A Standup Philosopher
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Shall We Play A Game? Chapter One
🕑 Added 2025-07-21 03:25:09 +0000 UTCShall We Play A Game?
Chapter One
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Ankhesenamun felt the muscles of her jaw flex in irritation as yet another would-be suitor -this one a fourth prince from some satrapy of Babylon. A fourth prince, of a satrapy, for the Queen of Kemet!- wrapped up his long-winded, self-aggrandizing introduction before waving forward a small cluster of mouse-like slaves laden with treasure, which they laid at her feet. As if her bed, and her throne, could be so easily bought with silks and jewels, the likes of which she already possessed in excess! By the gods, she had a golden pyramid the size of a child’s head hanging around her neck even now, never mind the rest of her ‘decorations’!
“Our Pharoah, most radiant daughter of the Sun God, thanks you for your gifts and welcomes you to her palace. She invites you to join your fellow suitors as her guest.” Ay, her Grand Vizier and one of the most contemptible men that she had ever known, intoned as he gestured to the row of seats where the other twenty-odd husband-hopefuls waited and watched with calculating eyes as their rivals introduced themselves.
She hoped her amusement and disgust didn’t show on her face as the fairly large man -could he even see his own feet without help?- drooped in disappointment before trudging -and there was no other word for it- over to one of the waiting seats. Had he really believed, even for a moment, that simply showing up and showering her with the most unimaginative and common of gifts would have her falling to her knees and begging him to marry her? A fourth prince? He should be bowing down in gratitude that she was even permitting him to make his suit at all!
Leaning back on her gilded throne, she allowed herself a small sigh that only her nearest attendants could hear. How many more of these tedious introductions must she endure, how many more of these fools that would try to out-do one another with collected finery and sickly-sweet flattery? Her eyes swept over many of the remaining suitors, each trying to appear more regal and worthy than the last. Some puffed out their chests like preening birds, while others attempted to catch her gaze with what they surely thought were smoldering looks of desire.
The young queen suppressed a derisive snort. Not one of them truly saw her as anything more than a prize to be won, a means to power and riches beyond their wildest dreams and their natural means. They didn't see the weight of responsibility that came with her crown, the sleepless nights spent poring over reports of grain stores and Nile flood levels, the delicate political maneuvering required to keep Kemet's enemies at bay. They just wanted her body and her throne, and were barely concealing that fact with every greedy glance they gave her. Perhaps one of them would be worth making an attempt with, possess the foundation required for her to build him up into a worthy husband, king, and father, but she doubted it. None of them looked capable of more than looking pretty while offering vapid, rote declarations of undying love and devotion. Gods, she could tolerate a terrible man if he would at least make a good -no, a decent- King…!
As if on cue, Ay's voice rang out once more, announcing the next hopeful candidate. "Presenting His Royal Highness, Prince Enlil-Nirari of Assyria, son of King Ashur-Uballit."
The named man, tall and broad shouldered, strode forward and bowed with a flourish, and Ankhesenamun raised an eyebrow in something approaching interest, or at the very least a lack of total apathy. Assyria, she knew, had followed this man’s father into battle against the Nahirini under Suttarna III and driven them back to their own lands after the Nahirini had tried to reestablish rulership over Assyria after Eriba-Adad had broken it. Being raised by such a man might make Enlil-Nirari tolerable, if nothing else. Her Royal Council would certainly favour him out of all those that had presented themselves. As a Crown Prince he was a valuable man indeed, one with a bloodline and rank worthy of her own, and the fact that his nation had so recently fought the Khetani and Nahirini was something they would deeply appreciate. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, after all, and even she had to admit that the potential of uniting Assyria and Kemet against their rivals was a potent offering.
Ankhesenamun shifted slightly not quite leaning forward but not leaning quite so far back either,, her interest piqued despite herself. Prince Enlil-Nirari's demeanor was different from the others - there was a quiet confidence in his stance, a sharpness in his eyes that spoke of intelligence and cunning. As he began to speak, his voice carried across the throne room with a rich, resonant tone that commanded attention, entirely lacking the obsequiousness and wheedling of her other suitors. This was a man well-practiced in speaking, in drawing an audience and keeping it not through threats or greed, but simple presence.
"Great Queen of Kemet, Daughter of Ra," he began, his accent thick but his words carefully chosen, gesturing almost dismissively to the treasures that he had arrived with. "I come before you not as a man offering nothing more than mere trinkets or empty flattery, but instead one with an offer of alliance and strength. Upon the word of my father and the exchanging of our oaths, Assyria stands ready to join forces with Kemet, to create an empire that would stretch from the Nile to the Tigris."
