The sands of Egypt were quiet that day. No fanfare. No trumpets. Only the solemn rhythm of footsteps and the dry whisper of wind across the stone tomb.
Elaine stepped forward first, her fingers trembling as she laid a crown of lotus and poppy flowers atop the carved sarcophagus.
They had traveled far to honor him. Unlike Babaloniyaian rites, Alexander had always upheld the old Egyptian ways—he was not to be turned to ash but laid to rest in the earth, among the ancestors he so admired.
A crowd of dignitaries and soldiers stood still as the Egyptian banners flew at half-mast. And at the head of the procession, King Gilgamesh turned to the young man kneeling before him.
The boy, Alexander's son, named Iskander, after the Hellenic echo of his father's name, his posture was a proud but trembling posture. He looked like Alexander once had—fire behind the eyes.
"Your father is a warrior and a king." Gilgamesh's voice echoed. "But most of all, he was a friend. He sailed every corner of this world to find a cure for my eldest daughter, something, anything to prevent what was to come, and for that, he may not have been a present father, maybe in you're eyes not even a good one…but he did love you, every one of you. Make him proud."
The boy took in his words, then bowed lower. "I will, Your Majesty."
Gilgamesh reached forward and laid a hand over his head in blessing. Then Arthuria stepped beside the boy and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
Behind them, soldiers loyal to Arthur stood, heads bowed. And when Arthur turned to them and said, "Return to your true post. Protect Egypt and its new sovereign, as you would for his father before him," not a single man protested. Arthur watched them go, quietly muttering under his breath, "Thank fuck…"
No wonder Alexander stayed at sea. If one more person calls him 'Your Grace' today, he will lose it.
"I need to fuck."
That earned him a short, knowing smile from Eugene, who nudged him gently with his elbow.
"You're starting to turn out exactly like Uncle; the only difference is you're a pirate on land."
"I don't fucking curse. Do you fucking curse? You shouldn't curse until you're older."
Eugene just rolled his eyes. "How much older?""Older than me," Arthur smirked.
On the edge of the ceremony, Artizea stood in black and gold, her hand intertwined with Rhyssand's. Her eyes were steady as she gazed upon the tomb one last time, bowing her head.
Just then—An idea formed.
Artizea turned to him, her voice steady but laced with urgency. "Rhyssand," she called out. "There's something I must ask of you."
He met her gaze. "Name it." His voice was low, unwavering—already hers.
Later that evening, after the sun had sunk into the Nile and the ceremonial rites were complete.
Artizea stepped forward, her expression composed, yet her voice carried the weight of quiet conviction. "I have a proposal," she said softly. "For Uncle." She looked up to
Her parents, seated in silent reflection.
Gilgamesh's gaze lifted slowly. Arthuria glanced toward her daughter, sensing the solemnity behind her words. Without hesitation, he replied, "Proceed."
Artizea took a deep breath, then began. "To honor his memory and sacrifice, I propose a future betrothal to ensure peace and unity between Babaloniya and Egypt for generations to come… " Her voice is calm.
Eugene and Elaine turned toward Arthur, whose posture stiffened.
"Sorry to disappoint, dear sister, but…I am off the market." Arthur muttered with a smirk. Then came a thunk of his head from Eugene, earning a yelp from his brother.
"What??" Arthur groaned, holding his head.
"She's not talking about you—" Eugene said.
Artizea rolled her eyes but did not let herself be derailed. Her gaze remained steady as she continued, "The first male born from my womb shall be pledged in marriage to the next daughter born of Alexander's line."
A hush settled over the tent—not from disapproval, but recognition. They all knew this was no mere political move. It was something deeper. Personal. Sacred.
"He shed his blood for me, he gave up his whole life for me," she added quietly. "It is only right that I offer part of mine in return."
Gilgamesh leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed in contemplation. Arthuria watched him, silent but attentive.
Then the king turned to the young boy standing among them. "Well, Iskander," Gilgamesh said. "Will you accept this proposal… from your future queen?"
Iskander flushed, lowering his head respectfully. "I—I could not possibly dream of aligning myself—"
"Skip the formalities, boy." Gilgamesh interrupted with a smirk. "We are asking you to join our family, not sign a treaty, just say yes."
A beat passed.
Then the boy straightened, pride shining in his eyes. "Yes. It would be my honor."
Finally, the king nodded, his voice soft and sure—thunder wrapped in silk. "Very well. It was his dying wish… and so shall it be honored."
Arthuria let out a breath she had not realized she was holding, a faint, wistful smile tugging at her lips. "He would have liked that," she whispered.
Gilgamesh's fingers gently laced through hers. "He would have loved it," he murmured.
Arthur's hand lingered protectively on Iskander's shoulder. Eugene nodded solemnly. Elaine smiled at her sister in agreement, and Artizea turned to Rhyssand, who was already smiling.
Finally, the boy—young, wide-eyed, formerly a bastard yet now bearing the name of kings—stood tall among them.
The pact was made.