them to the back of her mind. She had only been a bit queasy when she had received the news that her guest would be arriving that day, but her malady had quickly worsened, lending more credibility to her suspicion that her nerves were to blame. Somehow, she had to learn to calm herself or the next six months were going to be unbearable and her inner turmoil could be dangerous for the baby. She was also afraid that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and have many miscarriages before she finally delivered a healthy child. Iahotep would consider her inability to bear his children a weakness, and if he won over the people, he could kill her and still keep the throne.
Stop it! she commanded herself. Hatshepsut concentrated on watching Skylla grind her herbs, trying to keep her mind blank. They smelled good, strangely enough, but the young Queen had always loved the sharp scent of spices. She knew that the brew would not be completely unpalatable. Skylla’s remedies always helped her and didn’t induce her to vomit like the old royal physician’s had. Now she wondered if that was his intent … that purging the contents of her stomach was the only way to help her. What did a man know about pregnancy and childbirth other than what he had read or been taught? No man could understand exactly what she was going through.
Hatshepsut closed her eyes and waited until everything that Skylla asked for had been brought and prepared. She felt a little better already. Whether the physician was aware of it or not, the young Queen trusted her and was willing to do whatever she asked of her. “I certainly hope so,” she replied when Skylla surmised that she would be walking around soon. She allowed the physician to help her into a sitting position and obediently drank the cup of tea she was handed. It was slightly bitter but the taste was not unpleasant. Immediately, her stomach began to settle down. Reaching for Skylla’s hand, she squeezed it. “Thank you. I’m so glad that you were chosen to see me through this pregnancy.”
She was eating her second bite of bread when a servant hurried in and informed her that her mother was requesting an audience. Had she taken too long or was Isetheperu just concerned for her? Maybe she had already sent the Bedoan princess to her quarters with the promise that the queen would see her soon. She knew that her mother would have handled the situation admirably, the way she handled everything.
Hatshepsut really didn’t want her mother to see her ill, but she did need to know what was happening with their guest. “Send her in,” she sighed, taking another bite of bread. As soon as Isetheperu stepped through the door, she regarded her with sorrowful eyes. “Mother, I don’t think I’m well enough to meet the princess now. I think I shall be better this evening, like I usually am. Tell her that I shall have dinner with her tonight, and until then, she can rest. She must be tired after such a long journey.”
Though she was looking forward to meeting the Rwandi princess, Hatshepsut wondered if her nausea had been caused by worry. She was insecure and was sometimes tongue-tied when she tried to speak to people she did not know well, and she knew that she must make an excellent impression on this foreigner. If she seemed stupid, word would soon get back to Bedoa that Egypt had a moron for a queen. She didn’t think that Jawahir herself would spread such rumors, but the servants would. Servants were the source of most damaging gossip, in her opinion. They talked far too freely, but there was nothing that could stop them short of cutting out their tongues. The very thought of such a harsh punishment made her stomach heave, though she knew that if one of them was caught spreading rumors about Iahotep, true or otherwise, he wouldn’t hesitate. For all she knew there were already a few tongueless servants in the palace.
Those distressing notions were not helpful at all, and she tried her best to push them to the back of her mind. She had only been a bit queasy when she had received the news that her guest would be arriving that day, but her malady had quickly worsened, lending more credibility to her suspicion that her nerves were to blame. Somehow, she had to learn to calm herself or the next six months were going to be unbearable and her inner turmoil could be dangerous for the baby. She was also afraid that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and have many miscarriages before she finally delivered a healthy child. Iahotep would consider her inability to bear his children a weakness, and if he won over the people, he could kill her and still keep the throne.
Stop it! she commanded herself. Hatshepsut concentrated on watching Skylla grind her herbs, trying to keep her mind blank. They smelled good, strangely enough, but the young Queen had always loved the sharp scent of spices. She knew that the brew would not be completely unpalatable. Skylla’s remedies always helped her and didn’t induce her to vomit like the old royal physician’s had. Now she wondered if that was his intent … that purging the contents of her stomach was the only way to help her. What did a man know about pregnancy and childbirth other than what he had read or been taught? No man could understand exactly what she was going through.
