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tamingthemuseTitle: Things That Happen
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Thousand
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG
Summary: A rewrite of Jacky and Mata’ka’ala in Egypt. Jacky knows how the past played out, but Mata’ka’ala is so very sure that his people will rally and be resurrected.
Note: Hatti and Hittite were two different peoples. The Hatti were there before the Hittite came and took over, but they called themselves the people of Hatti still. At least, that’s what my research has led me to believe.
Jacky found that when he glared, things got done. It didn’t used to. When he was younger, and glared, his mother would slap him across the face and told him to lose the attitude. Then, in college peopled tended to overlook him. Now, though. Now.
He was a living god. He had all the power behind him and when he glared, things got done. He liked that, but at the same time it only made him smile. Worshippers were strange people. They came to him to beg him to help them with their problems and then gave him whatever he wanted in retun.
Mata’ka’ala took it all in stride, easily giving what he could and taking what was offered to him in return with a nonchalance that Jacky envied. He wished he could accept his new role just as easily.
Even so, Jacky found his position troubling. The people wanted so much from him that he didn’t want to give. The god was willing, no doubt about it, but Jacky hated what was asked of him.
Maybe it was his American upbringing that made him want to always cover his body from sight, or maybe it was a wholly modern way of thinking, but the natives here were looser about their bodies, and that made Jacky uncomfortable on a whole new degree.
Mata’ka’ala, of course, was quite secure in his body. He walked around without a top on all the time. Not that Jacky was complaining, or the god inside him. While Mata’ka’ala was well built and stunning to look at, Jacky was on the smaller side. He was quite sure he was the smallest man in the world, in this point of time, at least. He was far shorter than every man he had met up to this point, and far smaller in the shoulder department, too.
His hair was shorter than the people from Hattusa, but far longer than the men from Egypt. The men, and women, in Egypt all shaved their heads to make wearing wigs more comfortable. The men of Hattusa wore their hair long and twisted with dreads and braids and beads.
Jacky was somewhere in between. His hair was growing, but not nearly as long as Mata’ka’ala’s. Longer than the wigs currently fashionable in Egypt and hence why the servant was trying so hard to get him to shave his head and put on a wig. The reason for his glare.
The servant all but ran out of the room. Jacky smiled in satisfaction and sat on the roped chair, listening to it creek with his weight. He reached for a papyrus and began reviewing the words inked on it in tiny, delectate script. If he worked hard enough, could he possibly learn to make his penmanship half as beautiful?
He spoke the words carefully to himself, reviewing what he knew and making notes of what he didn’t. There was a man in the temple that spoke Babylonian and was willing to help Jacky learn Egyptian that Jacky could go to at any time, but for the moment, he just wanted to absorb what he could on his own.
He was blinking tiredly when Mata’ka’ala entered the room, his sandals slapping softly on the stone floor to announce his arrival. Jacky set aside the papyrus and stretched his arms over his head with a mighty yawn.
“How did it go?”
Mata’ka’ala was a master at glaring, Jacky thought, he did it so often when things didn’t go as he wanted them to. He wondered if that was something he had always had, or if he had gained that with the god. Mata’ka’ala glared at the short sword and sheath he was unbuckling from his hips. “There is too much talking and not enough doing. They will listen, but they will not act one way or another.”
“So we do not know if we will have their help or not?”
“Just so. They will talk and summon me in the morning.”
Jacky snorted and stood, kicking away the mound of papers he had acquired over the past few days. “What is so hard? Either they let us stay, or they tell us to leave. It should not be that hard.”
“We could start a war, Telepinu. We could be the cause of another war between our two great empires.”
“One now, should it not be?”
He should have bit his lip, he thought as he saw Mata’ka’ala’s back stiffen. He slowly turned to look at him, blue eyes sharp in the fading light. His lips had thinned and the skin over his cheekbones was pulled taunt. “That is our home.”
Jacky sighed. This old argument. Will they never be over this? He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And it is denied us not only by Kuzi-Teshub, but also by the fact that it has burnt to the ground.” Well, that wasn’t true, but true enough. Did Mata’ka’ala know that most of the city had survived the fire only to be destroyed by the invading forces and, later, time? He could still see the pictures of maps laid out on projectors, outlining the city in all its former glory. So much had survived, and yet so much had been lost. It was almost a physical ache in his heart.
“Our empire will resurrect.”
Jacky wanted to tell him that, no, it never will become as it had been. In fact, nobody had even heard of this powerful empire until after it was discovered. There were no mentions of it through most of history. It simply vanished. Forgotten.
Egypt was the name to remember. Babylon was the one remembered. Assyria, Persia, Rome. They were all names even the common person knew, but not the land of Hatti. Never Hattusa. Not even after a thousand years, the Hittite were forgotten by all.
He walked up to the bed where Mata’ka’ala had dropped his sword and belt and lifted them to move them to a side table. He could feel Mata’ka’ala’s eyes digging into his back, right between his shoulder blades, and he gave another sigh.
“We will never return,” he murmured, low, but not so low that Mata’ka’ala couldn’t hear him. He heard Mata’ka’ala’s sharp intake of breath and spun on his heel to face the man. “We will never return,” he repeated, louder, firmer. “It is gone. The city is gone, the people are scattered, it is over.”
Mata’ka’ala advanced on him, towering over him, and Jacky never cursed his short stature so much as he cranked his neck back to be able to keep his eyes locked with Mata’ka’ala’s. He had a fierce glare, thick eyebrows drawn together to knot between his eyes, lips downturned, and blue eyes blazing. If Jacky hadn’t been so sure that Mata’ka’ala would never hurt him, he would have been afraid for his life.
“We will. We will return and restore our people. The Hittite will be great, now and forever.”
