Work Text:
Dynasty Extinguished
God didn’t ever say only first-born children would die; he just specified “first-born”, meaning any first-born, whether elderly or infant, could perish without the protection of lamb’s blood on their doorways. It didn’t matter—old or young, wealthy or poor, healthy or sick—they would not be spared. Nothing would stop God now that Pharaoh had denied the slaves’ freedom yet again. In the morning, he would awake to the lamentation of a thousand mothers and fathers.
Tonight, God did not mention to Moses that the latter could have asked for the king to be spared along with his son, the would-be future heir to the throne. If Moses had only asked, it might not have happened this way. He might have kept alive one if not the other, or leave both father and son unaffected by the plague. But as frustrated, angry, and beyond exhausted as he was at another refusal from Pharaoh, Moses did not think to ask. Let what would happen tonight transpire in all its destructive tragedy—all his requesting in the world fell on deaf ears, and that was not about to change at all.
All through the night, Moses stayed wide awake—he couldn’t have gone to sleep even if he tried anyway. The whisper of the Angel of Death passing through and between sleeping houses sent shivers up his spine. Every minute tonight, someone somewhere would exhale their last breath as the mist-like Angel gathered up his soul, taking it away forever. Thousands of citizens throughout the Upper and Lower lands of Egypt would wake in mere hours to the terrible spectacle of death.
It was only when Tzipporah pointed out the Angel’s departure hours later did Moses realise the plague was over—it had run its course and now all through Egypt, thousands of first-borns would be deceased, lying where they died for their loved ones to discover when they awoke with the dawn.
“It’s all over,” she whispered, “you should go to pharaoh.”
Moses waited a few more minutes before he lifted the makeshift curtain over the window to check outside. He didn’t want to open the door and race out, lest the Angel was still out there somewhere. His brother, Aaron, was a first-born, just as much in danger as any other first-born should the protection of lamb’s blood fail. Moses squinted out into the faint twilight hinting at the approach of dawn. Distant trees and buildings were stencilled against the canvas of twilight, with the deepest hints of green undiscernible to less sharp eyes.
Moses took a deep breath—he wasn’t looking forward to facing Rameses after the tenth plague’s end. He didn’t need to be at the palace to know that Rameses’ first-born son would have perished without the protection of a lamb’s blood. He tried not to imagine Rameses kneeling on the floor of his son’s bedroom, cradling his little boy in his arms. He tried not to think of what his brother would say to him on arrival.
Will he refuse? Moses asked himself, or will he finally let my people go?
The air outside was still chilly from a night without the heat of the sun. Moses pulled his robes tighter around his shoulders with a hand, trying to keep from shivering in the cool pre-dawn air. His staff tapped soft against the steps leading away from the Hebrew village toward the looming palace. Moses spotted worried faces staring at him from the windows as he passed numerous families’ homes, all squashed together in the slum of Goshen.
God will be with us, he promised them, He will free us some day.
He knew these steps so well now he could have walked up them—and to the palace—blind-folded. Nevertheless, he still managed to miscalculate when he’d reached the top step and walked forward only for his foot to come down on flat ground again, giving him a little wake up jolt, now realising he was mere metres away from the palace entrance. He didn’t want to do this, he knew Rameses would never forgive him now, knowing his son was taken by the latest plague from Moses’ God.
I will ask him to let my people go, Moses told himself, but I will be there for him first—as a brother should. After all, he is a father who had lost his son and heir.
Moses paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to the palace entrance. He didn’t move, just listening to the terrible sound of lamentation now soaring over the roofs of houses. The grief of a wealthy parent sounded exactly like the wail of a poor parent who lived day to day on simple scraps of food. The high keening of mothers in nobility did not differ from those who worked alongside their husbands on the farms. The hair on the back of Moses’ neck prickled as he listened to this terrible sound he knew would echo through his nightmares for many nights.
This should never have happened—if only he had listened.
Moses focussed his eyes on the yawning entrance ahead as he slowly walked up each step with grave solemnness in the light of what he had to do. Used to the heavy scent of incense always burning in incense holders inside the entrance, now Moses noticed their sharp absence. The sweet perfumes of incense were gone, snuffed out like the many thousands of first-born lives tonight. The cold incense holders lining the columns on either side of the entrance hall did not comfort Moses, instead greeting him with a sense of mournful foreboding.