A murmur rippled through the assembled courtiers and suitors. This was bold talk indeed, far beyond the simpering compliments and vague promises of the others, and unlike the rest of them he very much had the authority and the rank to fulfill such a promise. It was certainly the best offer that Ankhesenamun had heard yet, and from a man that actually looked as though he knew which end of a sword to hold at that.
“You offer much, Prince of Assyria, in the name of your father and your nation.” she responded slowly, settling back once again, intrigued despite her distaste for this entire matter. He was easy enough on the eyes, and his bearing made it obvious that he was a warrior of some ability. The potential benefits were great, as she had observed, but she wasn’t oblivious to the dangers either. Her rivals to the north would not stand idly by while their southern and eastern neighbors united. “Be welcome in my palace and my kingdom, and join your fellow suitors.”
As Prince Enlil-Nirari took his seat, Ankhesenamun couldn't help but notice -and enjoy- the ripple of unease that passed through the other suitors. His bold proposal had clearly unsettled them, as had the fact that it had been she and not Ay who had responded, and she could almost see the thoughts churning through their minds as they scrambled to reconsider their own approaches. Unfortunately for most of them, they had none of the military might or lucrative markets to offer that Assyria did.
The next suitor was announced, a minor Kheftian prince whose name she barely registered. As he started his flowery speech, one that he was very obviously trying to modify moment by moment in the face of Enlil-Nirari’s own introduction -and her reaction to it-, Ankhesenamun found her thoughts drifting back to the Assyrian prince. His offer was tempting, she had to admit. The combined might of Kemet and Assyria would be formidable indeed, perhaps even enough to finally push back against her people’s enemies and have them on the defensive for the first time in generations.
But alliances, she knew all too well, were fragile things. How long before Assyria's ambitions turned south? By necessity and proximity, it would be they who absorbed the majority of any conquered northern lands, and that could tip the balance of power too far against Kemet. Oh, it wouldn’t come to a war between them in her lifetime, nor her children or grandchildren, but after that? After three generations or more of learning the weaknesses of her people, of eyeing their resources? Above and beyond that, there was the danger of disloyal hands taking possession of the Millennium Items, the ultimate defense of her nation. If the Assyrians learned how to wield them, took possession of them or, gods protect her, learned to make their own, it could mean the end of her nation.
A small commotion by the entrance to her throne room drew her attention away from her latest suitor (an entirely different one, she noticed, and she was glad for the presence of her Priests and Guardians, because she had missed everything about this man’s introduction. Hopefully, they would not tease her too much when she inevitably asked questions), and both eyebrows went up as a small group of people entered the room, only one of whom she recognized. Bakara, one of her lovers and Guardians, as well as the woman in charge of the more…irregular aspects of investigating and securing their nation. But why was she with these people, and…
Despite a lifetime of training and her own self-control, her eyes widened dramatically as she took in the sight of before her. Her Thief Queen was a woman who could at best be described as ‘standoffish’ and far more often as ‘cool’, ‘cutting’, ‘sarcastic’, even ‘unpleasant’ or ‘cold’ to anyone that wasn’t in their miniscule circle of friends. In fact, that sarcasm was present even amongst that same circle of friends, a circle that Bakara had never for an instant seemed inclined to expand. Yet here she was, smiling at a stranger. A male stranger, with red hair of all things, at that! And…and clasping his arm in farewell?
She couldn’t help her worry and suspicion, and she turned to look up towards Neferure, who looked as though she felt the same way. It spoke to how familiar they were with one another, and with Bakara, that she could already sense the Shadows spiraling out from the Millennium Rod sheathed at her cousin’s waist, searching for some manner of mental manipulation or sorcery laying upon the white-silver haired Kul Elnan. Bakara sensed them coming and looked up at the dais, flashing a reassuring look as she let the Shadows wash over her. They coiled around her for a moment, embracing her and caressing her soul, before withdrawing with an air of satisfaction. There was no manipulation here, everything they saw was genuine…but there was something about her companion, about the way that The Shadows moved around him. It was odd, unlike anything that she had ever felt before, and she found herself curious for a new reason.
“Bakara of Kul Elna, whom do you bring to disrupt this ceremony?” her uncle growled, rising from his seat amongst the Council, and Ankhesenamun didn’t need her magic (or even the power of sight) to recognize the veiled hate in his voice as he addressed the woman who had supplanted him as the Bearer of the Millennium Eye. Bakara scowled at him, her mouth opening for a response that doubtlessly would have been very undiplomatic, but whatever she planned to say was never voiced.
