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hoursofreading · 6 hours

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tried to keep them somewhat in character.

Mara’s smarter than she seems. Sheftu is, ofc, Thutmose’s right hand man. And Nahereh’s Nahereh.

writing personal fanfiction using gemini.

mara, daughter of the nile haremAU, mara x thutmose

Thutmose remained silent, his impassive demeanor an unreadable mask. When Nakht finished, the only sound was the labored breathing of the kneeling General.

Finally, Thutmose shifted, and a single word escaped his lips, a guttural murmur. "Sheftu."

A figure emerged from the shadows behind the throne, a tall man with a sharp wit and an even sharper mind. Count Sheftu, the Pharaoh's trusted Vizier and confidant, stepped forward. His eyes, sharp as a desert hawk's, glinted in the dim light.

Nakht, relieved to be relieved of his reportorial duty, presented the Vizier with the scroll of wishes Mara had entrusted to him. Sheftu unfurled it, his brow furrowing as he scanned the list of seemingly mundane desires.

"A day off to visit family?" he murmured, reading a particular entry. "Literacy lessons? Music lessons?"

He looked up at Thutmose, his usual stoicism replaced with a flicker of amusement. "It seems your new favorite, Pharaoh, is quite the… unconventional one."

—

Here, under the watchful gaze of Ra's fading light, the charade ended. With a flick of his wrist, the simple linen garments vanished, replaced by the opulent robes of the Vizier. His posture straightened, the stoop of a scholar replaced by the confident bearing of a man accustomed to wielding power.

"Well, Sheftu," he murmured to himself, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "It seems your little game has taken an interesting turn."

He replayed the events in his mind – the laughter in Mara's chambers, the unexpected camaraderie, the head-bump that had almost blown his cover. He had gone in to observe, and found himself drawn into a world far more intriguing than he could have ever imagined.

"A clever woman," he mused, a newfound respect blossoming for the seemingly ordinary concubine. "And resourceful. She's not just defied the Pharaoh's orders, she's turned a group of servants into a loyal court."

The implications were clear. Mara was a force to be reckoned with, a wild card in the carefully orchestrated game of power that was the Pharaoh's court. And Sheftu, the Pharaoh's most trusted advisor, found himself caught in the middle, unsure of who to trust or what his next move should be.

—

A hush fell over the court as Nahereh, master of whispers, Thutmose's left hand to Sheftu's right, entered the hall. Clad in black from head to toe, his face hidden beneath a deep hood, he moved with the silent grace of a panther. Sheftu's scowl deepened as their eyes met, a spark of ancient rivalry igniting between them.

Nahereh, ever the strategist, bowed low before the Pharaoh. "My liege," his voice rasped, a stark counterpoint to the hushed court. "News from the north. The Hittite army stirs."

Thutmose's expression remained impassive, but a flicker of annoyance danced in his eyes. The Hittites, those persistent thorns in his side, always seeking an opportunity to disrupt his reign. He turned to Sheftu, a silent query hanging in the air.

Sheftu stepped forward, his voice a steady counterpoint to Nahereh's rasp. "The reports are consistent, Your Majesty. The Hittites appear to be bolstering their forces near the northern border. Their intentions are unclear, but a skirmish seems likely."

Nahereh inclined his head towards Sheftu, a sliver of respect momentarily overcoming their usual antagonism. "The Vizier speaks wisely, Your Majesty. We cannot discount the possibility of a full-blown invasion."

A tense silence stretched, punctuated only by the nervous coughs of courtiers. Thutmose tapped his fingers against the armrest of his throne, his dark eyes scanning the assembled figures.

"Sheftu," he finally spoke, his voice laced with a dangerous calm. "Prepare the northern defense. Let them know the Pharaoh's wrath will be swift and unforgiving should they dare trespass on Egyptian soil."

"As you command, Your Majesty," Sheftu answered, bowing low. He stole a glance at Nahereh, who remained impassive

—

The double doors of Thutmose's private chambers hissed shut behind them, leaving Sheftu and Nahereh in a tense silence. The golden light of the setting sun cast long shadows across the plush carpets, barely illuminating the animosity that crackled between the two men. Sheftu felt a familiar scowl etch itself onto his face. Nahereh, his eternal rival, stood across the room, his presence a tangible weight in the air.