And as he walked in, he knew something was wrong. He didn’t know how he knew—perhaps it was instinct—but something felt wrong about the palace tonight. It wasn’t just the empty incense burners or the unlit torches hinting at something troubling in the palace. He knew that guards were normally posted around the entrance, but after what had happened during the night, it was likely they had abandoned their posts in terror on seeing the Angel knitting its way over the sky and threading through the palace.
“Rameses?” he called, his voice echoing off the columns around him, strangely hollow and flat.
“You’re looking for my husband and son.”
Moses flinched at the unexpected voice—a woman’s—coming from somewhere in the shadows. A woman materialised from the columns, and from the way she carried herself as she walked, the shepherd knew at once she was the queen.
“You’re the queen?” Moses asked.
“Yes, Hebrew, I am Queen Nefertari, and tonight I mourn not one, but two, loved ones.”
Moses turned to face her, trying not to flinch at the cold hatred twisting her features.
“Where is Rameses?”
Nefertari regarded him, her eyes looking him up and down, before turning side-on so her shoulder faced Moses.
“Who knows? Possibly somewhere in the afterlife right now, but how would I know?”
Moses stared, speechless, for several seconds as her words registered in his head, even if he didn’t want to believe her.
Somewhere in the afterlife?
He couldn’t be dead. He just couldn’t be. He hadn’t wanted anyone—let alone Rameses—to die. Why would God allow his brother to die too? Surely He knew how much it would hurt Moses if Pharaoh were to perish too.
“After all, it was your God who took both their lives.”
Moses’ grip on his staff slackened, his shoulders slumping from the shock of Nefertari’s revelation. He tried to suck in more air, his heart beating harder in his chest. His throat ran dry; even if he had thought of something to say, he wouldn’t be able to, for his voice had left him.
Both their lives.
Why did God take both of them, and not just the prince? Why did he not allow Rameses to live? But much as Moses hated to face it, he full well knew the reason why.
Rameses is…was…a first-born too.
He brought up his other shaking hand to grip his staff, head bowed as he tried to hold back his tears. A lump swelled in his throat, the back of his eyelids burning with unshed sorrow. The full reality of the plagues and their cost was too overwhelming for him to hold back for much longer, but he didn’t know how the queen would react should he break down in front of her. He didn’t know the queen beyond that she was…had…been Rameses’ Great Royal Wife.
This is all because of my God…they are gone because of me.
He allowed himself another moment to pull what remained of his emotional strength together, lifting up his head to look at the queen. Strange how such a simple movement could feel so tiring, as though his skull had become much heavier than usual. His legs threatened to give beneath him, but the queen was still right there before him, her cold gaze never breaking away from the shepherd. Despite her cold countenance, he couldn’t help but feel for her—because of him, she had lost both husband and son in one night. Because of him, he now lost all in the palace he’d once called family. There was no one left but the queen who reviled him for the plagues and the deaths of her loved ones. Moses could not bring himself to fault her for hating him. Who wouldn’t?
He gripped his staff as tight as he could, hoping it would stop his hands shaking. It was light enough now that he could see how his staff shook, and could only hope the queen didn’t notice.
“He’s…” Moses inhaled a shuddering breath. “He is dead, then?”
I should have told them to use lamb’s blood. If I had, they would still be here…
“Both father and son are dead, no thanks to your God,” the queen confirmed coldly, “Perhaps you should go. You and your people.”
Moses heard her words, and knew he should be relieved, but there was only a numb emptiness, like his soul had crumpled into a ball of exhaustion and grief somewhere deep inside him. Though he knew his people were now free to go, the weight of the deaths of Rameses and the former heir to Egypt’s throne outweighed any sense of triumph there might have been.
“You’re giving permission for us to leave.” He stated in a quiet voice just as hollow as the rest of him.
“Of course I am, for my husband is no longer able to do so, for he is deceased, as is his heir.”
Then who will be king?
“…and if you think this makes you king,” Nefertari continued as though she’d read his mind, “You thought wrong.”
Moses shook his head, “I did not expect to become king, not even while a prince of Egypt.”
“Good. Then go.”
Yet he hesitated, his brow furrowing with not just his sorrow, but also a hesitating question. Could he leave without seeing his brother one last time? Did he even want to see Rameses under some linen shroud, waiting to be mummified alongside his son?
Could I bear to see him…
Moses could not finish that thought, a vivid image of Rameses covered by a linen shroud burning in his imagination. It was not right that Rameses should be dead—Moses could never have imagined him as lifeless, for he had always been full of life. Was it only hours ago he still lived, still breathed?