“The fault is mine, elder.” the man she had arrived with interjected smoothly, offering a bow -one polite enough only for any elder, not one with royal blood, and she watched with hidden satisfaction as her uncle swelled with outrage- to Akhenadin before turning his eyes to the throne…and Ankhesenamun’s breath caught in her throat. Eyes the color of wine, richly red, met hers for a short eternity, before he gave her a far deeper bow. “And you have my deepest apologies, O Pharoah, for my late arrival. I, Hasamelli, son of Šuppiluliuma of the Hittite Empire, have come to make my own attempt at earning your favor, if you would permit it.”
The throne room rumbled at that, voices (most of which angry) reacting to his words, and Ankhesenamun found herself paralyzed by shock. A Khetani prince, here? Seeking her hand? One of Šuppiluliuma’s sons, trying to win her hand? She never would have imagined it, and Bakara’s reaction to him made even less sense! She hated the Khetani, and the Naharini for that matter, with a passion! Gods, the only people she hated more was Akhenadin and his followers!
“A Hittite? Here? Seeking the favor of an Kemeti Queen?” one of her suitors shouted in outrage, rising to his feet and pointing at the newest arrival with a judgmental finger. “Seeking to use flattery and charm to conquer the lands his father failed to take on the battle-field, no doubt! Your wickedness is transparent to us all!”
“Not to mention the rudeness of his late arrival! Do you think yourself above courtesy, Hittite?” another agreed, rising in temporary alliance with one rival to dispense with another as quickly as possible.
Hasamelli's lips curved into a small, amused smile as he regarded the outraged suitors. It reminded Ankhesenamun of how her cousin looked whenever some particularly bold fool challenged her to diaha in the hopes of replacing her as Guardian. Not arrogance, but confidence and control. His voice, when he spoke, was calm and measured.
"My lateness was not by design, I assure you. The journey from Hattusa is long, and the desert unforgiving, not to mention full of…inhospitable and discourteous wanderers. As for my intentions..." He turned back to Ankhesenamun, his wine-red eyes meeting her own garnet once more. "They are as pure as those of any man here. I come not to conquer, but to unite. The enmity between our peoples has cost both sides dearly. For many long years, our people have warred with one another, to little gain and much sacrifice. Perhaps it is time for a new approach."
Ankhesenamun raised a hand, silencing the room before the situation could escalate further. Her mind raced, considering the implications of this new development. A Hittite prince, son of her greatest enemy, here as a suitor? It was a marvelous moment, she knew, as she repeated the same thought for at least the third time, but she couldn’t hold it against herself. It was unprecedented, audacious... and potentially game-changing. The fact that he, like the Assyrian, was clearly head and shoulders above the rest of the preening peacocks she had been forced to deal with thus far was obvious and pleasing. Though she couldn’t help but notice that Enlil-Nirari was glaring at the Hittite with a tightly-clenched jaw. For his nature or his interference in what the man had seen as a relatively clear field to marrying her?
"Prince Hasamelli," she spoke, her voice carrying easily across the now-quiet chamber, and there was a susurration as she addressed a specific suitor for only the second time in the day. "Your presence here is... unexpected. Your words, if spoken with honesty, I cannot disagree with. Many thousands of our people have died, in battle or from the other consequences of war, these many years. Indeed, I remember all too well the army that was shattered beyond the walls of this very city when I was a child, an army led by your father and uncle. Should I choose you for my husband, you will be ruling a nation of people who know and fear and hate your father. You think such a history so easy to move beyond?”
Hasamelli's expression softened slightly, a flicker of sadness passing across his features. "No, Great Queen, I do not think it easy. Only necessary. Yes, my father once sought to make your lands his own, as he has many others.” he confirmed, inclining his head somberly. “I do not doubt that there are many here that remember that war, that fought in it and lost those that they loved. After all, there are just as many within my own lands who suffered the same. But the pain of the past must be laid to rest, or nothing but further suffering will be found in the future. Only those within a cycle can seek to break it, and I have come to ask for your help in breaking this one.”
There was something about the way that he had said those words that resonated with Ankhesenamun. It wasn’t just his candor or willingness to accept her words, though that was a part of it, but…he was asking for her help, not offering his. It was a display of, if not submission, then humility. He was not proposing himself as some kind of savior, come to end suffering as a divine figure, but was instead coming to her as nothing more than a man offering what aid he could to her in pursuit of a common and righteous goal.
