[center][h1][color=lightgreen]Amenoten[/color][/h1][/center]

In the private quarters of an open and airy part of the home, the early night brought a warm breeze through the small house garden. Transparent curtains, partitioning the entrances, folded gently to the whims of air passing through in order to cool the palace’s small oasis. It was a pond the shape of a perfect circle, broken at its radius by a narrow slab of walkway to its center. Petite clay holders floated the soft light of candles across the surface, in addition to the torches whose radiance kept the sandstone walls comfortably warm. The large center of the pond was decorated ornately as the fitting area where a worthy man may retire for a moment of peace and seclusion.

It was here that the slaves had positioned a low table, cushions of deep green fabrics, and three thin golden platters. Refreshments were placed by a pair of young handmaids, pitchers of beer and clear water, humming softly amongst each others’ humble presence in the silent atmosphere. As one of them stepped obediently out from the pond’s tranquil center, the other stood her ground. Her gaze had caught hold of the view outside the open face of the room, for where a wall should have been was a gaping frame of evening sky and the outskirts of the palace. The kingdom stretched on further, silver streams running their course over the rooftops beneath a full moon of opaque glow..

The haughty vibrations of quick steps came as a warning preceding the young man himself. Their own bare feet scurried across to opposite end of the room, and as not to be seen by the angry master, passed through the curtains just when he entered the private quarters.

The family dinner was an idea ployed by his mother, a ritual Naihal had started for herself, Amenoten, and Diomedes since the passing of the pharaoh. Frankly the timing of it on most evenings seemed to cut through the matters of the status of Egypt, politically within itself and in the outreaches of the kingdom where they had messengers come with news of the Hittites and the Syrians. He often would come this meeting of their family late and in a sour state of mind.

Tonight, being of no surprise, his temper sauntered with him into the center of the pond, sitting down on the pillow so hard it did nothing to cushion his tailbone from the stone beneath. Amenoten huffed softly, greedily eyeing the beads of condensation on the gold pitchers. He was early for once but it was profoundly customary to not begin before they were all present. The temptation, only building up the tension in his shoulders, did nothing to lighten his mood by the time his mother and Diomedes arrived.

When they came, the young man would arch up acutely, elongating the muscles of his seated stance to turn and meet their gaze. He was clothed in white cloths that draped around his legs, a rich green sash knotted the circumference of his waist. A small gold amulet gilded by dark emeralds shaped the head of a ram, hanging around his neck on a soft leather strap.

He was never sure what kind of mood to anticipate from Diomedes on any given day. The cousin who he articulated under the title of ‘brother’ had a temper at times that rivaled his own, the cunning control of his words and the curse that they brought upon others burned Amenoten’s seeded jealousy. The maturity of a man much older quite frankly crushed the confidence Amenoten scraped together about himself. After an entire day of commanding men twice his age, and combatting the opinions of the populated senate, Amenoten still had a short man’s inferiority toward the adopted older brother.

Naihal cleared her throated gently, after the slaves began to file in formally, delivering food around them in the form of honeyed dates, hot battered fish sprinkled by roots and onions, and soft sheets of baked bread to rip apart and soak in the sauce of their entree. The weary expression on her round face tilted back and forth her attention on the two young men. “Amenoten, how did the hearing of the senate go today?”

“Over the matter of the famine, or the matter of our resources magically not making it from harvest to our homes?” he gruffly retorted, indecently responding to his queen. The rustle of the slaves quickly working to pass food onto every plate was the only sound to be heard, their prim and swift actions fulfilling the task. Without bid of their farewell, they exited before Amenoten transcribed details…

“It was a much heated and long winded debate over what has become of our food and other harvests. While I understand we have famine in the midsts of a year that followed our kingdom’s religious schism, the numbers that are being given to me [i]do not correlate[/i] with what I had [i]personally[/i] seen out in the fields.” His frustration came as a rude haste to his words, fingers picking a piece of bread off to drown in the sauce.

“And the worst part is, I can’t stand speaking with them by myself. When you are not there, as our queen, the conversation runs against my current of questions. [b]How am I to find answers without them in my aid![/b]” The outburst echoed over the length of the chamber, fading into the night air. Nothing uncommon from the younger brother, whose attitude ceased their attention and was known for a loose hold on his opinion. The torches danced a reflection of warm colors over his expression, Amenoten looking on to both of them for an input of their own ideas of the matter.