“Your Majesty,” he managed, “May I…”
She arched an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Moses tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat, blinking rapidly as his eyes misted over.
“He was still my brother. May I…”
His voice wavered, choked by unshed grief.
Nefertari’s other eyebrow arched to join its twin. “You want to see him, Hebrew? It is too late.”
Moses leaned his head on his staff, closing his eyes. “A final farewell, Your Majesty.”
Nefertari sniffed, turning her back on him. “He will not hear or be aware of you, for he is dead.”
“I know.”
“Nothing you say can change what you have done.”
Moses’ breath caught in his throat, a couple tears escaping his eyes to track down his cheeks. His balance wavered, threatening to buckle his knees. Guilt tore through him, more terrible than any plague God had wrought on Egypt.
I should’ve asked God to spare my brother…spare his child too.
Nefertari sighed in the impatient manner of one wishing someone would go away.
“Fine, Hebrew. I will lead you to him and my son.”
Moses’ head shot up, surprised that the queen had allowed him after all. Nevertheless, a needle of doubt edged its way into his heart. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked to see Rameses, but he had, and even now Queen Nefertari strode ahead with long paces, forcing him to make quick steps to catch up. Though his body felt weak with fatigue and sorrow, Moses forced himself to follow the queen through to a room where a large raised surface stood illuminated in a circular patch of dawn light. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the two shrouded figures lying on the raised surface, leaning against the doorway to support himself. His world seemed to swim around him, to speed away from him in all directions. His breathing became shallow, his heart beating hard in his chest.
It is true.
“Here they are,” Nefertari told him, “do not linger long.”
Moses let his staff trail on the floor as he walked, head bowed, to the ledge on which Rameses and his son lay. Tears ran over his cheeks, unrestrained, sobs threatening to wrench through his heart and throat.
Why did you choose me? Moses asked God, It should have been anyone but me…
Now the man he once called brother was gone. Never again would Rameses laugh or address Moses as his brother. His brother, the man he had looked up to in his childhood, was dead. Moses tried to suppress all the memories now bubbling to the forefront of his heart as he stood in silence, head bowed, before the deceased. Memories of pranks, chariot races, playing near the Nile banks, and other boyish pursuits threatened to explode all at once into his heart. He hadn’t minded being second in line to being king—he’d hoped Rameses would live a long enough time that Moses might never have to be king. He hadn’t cared about responsibility and always laughed off the idea of ever being a king of all Upper and Lower Egypt.
His heart ached at the loss of the young prince, but it wrenched in his chest as he stared down at the shrouded form of his former brother. The linen was so sheer and thin that Moses could still make out the faint features of Rameses’ face, just as the same with the boy’s own face. Both father and son lay side by side, yet neither would know they did so. Their souls had left their bodies forever, leaving them lifeless. For the first time in forever, Rameses was stilled, devoid of his usual liveliness.
I’m so sorry…
His vision blurred with tears as he reached with one hand to hold onto the ledge, his staff slipping from his other hand’s grip. Moses barely registered its clatter as it fell to the floor. He placed both hands on the edges of the ledge, shoulders hunched as he bowed his head so he wouldn’t have to look directly at the shrouded Rameses and the little prince.
“I…” the letter caught in his throat, ensnared by shards of grief. “I…didn’t want this. Any of this. Not the plagues, not your death. I should’ve said…then maybe you…” he exhaled a deep breath. “you may be…I’m so sorry, Rameses…”
He could taste the salt of his tears, but Moses was beyond caring who saw or heard the sobs interrupting his sentence.
“You were…still are…my brother,” Moses whispered, “that never changed—not for me. And it won’t now.”
It never will change, even…even in death.
Moses knew he would never see Rameses again, for death caused by God was irreversible. It didn’t make it any easier—just a lot worse. He remembered in a long ago memory two words he’d once said to Rameses before running away from Egypt. He’d returned alive to a brother who’d taken him for dead. That goodbye wasn’t forever, but now…
It’s goodbye…for good.
The shepherd lifted his head to gaze again at Rameses’ shrouded face. He knew Rameses would never hear him, let alone know the man he once called brother wept for his demise. But the words had to be said, or it wouldn’t be a proper farewell, a real finality to what he had done, what he had allowed to befall the palace.
With a deep breath, Moses spoke two words.
“Goodbye, brother.”
The two words voiced, he collapsed onto his knees, sobs wracking his frame. The awful wracking grief hung over the two shrouded palace royals and the sorrowing man who once was a prince of Egypt.
Goodbye, brother…