She studied the Hittite prince carefully, weighing his words against her instincts. The sincerity in his manner was... intriguing. Unlike the others, he didn't seem to be putting on airs or trying to impress her with grand gestures. Instead, he spoke plainly of the realities they faced and the potential for change. He did so politely, humbly. He was friendly already with Bakara, which told her much about his nature, given her Shadows’ generally suspicious mien.
"You are bold, Prince Hasamelli," she said at last. "And yet, I find myself curious to hear more. Perhaps, if your gifts are as carefully considered as your words, I will accept you as a suitor.”
Oh, her Court and the other suitors didn’t like that, rustling and soft sounds of protest, but none of them would dare to voice dissent, not here and not now. Even if it wouldn’t prove instantly fatal, which it very well could depending on how offended she decided to be, it would be political suicide. Quite frankly, the fact that it made them unhappy only made her more determined to give him a fair chance. Petty, perhaps, but she was well within her rights, and -in her humble opinion- owed some pettiness. Hasamelli certainly didn’t seem to care for any of their displeasure, which was another point in his favor.
“Of course, O Pharoah.” he acknowledged the polite wording for the command that it was, and turned to gesture to his retinue, who came forward. Gesturing to the first, a young man with curly black hair and a frankly cute (in the way the young often were) demeanor, he gestured invitingly even as the young man laid down a chest and opened it. “First, I offer you the simplest of gifts: the finest of wines, produced from the vineyards of my elder brother, Kail Mursili. The finest vineyards, might I add, in the whole of our empire.”
Laughter circled the room, and Ankhesenamun couldn’t help but frown slightly in confusion and disappointment. Wine was his first offering? Oh, Khetani wine was a fine thing, an expensive delicacy in fact, but it was hardly an appropriate gift to announce one’s desire to wed a queen! Yet, as she looked back at him, he seemed unperturbed by the mockery directed his way, and by her displeasure for that matter. Instead, he had the same faint smile as before, a smile that said he knew what others did not, and she found herself anticipating what might come next.
“Of course, only a fool would offer nothing more than luxuries to a Queen, luxuries that she can easily possess through her own royal means.” he said, and Ankhesenamun had to smother a wholly inappropriate laugh at the expressions on some of her suitors at his subtle jab to their own gifts, one that echoed her own earlier thoughts. He gestured again, and this time it was a pair of twin girls -whose hair was as bright as the boy’s was dark- that stepped forward, carrying a far larger chest, which they placed beside the first and opened.
For the second time since he had arrived, Ankhesenamun’s breath caught in her chest as she beheld the dark, gleaming metal piled within the chest. A soft swear and some murmuring from around her let her know that her cousin and Guardians also recognized the gift for what it was. “Next, I offer a gift for you and your most treasured companions: iron swords and daggers, forged in the shape of your native blades by the master blade-smiths of Alinna. There can be no greater defense for any man or woman than themselves, and with these weapons you and those closest to you will be well-equipped indeed should you be forced to defend yourselves or one another..”
The room erupted, many of the suitors shooting to their feet, and many of her Royal Council doing the same, all in an effort to get a closer look at the priceless weapons. Few possessed the knowledge to make iron weapons, and they were a jealously guarded and closely protected resource of the Hittite Empire. For Hasamelli’s father to part with so many as a courting gift…were she to decide her husband based on the value of gifts alone, Hasamelli would be her husband by morning.
It took several minutes for the guards and seneschals, acting under Ay’s direction, to restore order to the room and allow the Prince of the Hatti to continue his presentation, and the whole time, all Ankhesenamun could do was wonder. If this was a plot of Hasamelli’s father, it was a very strange one. Oh, a dozen iron weapons could hardly win a war, but Šuppiluliuma was not a stupid man. He had to be aware that the weapons could be given over to her own metal-smiths and studied for reproduction, yet he had allowed this gift all the same!
“Of course, luxuries and safety are all well and good, but life is a great deal more than war and wine, wouldn’t you agree?” the Hittite spoke again once the room was settled, as the third servant stepped forward, this one a woman closer to Neferure’s age than Ankhesenamun’s, and the Pharoah felt a brief flicker of realization as she recognized that all four of the servants who had presented gifts thus far were siblings, youngest to oldest it seemed. Interesting, though likely insignificant in the greater scheme of things. The third chest was opened, and inside lay a collection of clay tablets, their surfaces covered in the neat cuneiform script of the Hittites.
"My third gift, O Queen, is knowledge of the most precious and valuable sort." he explained, his voice carrying a note of pride. "These tablets contain medical treatises from the greatest healers of our empire. Remedies for ailments of the body and mind, surgical techniques, and herbal lore passed down through generations. Even a copy of a text by Kikkuli, Master of Chariots, on the proper care, breeding, and training of warhorses."