They had known each other since childhood, both sons of prominent nobles raised within the opulent walls of the palace. Their rivalry had begun innocently enough, a competition for Thutmose's attention and the promise of future favor. But as years turned to decades, the playful rivalry had hardened into a deep-seated animosity.

Nahereh, ever the master of subtle jabs, couldn't resist a dig. "Well, well, Vizier," he drawled, his voice a chilling whisper. "Seems you've been busy. What's that on your head? A particularly enthusiastic scholar throwing a scroll?"

Sheftu bristled, the memory of the well-aimed ball and Mara's mischievous laughter flashing through his mind. He knew better than to react, not in front of the Pharaoh. Instead, he countered with a voice as cold as the desert wind at night.

"Unlike some," he said, his gaze fixed on a painting on the opposite wall, "I endeavor to acquire knowledge through more conventional means than eavesdropping on private conversations."

Nahereh's smirk widened, a flicker of something that might have been anger, or perhaps amusement, glinting in his dark eyes. "Touché, Vizier," he conceded, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Though, considering the current state of your head, perhaps some eavesdropping wouldn't have been a bad idea. You might have learned about the Hittite threat before it became an audience spectacle."

Sheftu clenched his fists, the barb hitting its mark. The tension in the room grew thicker, two storm clouds gathering before a thunderous confrontation.

—

young woman, Nefertiri, stepped forward, her previously nervous demeanor replaced with a newfound confidence. "Lady Mara," she began, her voice clear and articulate, "the lower granaries were severely damaged by the flood, which means less grain can be stored. This might lead to a shortage, causing the price to rise, which in turn…"

Mara nodded, a smile gracing her lips. "Precisely, Nefertari. And how does this price increase affect the tax revenue collected by the Pharaoh?"

Nefertiri hesitated for a moment, then a bright smile spread across her face. "If grain becomes more expensive, the people will have less money to spend on other goods, which means the taxes collected from merchants might decrease."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Nahereh, disguised as Nell, couldn't help but be impressed. This impromptu class, far from being a frivolous indulgence, was fostering critical thinking and a genuine understanding of the workings of the kingdom.

Mara, sensing his surprise, leaned in conspiratorially. "See, Nell," she whispered, her voice low but clear, "knowledge is power, even for servants. Understanding the system they operate within empowers them to navigate it better."

—

Thutmose, adorned in his royal garb, sat upon his intricately carved ebony throne, his face an unreadable mask. Beside him, stoic as ever, stood Sheftu, his gaze fixed on the ornately patterned rug beneath his feet. The silence stretched, punctuated only by the rhythmic tick of a sundial in the corner.

Finally, the heavy oak doors creaked open, and Nahereh strode in, his usual arrogance somewhat dampened by the throb of his newly acquired black eye. With a low bow, he knelt before the Pharaoh.

Sheftu, unable to contain his curiosity, cast a sidelong glance at Nahereh. "Well, Nell," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you seem to have… misplaced your scholarly demeanor. Care to explain the rather impressive bruise adorning your face?"

Nahereh, ever the master of deadpan, met Sheftu's gaze with a steely glint in his remaining good eye. "The… concubine, Vizier," he replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Thutmose, who had been observing the exchange with amusement, burst into laughter.

—

But his words were lost in the heat of the fight. Years of unspoken rivalry, of covert missions and veiled jabs, boiled over into a brutal display of combat. Each blow they landed held more than just the desire to win; it was a culmination of years spent maneuvering around each other in the shadows.

Mara, perched on a nearby stone bench, watched the spectacle unfold with a mix of amusement and something akin to awe. "For scribes," she mused aloud, a hint of a smile gracing her lips, "they certainly fight well."

—

Reaching a hidden chamber within the palace walls, they found Thutmose waiting, a furrow etched deep between his brows. The playful mood from the courtyard evaporated, replaced by the seriousness of their mission.