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Thousand
Warnings: none.
Rating: PG
Summary: A rewrite of Jacky and Mata’ka’ala in Egypt. Jacky knows how the past played out, but Mata’ka’ala is so very sure that his people will rally and be resurrected.
Note: Hatti and Hittite were two different peoples. The Hatti were there before the Hittite came and took over, but they called themselves the people of Hatti still. At least, that’s what my research has led me to believe.
Jacky found that when he glared, things got done. It didn’t used to. When he was younger, and glared, his mother would slap him across the face and told him to lose the attitude. Then, in college peopled tended to overlook him. Now, though. Now.
He was a living god. He had all the power behind him and when he glared, things got done. He liked that, but at the same time it only made him smile. Worshippers were strange people. They came to him to beg him to help them with their problems and then gave him whatever he wanted in retun.
Mata’ka’ala took it all in stride, easily giving what he could and taking what was offered to him in return with a nonchalance that Jacky envied. He wished he could accept his new role just as easily.
Even so, Jacky found his position troubling. The people wanted so much from him that he didn’t want to give. The god was willing, no doubt about it, but Jacky hated what was asked of him.
Maybe it was his American upbringing that made him want to always cover his body from sight, or maybe it was a wholly modern way of thinking, but the natives here were looser about their bodies, and that made Jacky uncomfortable on a whole new degree.
Mata’ka’ala, of course, was quite secure in his body. He walked around without a top on all the time. Not that Jacky was complaining, or the god inside him. While Mata’ka’ala was well built and stunning to look at, Jacky was on the smaller side. He was quite sure he was the smallest man in the world, in this point of time, at least. He was far shorter than every man he had met up to this point, and far smaller in the shoulder department, too.
His hair was shorter than the people from Hattusa, but far longer than the men from Egypt. The men, and women, in Egypt all shaved their heads to make wearing wigs more comfortable. The men of Hattusa wore their hair long and twisted with dreads and braids and beads.
Jacky was somewhere in between. His hair was growing, but not nearly as long as Mata’ka’ala’s. Longer than the wigs currently fashionable in Egypt and hence why the servant was trying so hard to get him to shave his head and put on a wig. The reason for his glare.
The servant all but ran out of the room. Jacky smiled in satisfaction and sat on the roped chair, listening to it creek with his weight. He reached for a papyrus and began reviewing the words inked on it in tiny, delectate script. If he worked hard enough, could he possibly learn to make his penmanship half as beautiful?
He spoke the words carefully to himself, reviewing what he knew and making notes of what he didn’t. There was a man in the temple that spoke Babylonian and was willing to help Jacky learn Egyptian that Jacky could go to at any time, but for the moment, he just wanted to absorb what he could on his own.
He was blinking tiredly when Mata’ka’ala entered the room, his sandals slapping softly on the stone floor to announce his arrival. Jacky set aside the papyrus and stretched his arms over his head with a mighty yawn.
“How did it go?”
Mata’ka’ala was a master at glaring, Jacky thought, he did it so often when things didn’t go as he wanted them to. He wondered if that was something he had always had, or if he had gained that with the god. Mata’ka’ala glared at the short sword and sheath he was unbuckling from his hips. “There is too much talking and not enough doing. They will listen, but they will not act one way or another.”
“So we do not know if we will have their help or not?”
“Just so. They will talk and summon me in the morning.”
Jacky snorted and stood, kicking away the mound of papers he had acquired over the past few days. “What is so hard? Either they let us stay, or they tell us to leave. It should not be that hard.”
“We could start a war, Telepinu. We could be the cause of another war between our two great empires.”
“One now, should it not be?”
He should have bit his lip, he thought as he saw Mata’ka’ala’s back stiffen. He slowly turned to look at him, blue eyes sharp in the fading light. His lips had thinned and the skin over his cheekbones was pulled taunt. “That is our home.”
Jacky sighed. This old argument. Will they never be over this? He closed his eyes and shook his head. “And it is denied us not only by Kuzi-Teshub, but also by the fact that it has burnt to the ground.” Well, that wasn’t true, but true enough. Did Mata’ka’ala know that most of the city had survived the fire only to be destroyed by the invading forces and, later, time? He could still see the pictures of maps laid out on projectors, outlining the city in all its former glory. So much had survived, and yet so much had been lost. It was almost a physical ache in his heart.
“Our empire will resurrect.”
Jacky wanted to tell him that, no, it never will become as it had been. In fact, nobody had even heard of this powerful empire until after it was discovered. There were no mentions of it through most of history. It simply vanished. Forgotten.
Egypt was the name to remember. Babylon was the one remembered. Assyria, Persia, Rome. They were all names even the common person knew, but not the land of Hatti. Never Hattusa. Not even after a thousand years, the Hittite were forgotten by all.
He walked up to the bed where Mata’ka’ala had dropped his sword and belt and lifted them to move them to a side table. He could feel Mata’ka’ala’s eyes digging into his back, right between his shoulder blades, and he gave another sigh.
“We will never return,” he murmured, low, but not so low that Mata’ka’ala couldn’t hear him. He heard Mata’ka’ala’s sharp intake of breath and spun on his heel to face the man. “We will never return,” he repeated, louder, firmer. “It is gone. The city is gone, the people are scattered, it is over.”
Mata’ka’ala advanced on him, towering over him, and Jacky never cursed his short stature so much as he cranked his neck back to be able to keep his eyes locked with Mata’ka’ala’s. He had a fierce glare, thick eyebrows drawn together to knot between his eyes, lips downturned, and blue eyes blazing. If Jacky hadn’t been so sure that Mata’ka’ala would never hurt him, he would have been afraid for his life.
“We will. We will return and restore our people. The Hittite will be great, now and forever.”