Hatshepsut closed her eyes and waited until everything that Skylla asked for had been brought and prepared. She felt a little better already. Whether the physician was aware of it or not, the young Queen trusted her and was willing to do whatever she asked of her. “I certainly hope so,” she replied when Skylla surmised that she would be walking around soon. She allowed the physician to help her into a sitting position and obediently drank the cup of tea she was handed. It was slightly bitter but the taste was not unpleasant. Immediately, her stomach began to settle down. Reaching for Skylla’s hand, she squeezed it. “Thank you. I’m so glad that you were chosen to see me through this pregnancy.”
She was eating her second bite of bread when a servant hurried in and informed her that her mother was requesting an audience. Had she taken too long or was Isetheperu just concerned for her? Maybe she had already sent the Bedoan princess to her quarters with the promise that the queen would see her soon. She knew that her mother would have handled the situation admirably, the way she handled everything.
Hatshepsut really didn’t want her mother to see her ill, but she did need to know what was happening with their guest. “Send her in,” she sighed, taking another bite of bread. As soon as Isetheperu stepped through the door, she regarded her with sorrowful eyes. “Mother, I don’t think I’m well enough to meet the princess now. I think I shall be better this evening, like I usually am. Tell her that I shall have dinner with her tonight, and until then, she can rest. She must be tired after such a long journey.”
Skylla was usually not one to accept niceties and thanks, but with the young queen it was hard to reject such things. If anyone in this palace made the physician feel safe, it was Hatshepsut. Hands down, Skylla felt more at ease with her than anyone else she had met here thus far. And though she had only worked with the queen for a short while, she was inwardly pleased that the young woman held such faith in her and her ability to ensure that she stayed well and her baby was born healthy.
Most would not trust a physician from Greece unless they had tried everything. And by what Skylla had been able to gather, the royal family had tried everything. Their physician had been ineffective and so Skylla had replaced him. She did not tense when the queen took her hand, though her expression did tell the young woman that she was slightly uncomfortable with the kindness shown to her. Not in a way that was ungrateful, but in a way that told Hatshepsut that Skylla was generally unused to such things being said to her.
Especially because only a few weeks ago she had been slated to be executed. It was hard to find anyone here nice, but the queen was much different than both her husband and her mother. For that, Skylla was eternally grateful. Not one to usually show her stressors to the world around her, nor crumble under the weight of cruelty, she had not expected to find kindness in a royal who should have, instead, been quick to dismiss her.
"I don't think I could imagine anywhere better for me to be right now, my queen," Skylla finally said, her tone soft and reverent as she looked over the queen with a careful eye. Already, the tea was was working, and the small bites of bread that Hatshepsut took seemed to help even further. As far as Skylla could deduce, the best course of action was to treat the symptoms, which in turn would ensure that the queen felt well nearly all the time.
Mornings would become more and more vital, and Skylla made a mental note of the queen's words about feeling better once afternoon had struck to her mother. While she did this, Skylla fell into a polite bow to the Queen Dowager, taking a moment to speak once the queen had finished, "She is already starting to feel normal again," the physician reported softly, "If you will excuse me, my queen, I wish to write down the mixture of herbs that I used today so that I can make you a proper tincture for later," she said quietly, giving both Queen Hatshepsut and Queen Dowager Isetheperu deep bows of respect. "I shall return shortly to check on you, Evening Radiance."
Then she gathered her things, murmuring to herself mostly about ratios of herbs as she made her escape from the chamber and the queen dowagers too-keen eye. The more distanced she remained from the woman, the better.
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Skylla was usually not one to accept niceties and thanks, but with the young queen it was hard to reject such things. If anyone in this palace made the physician feel safe, it was Hatshepsut. Hands down, Skylla felt more at ease with her than anyone else she had met here thus far. And though she had only worked with the queen for a short while, she was inwardly pleased that the young woman held such faith in her and her ability to ensure that she stayed well and her baby was born healthy.
