Lion Head Mesa Toiling

@Rashepses @Senmut let me in

The desert was endless, an ocean of golden waves shimmering. Isis moved like a shadow cast by the stars, his lithe frame trailing after the intoxicating thread.

It was unlike any scent he had ever known—a symphony of power and refinement. It spoke of opulence, of empire.

Drawn forward, he could not resist.

Isetnofret moved as if entranced, his paws skimming over the sands with the delicacy of a dancer’s step. He did not care what danger might lie ahead, only that he must see it—must know it.

senmut's green eyes moved from where he had been instruction one child or another on the history of their great-grandfather seti. "speak among yourselves," the priest instructed as he moved from the room, hearing khaemwaset's voice pitched loud above that of the others.

as of late, any movement upon their borders was reason for hesitation, and he moved in such a manner, watchful teeth in sentinels trained upon the newcomer.

"you approach the realm of pharaoh toula, Wife to the Gods, Consort to the Black Prince of Ta-senet," a courtesy for the lion over which he was still not certain how to feel.

A declaration, regal and absolute, underscored by the unyielding presence of their guardians.

Iset inclined his head slightly, a picture of measured respect.

"Then it seems," he spoke with voice of silk, "I have found the heart of the desert’s majesty."

He took a single step forward, careful not to encroach too boldly upon their domain. His gaze remained steady on the priest, though it flicked momentarily toward the sentinels.

He would flee first sign of aggress.

"I am an envoy displaced." he expressed, "I come from somewhere similar to here. Though not quite as..." There was a faint, awed curve to his lips. "breath-taking."

cameo

this envoy displaced caught charmion's eye for only a basic, raw reason.

the man was beautiful. lean with grace and painted in winter's pale hues. he wondered what beautiful temptation he brought with him — and what akashingo might deliver such a regal-looking figure.

he dreamed of company as fellahin.

he dreamed of a new royal to listen in on, to watch in court affairs.

the cold air had apparently made him a yearning beast. it felt unbecoming, it uneased him and forced him to look inward. he turned away to sink back into work and teachings.

an envoy displaced.

praise upon the pretty mouth, this blue-veined noble with no outward guile. and while senmut knew better than to trust, he too was taken off-guard by the exquisite nature of their visitor.

"this is akashingo, and i am its erpa-ha, senmut. join us for refreshment."

he sensed a presence; then aside, lifting his slender arm to gesture that the stranger should fall into step as they moved back to the opulence of the mesa.

Golden eyes, luminous against his pale visage, flickered to Senmut as a faint smile curved his lips.

"You honor me, Erpa-ha," he replied, his voice smooth. "A pleasure to meet you. I am Isisnofret." Reciting his name never grew more easy. "But perhaps just Isis will taste better upon your tongue."

He fell into step beside Senmut, his pale, lithe frame moving with effortless grace against the shifting sands.

"You must forgive my ignorance," Iset continued, his tone casual yet probing. "Tell me, if you do not mind, of Akashingo?"

Around, he looked. Eyes flittering about the grandeur of the warm mesa.

fire leapt beneath senmut's visage; a tight smile became more relaxed upon his mouth. "your name is a delight to the devout, noble one," he teased. 

over the red land, up the three rough-hewn steps of natural rock, into the caverns below, like working ants the subjects of akashingo sprawled beneath the mesa.

the wealth of the palace was shown, was offered; rich morsels and quenching drink, laughter; "tell me of your home," senmut murmured at last, not taking his eyes from such beauty.

The priest’s words, laced with teasing reverence, were met with a faint bow of his head, golden eyes gleaming.

As they ascended the rough-hewn steps, the grandeur of Akashingo revealed itself in cascading layers of wealth and life. Within the cavernous heart of the mesa, the air buzzed with vitality—subjects moving with purpose, laughter weaving through the hum of activity. The opulence here was palpable, a stark contrast to the endless austerity of the dunes.

It was as though he had stepped into a realm of gods.

For a moment, the pale envoy was silent, his gaze drifting as though seeing something far away—only to resettle on the handsome Erpa-ha.

"It is nothing like this," he admitted, gesturing to the splendor surrounding them. "My home is a place of silence and stars. A place that demanded much in return. Simplicity is—was survival."

From where he had settled upon a rug of warm fur, a foreleg extended, reaching to press paw to Senmut's in friendly gesture. "You have spoiled me today."

cameo! <3

proud young prince passed by the chamber. he did not linger in sight; he placed himself along the wall beyond the priest's sight — and second sight, he hoped.

why did the stranger seem so at ease? why had senmut not moved his arm? khaemwaset was curious, and with a fervency he set to listen, imagining the scene he could not see from here.

"such beauty deserves the luxuriant," senmut answered, surprised at himself and yet perhaps not. "and it deserves bespoilment," he breathed, thinking of machiavelli even as his heart beat now with the noble thrum of a prince's rank.

did not princes have what they wanted?