A hush fell over the room. Even the most antagonistic of the other suitors seemed momentarily silenced by the magnitude of this offering. Medical knowledge was precious, often closely guarded by healers and passed down only to select apprentices. To freely share such information across kingdoms was unheard of. And a gift of knowledge from a Hittite horsemaster? Anhkesenamun was proud of many things her nation could boast, but she wasn’t delusional enough to say that Kemet could match Hittite horses or chariots.
Even the most skeptical of her advisors couldn't deny the value of such a gift, nor the political implications, though she had no doubt that many of them would make the attempt all the same. There would be overlap, of course, with the knowledge her own people held, but she didn’t need to be a physician to know that there would be literally priceless knowledge contained in those tablets. Things entirely unknown to her people.
“My fourth gift and final gift…tell me, Pharaoh, are you familiar with the gods of my people?” he asked, seemingly unaware (or more likely ignoring) the way that he had left the whole of the throne room reeling with his consecutive reveals, and it occurred to Ankhesenamun that he had deliberately revealed the wine first so that the more impressive gifts would make a greater impact. In fact, she had to wonder if the wine was actually one of his courtship offerings, or something that he had added in simply for that goal. “Specifically, are you familiar with the god for whom I am named?”
Ankhesenamun paused, considering the seemingly-odd question carefully. Her education had included some knowledge of foreign deities, but the Hittite pantheon -despite being the most prominent of those, given the proximity of it’s worshippers- was not one she was intimately familiar with. Still, she prided herself on her quick mind and broad knowledge.
"Hasamelli... if I recall correctly, that name is associated with the Hittite god of metalworking and craftsmanship." she replied, hoping that she had not just made a fool of herself, her tone measured and confident despite her internal uncertainty. At least she knew how to properly pronounce it now, thanks to his introduction. Hahsh-ehm-ehl-ee, she burned the syllables into her mind.
The prince's eyes lit up with approval, and he nodded, visibly pleased by her knowledge. "Indeed, Great Queen. You honor me with your knowledge. Hasamelli, the god of craftsmanship, is my namesake and patron. And it is in his spirit that I offer my final gift."
He waved forward the final servant, a girl with exotic ivory skin and darker eyes and hair than anything Ankhesenamun had ever seen before, who was better dressed than those that came before and, to her interest, had an iron sword at her waist.
“Incidentally, might I introduce the future wife of my most beloved brother, Kail Mursili? Yuri Ishtar, she is called by my people, and it is her handmaidens that have thus far presented your gifts. Hadi, Ryui and Shala, and of course their younger brother Tito. They all agreed to accompany me here, a further sign of my family’s commitment to peace.” Hasamelli remarked, smirking at the girl -Yuri, and wasn’t that a strange name, even for the Khetani?- as she blushed furiously, looking very much like she would like to bury her face in her hands. Or kick Hasamelli in the shin, and Ankhesenamun found herself swallowing another laugh, even as she and her court absorbed the significance of his ‘servants’ and their presence here. “Now, as I said, Hasamelli of the Forge-Fire is my patron god, and I have dedicated much of my life to mastering many of his arts. Jewelry and weapons, of course, but my fields of study have strayed far beyond that.”
On cue, Yuri opened the final box, one that was by far the most ornate and, the largest as well. Inside was a large, beautifully carved wooden square, one that was itself divided into a field of smaller squares, carefully painted in alternating red and black. Small figures were carefully laid in the thick woolen padding around the larger square, and Ankhesenamun couldn’t help but frown again, this time in more pleasant confusion. It was beautiful, certainly, and she couldn’t help but admire the Hittite prince’s craftsmanship, but what was it?
“I know, Great Queen, that you are famed for your love of games. Contests of intellect and strategy, of cleverness and wisdom, and so it was in pursuit of indulging in that love that I created this final gift for you. The board, and the pieces, are for a game called ‘chess’. None before have played it, I can assure you, and this is the only chess set in existence. It is a strategy game, emulating the field of battle, each piece possessing it’s own unique strength and weaknesses.” he answered her unasked question calmly, and her head jerked up like a startled gazelle so her wide eyes could meet his own smiling ones. “That is my final gift to you, O Pharoah: a game that no other man or woman alive has ever played, and the only method in the world to play it. A gift not of wealth, but heart, forged by my own hands specifically for you. One that appeals not to your rulership, but to the thing that brings you the most joy in your life. I ask of you now, will you allow me to court you?”
There could only be one answer to that question.