"Report," Thutmose commanded, his voice tinged with impatience.

Nahereh, ever the strategist, took the lead. "Our observations reveal a palace in flux," he began, his voice low and measured. "Mara is not your typical concubine. She's sharp, curious, and seems to be actively fostering a spirit of… rebellion among the servants."

Sheftu picked up the narrative, his voice gruff but laced with a newfound respect. "Her teaching sessions are a facade. She uses them to test the wit and loyalty of those around her, including us."

Thutmose listened intently, his expression unreadable. "And what of yourselves?" he finally asked. "You haven't forgotten your true purpose, have you?"

Nahereh and Sheftu exchanged a glance, the unspoken bond forged in the courtyard hanging heavy in the air.

"Our loyalty remains unshaken, Pharaoh," Sheftu finally said, his voice firm. However, he couldn't suppress the honesty that followed. "But we've also discovered… a surprising efficiency in our combined efforts."

He recounted the events of the sparring match, the way their individual strengths complemented each other. A flicker of something akin to amusement crossed Thutmose's face, a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor.

"Took you long enough," he finally said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I've been waiting years for you two to realize that a well-oiled machine requires cooperation, not competition."

Nahereh and Sheftu gaped at him, their surprise mirroring the shock on Mara's face after their fight. The revelation hung heavy in the air – Thutmose had known all along about their rivalry, and perhaps, even encouraged it, shaping them into the formidable duo they were now.

"But Pharaoh," Nahereh stammered, struggling to find his voice, "Mara… her influence grows stronger by the day. The servants are… different. More questioning, more…"

"Awake," Thutmose finished his sentence, his voice devoid of judgment. "Change, even positive change, can be disruptive. Mara is a catalyst, a force to be harnessed, not dismissed."

—

Years of veiled jabs and passive-aggressive maneuvers," Thutmose chuckled, a dry but genuine sound. "It seems my little… nudge has finally borne fruit."

He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a newfound respect for his most trusted advisors. "Make no mistake, gentlemen," he continued, his voice low and firm, "this… competition, as you call it, was never a coincidence. It was a crucible, designed to hone your individual talents while fostering a deeper understanding of each other's strengths."

Nahereh and Sheftu exchanged a silent glance, a wealth of unspoken emotions passing between them. They were both master strategists, yet Thutmose, the seemingly stoic Pharaoh, had played them like pawns on a grand chessboard.

"You are both vital to the crown," Thutmose went on. "Sheftu, your unwavering loyalty and strategic mind are the backbone of this kingdom. Nahereh, your cunning and ability to navigate the shadows are unparalleled. But together," he emphasized, his voice rising slightly, "you are a force to be reckoned with."

—

There was a significant pause before he continued. "I have a predicament, Lady Mara, a matter of national security that demands… unorthodox solutions. And based on what I have observed, I believe you might be the one to provide them."

Mara straightened, her posture radiating an unexpected confidence. "I will do my best to serve you, Your Majesty."

Thutmose leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. "The Hittites," he began, his voice heavy with concern. "They pose a growing threat in the north. Our scouts report increased activity, a potential mobilization of their forces."

The chamber fell silent. Even the guards outside seemed to hold their breath, the weight of the situation hanging heavy in the air. Behind the tapestry, Sheftu and Nahereh strained to hear every word, their hands flying across small, concealed tablets, furiously recording the conversation.

Mara, however, remained unfazed. After a moment's pause, a thoughtful frown creased her brow. "The Hittites," she echoed, her voice laced with a hint of strategical brilliance that sent shivers down both spies' spines.

Then, a silence descended, stretching out for what felt like an eternity. Sheftu and Nahereh exchanged panicked glances, fear gnawing at their insides. Was she going to crumble? Had she bitten off more than she could chew?

Just as their anxiety reached a peak, Mara spoke. "There are many ways to approach this predicament, Your Majesty," she declared, her voice steady and clear. "At least twenty-five different strategies come to mind, each with its own advantages and disadvantages."

A surprised gasp escaped Thutmose's lips. This wasn't the simple concubine he had expected. This woman was a strategist in her own right.

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