Most would not trust a physician from Greece unless they had tried everything. And by what Skylla had been able to gather, the royal family had tried everything. Their physician had been ineffective and so Skylla had replaced him. She did not tense when the queen took her hand, though her expression did tell the young woman that she was slightly uncomfortable with the kindness shown to her. Not in a way that was ungrateful, but in a way that told Hatshepsut that Skylla was generally unused to such things being said to her.
Especially because only a few weeks ago she had been slated to be executed. It was hard to find anyone here nice, but the queen was much different than both her husband and her mother. For that, Skylla was eternally grateful. Not one to usually show her stressors to the world around her, nor crumble under the weight of cruelty, she had not expected to find kindness in a royal who should have, instead, been quick to dismiss her.
"I don't think I could imagine anywhere better for me to be right now, my queen," Skylla finally said, her tone soft and reverent as she looked over the queen with a careful eye. Already, the tea was was working, and the small bites of bread that Hatshepsut took seemed to help even further. As far as Skylla could deduce, the best course of action was to treat the symptoms, which in turn would ensure that the queen felt well nearly all the time.
Mornings would become more and more vital, and Skylla made a mental note of the queen's words about feeling better once afternoon had struck to her mother. While she did this, Skylla fell into a polite bow to the Queen Dowager, taking a moment to speak once the queen had finished, "She is already starting to feel normal again," the physician reported softly, "If you will excuse me, my queen, I wish to write down the mixture of herbs that I used today so that I can make you a proper tincture for later," she said quietly, giving both Queen Hatshepsut and Queen Dowager Isetheperu deep bows of respect. "I shall return shortly to check on you, Evening Radiance."
Then she gathered her things, murmuring to herself mostly about ratios of herbs as she made her escape from the chamber and the queen dowagers too-keen eye. The more distanced she remained from the woman, the better.
Skylla was usually not one to accept niceties and thanks, but with the young queen it was hard to reject such things. If anyone in this palace made the physician feel safe, it was Hatshepsut. Hands down, Skylla felt more at ease with her than anyone else she had met here thus far. And though she had only worked with the queen for a short while, she was inwardly pleased that the young woman held such faith in her and her ability to ensure that she stayed well and her baby was born healthy.
Most would not trust a physician from Greece unless they had tried everything. And by what Skylla had been able to gather, the royal family had tried everything. Their physician had been ineffective and so Skylla had replaced him. She did not tense when the queen took her hand, though her expression did tell the young woman that she was slightly uncomfortable with the kindness shown to her. Not in a way that was ungrateful, but in a way that told Hatshepsut that Skylla was generally unused to such things being said to her.
Especially because only a few weeks ago she had been slated to be executed. It was hard to find anyone here nice, but the queen was much different than both her husband and her mother. For that, Skylla was eternally grateful. Not one to usually show her stressors to the world around her, nor crumble under the weight of cruelty, she had not expected to find kindness in a royal who should have, instead, been quick to dismiss her.
"I don't think I could imagine anywhere better for me to be right now, my queen," Skylla finally said, her tone soft and reverent as she looked over the queen with a careful eye. Already, the tea was was working, and the small bites of bread that Hatshepsut took seemed to help even further. As far as Skylla could deduce, the best course of action was to treat the symptoms, which in turn would ensure that the queen felt well nearly all the time.
Mornings would become more and more vital, and Skylla made a mental note of the queen's words about feeling better once afternoon had struck to her mother. While she did this, Skylla fell into a polite bow to the Queen Dowager, taking a moment to speak once the queen had finished, "She is already starting to feel normal again," the physician reported softly, "If you will excuse me, my queen, I wish to write down the mixture of herbs that I used today so that I can make you a proper tincture for later," she said quietly, giving both Queen Hatshepsut and Queen Dowager Isetheperu deep bows of respect. "I shall return shortly to check on you, Evening Radiance."
Then she gathered her things, murmuring to herself mostly about ratios of herbs as she made her escape from the chamber and the queen dowagers too-keen eye. The more distanced she remained from the woman, the better.