(AN: This is a historical/fictional/elaborated retelling of Verdi’s opera, Aida. It’ll be more like Tim Rice’s musical because it’s more happy and less.. Mean? Anyway, I’ve rated it M, because it will involve sexual situations. ..But not bad ones. I’ll be as discreet as I can. Please tell me what you think!)

Aida

Nubia Subjected

Radames, young general of Pharaoh’s forces, adventurer, warrior, son of Zoser, Pharaoh’s most trusted advisor, betrothed to Pharaoh’s beautiful daughter Amneris, wiped the remnants of the regurgitated feast from his bristly chin, embarrassed for a moment, giggling like a boy with the rest of his companions in the next. It was quite obvious that he was quite drunk. Their victory over the uncivilized Nubians had been particularly easy. A few skulls cracked and the people fell into immediate submission. The lack of men in the crude villages worried that dusty part in Radames’ head that was most used for painfully important though eventually ignored feelings or ideas. As it was, Radames had thrown a huge celebration for his men the night before the entire company marched homewards. Said men had raided the mud brick store rooms of the largest palace within the conquered territory. It was in the courtyard of this palace that they were holding their festivities.

An unholy quip directed by one of Radames’ companions at a particularly beautiful Nubian serving girl caught his attention and Radames spent a time appraising the girl. Strong and lithe of limb and so pleasing to look at with slender hips, graceful legs, small, firm breasts. Her skin, darker than that of the native Egyptians at home, could not hide a self-conscious blush, a fact that aroused Radames powerfully.

Grunting with sudden desire, Radames drew the girl close to him, discovering that she was little more than a girl. Though filled with undeniable lust for the pert breasts and the tight place hidden beneath her leopard hide skirt, Radames would not deface a child. He satisfied the most driving bit of his pulsating desire by grasping at the girl’s virgin breasts and pressing his swollen manhood against her back. The girl squirmed in protest but Radames silenced her with a large hand laid across her throat.

“It is not my practice to use one so young as you,” he whispered. Unlikely that the girl was calmed for she spoke not a lick of Greek.

Radames let the girl go and she stumbled away hurriedly.

“Ramses!” he cried to one of his underlings, his voice projecting to reach the attention of all his soldiers. “Fetch me the women from the slave trains. Let our celebration not be limited to food, drink, and wit!” The celebrants bellowed their approval.

Within the hour, for the slave trains were kept far from the civilized Egyptians, the rattling of chains, male hisses, and angry female voices could be heard at the entrance to the spacious courtyard. Radames smiled a cold smile and downed a last glass of wine. Abruptly Ramses appeared before him, a woman in tow. Her leg chains clanked loudly. Scantily clad as all her race chose to be, it was hard to deny or ignore her beauty. Her appearance and inherent air of dignity put the looks of the little serving girl desperately to shame. The way she surveyed him, Radames felt suddenly as though she were determining his entire history and merits. He, Radames, as though she were his master, and not he hers. This too stirred him.

“I found her, captain, warding three young boys in the store house. Her blade drew blood from one of my companions before we could separate it from her. It is known that you prefer your women unharmed, sir, so please excuse the wound she incurred during the struggle.” Ramses held up the woman’s left arm. The hand was heavily bandaged with a tangle of blood-soaked cloth. She snatched her arm away angrily, glaring spearpoints. All men gathered chuckled lustily. “The boys reacted with violence at seeing their inept protector subdued and so were slain.”

Radames waved a hand dismissively. “A necessary action, no doubt.” What he was most interested in was this woman. “A woman with a blade,” he mused out loud, drawing close enough to run a finger down her dark cheek. Her darker eyes burned with an all too familiar mixture of rage, shame, and grief. “Yes,” Radames said finally, his tone decisive. “I will have this one tonight.”

“I thought she would interest you, captain,” Ramses said, a smug grin directed to his peers.

“Bring her to my chambers, then,” Radames stated. “And in Ares’ name, change that bandage.”

Ramses marched the woman away, but not before she bestowed upon Radames a look of complete and pure loathing. The emotion settled somewhere in Radames’ inebriated mind, far too close to his consciousness for comfort.