"i was only a peasant before the gods chose me as a scribe, and then the priesthood took me as a fledgling we'eb. what you see is greatness given to those who do not deviate in their worship."

his own paw, turning to cup the warmth of their palms together for a moment that did not end.

The faintest smile touched Isetnofret’s lips at Senmut’s words, his golden gaze steady upon the priest as though appraising something far more precious than the riches around them. The gesture, the closeness of their paws, was met with a composure that belied the subtle.

"Such a story," he murmured, as if tasting his very words upon the tongue. "From the sands to the heights of the gods' favor. I can see why they chose you, Erpa-ha." His paw lingered, the warmth shared between them a fragile thread of connection—intimate yet unassuming. "You carry the grace of one who belongs in such splendor. You are humble enough to call it a gift."

It charmed Isis.

His other foreleg rested elegantly over the fur-lined rug as he allowed himself to relax further into the opulence surrounding them. He could not help but be relaxed. Despite the current of doubt that shouted and roared for him to tuck tail and run, he could not. He drowned in the warmth Senmut offered him. Eyelashes batting and mouth turned to a placated smile.

"I fear there is nothing grandeur about me, my priest. Even despite what meager attempts made. My world has only taken without mercy. What little I am, I carved with endless grasp." His voice softened as his eyes drifted briefly, his lips curving faintly.

He was far too entranced in the Priest's lull to notice the faint flicker of a shadow near the entrance.

"oh, i believe you are very, very wrong, isetnofret."

and all at once it felt as though ramesses were within this chamber, goading senmut, grinning as he stood behind the priest in the place once occupied by Amun.

horror grabbed at senmut! what was happening to him, to the red palace? but when he opened his mouth to warn away the nobleman draped prettily beside him, it was only the same voice which emerged, a honeyed assurance in it which had never belonged to senmut before.

"your very name proclaims that the gods themselves call you beautiful," puppeted by the ghostly paleness of an undead god to which only he alone could bear visible witness; "and i am a mouthpiece for their words. you may trust in my assurance."

"perhaps it is your turn to take. to plunder as the world has done. what would you say to that notion?"

The proclamation struck him, the words sliding beneath his skin. "The gods call me beautiful," he echoed, almost tasting the notion, as though it were too delicate to hold but too alluring to ignore. His name—his very name, now reframed as a divine decree.

Isisnofret, beautiful Isis, touched by a power he had never claimed to understand.

And yet, it was the final question that ensnared him, pulling him from the placid waters of his own thoughts.

To take. The very thought provocative.

He leaned forward slightly, the fragile thread of connection between their paws tightening as he gazed at Senmut, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

"My priest—what would you have me take? What would you see me become?"

"the gods would see you take what is before you," and perhaps isetnofret would see the guiding, the lowlight of the red flickering and the angularity of his own jaw, aligned now toward that of the slenderwhite visitor.

the gods.

but he knew only one beckoned. only one laughed, and it was ramesses, pressing down upon them with eloquent sin and one senmut no longer fought to resist.

he slid his touch along that soft jawline, compelling isetnofret with a gleaming in his green eyes that was altogether unholy.

He did not look away, even as a shiver rolled through his lithe frame, though whether from the warmth of the priest's words or the chill of their implication, he could not say.

Then came the touch—a slide of Senmut’s paw along his jawline, drawing Isis closer to the precipice of something he did not fully understand. His breath hitched, the placid smile faltering as his lips parted slightly, his composure betrayed by the flicker of uncertainty and yearning that warred within him.

“I—” Isis began, but his voice faltered. He swallowed. Isis' jaw shifted beneath Senmut's touch, tilting slightly, his poise as elegant as ever but now layered with intent. Nose brushing the inside of the man's paw.

Timid.

"I will do whatever the Gods will of me." It is but a faint whisper upon his lip, dusting Senmut's paw.

"i promise you that they are pleased, isetnofret. beloved of beauty, consumed by beauty. created from loveliness." he spun the saccharine truths around the pretty man, charming him with a quality which senmut himself had never cultivated.

it was not him! it was this place, these ghosts.

"take my assurance," touch slipping over the silken waist.

***

languid. silent. almost senmut asked that the man stay as companion to the lonely pedestal of priesthood.

Isetnofret lay draped across the fur-lined rug, his pale frame languid and elegant, like the soft curve of sand dunes beneath the moonlight.

His mind heavy with thoughts of splendor. Of luxury.

He is swept up in the whirlwind of emotions produced by these possibilities. He is swept up in Senmut's undividing attention. His devout touch.

Isis is lulled to a comfortable silence. Content to bask in the warmth of the fur rug he lays upon, swathed in the scent. A paw reaches to press to Senmut's side, followed by a nose ruffling the fur at the base of his throat.

Comfortable silence.

He hums, softly. Warmly. He wishes not to move. To ever leave.