Almost snatching the leather capsa from the messenger, the old scroll bearer grimaced as the grubby youngling left the waiting chambers.

Huffing to himself, the old man dusted the leather cylinder with a kerchief. His master, the King, would not be impressed if he were to get grime on his divine skin. Already he knew his king was growing impatient, waiting for news to arrive from Egypt. Hitching himself back onto his crutch, he hobbled his way back into the throne room where the king's retinue awaited.

The old man stood before the King, who sat upon his throne and bowed as low as his ancient frame would allow him.

"Majesty," he wheezed. "I have the capsa from Egypt."

Mursili looked down at the old man, his broad face twisting with disgust. "At last!" Mursili grunted, rising from his seat. "Give it to me."

With shaking hands, the scroll bearer passed the capsa, Mursili snatching it from his grasp. "Now, be gone. Your presence disturbs me."

The old man hobbled away, not wishing to upset the King further, whilst the courtiers and royal family turned their attention to their sovereign.

Mursili snapped the seal and slid the parchment free, unrolling it and beginning to read. His eyes scanned the letter quickly, and a broad smile threatened to creep across his lips. It would have, had he not needed to keep his solemn facade.

"My beloved comrades, friends, and family," Mursili addressed the awaiting hall. Hattusili and his family, who are waiting towards the back of the room, grimaced as they too turned to attention.

"We have received some dire news from Egypt. The Great Queen, Nefertari Meritmut, blessed by Isis and Hathor, almost lost her life during childbirth. Thankfully she, and the new Prince survived. Our own beloved Princess, however, has regrettably miscarried her first child."

Hattusili could not help but clench his fist and bite his tongue, Puduhepa clutching at his forearm. They had already received their secret correspondence and were aware of the incident, but hearing it come from Mursili's mouth stung no less.

"Let us pray," Mursili continued. "That the Princess will be able to bring honour to her family," his eyes then narrowed on Hattusili. "And her king..."

Hattusili was seething and only barely held his composure, the blood rushing in his ears as the courtiers prayed.

"May Princess Malawashina be blessed with child soon." Mursili concluded, rolling the scroll back up and sealing it away. "Now all of you leave us. My uncle will speak with me."

"Don't let him get the better of you, my love." Puduhepa whispered as she leant up to kiss Hattusili fleetingly on the grey flecks of his bearded cheek.

Hattusili remained silent as the members of the court continued to file out of the hall.

"Your Majesty," Hattusili called, his tone almost mocking. "What an honour for you to bestow such a personal audience upon me."

"Hail, my beloved uncle." Mursili's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Why is it, nephew, that I can feel you are trying to insult me with your words?"

"Perhaps you are becoming paranoid in your old age." Mursili shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back on his throne.

Hattusili rolled his eyes. "What is it you will have of me, then?"

"Straight to the point, just like your daughter. The apple does not fall far from the tree." Mursili clicked his tongue before continuing.

"If you had of just allowed me to marry your daughter, I would have reigned in that wildness of hers in no time. Alas, it appears she has been quite handsy and causing many dilemmas in the Pharaoh's harem. Getting into a physical altercation with Princess Isetnofret and then knocking down a very pregnant queen. One can only premise who was responsible for the Queen's horrific ordeal."

"I know my daughter." Hattusili steeled as he glared up at his nephew. "She would not have been the instigator of such an altercation."

"Is that so?" Mursili raised one of his bushy brows. "For my correspondence claims that the Pharaoh has been quite furious with her. Clearly, she has not been causing enough of a ruckus."

"My King," Hattusili glared in warning. "We have worked too hard instigating peace with Egypt. I will not let you ruin it to satisfy your fragile ego."

Mursili scoffed. "My ego is no more fragile than yours, Uncle."

"Then why are you so bent on causing discord between our nations once more?" Hattusili glowered. "I will not allow you to destroy years' worth of negotiations and treaties. Do you not understand the implications that will occur should you do so? All this simply because you could not get what you wanted. Typical, like a spoiled brat."

Mursili's glare was piercing as he rose to his feet. "Are you accusing me of being childish, Uncle?"

"You are behaving no better than one."

Mursili's fists clenched as he descended the few steps to stand before his uncle. Hattusili refused to flinch.

"You dare insult me in my own court?"

"Do not try to intimidate me, Nephew," Hattusili warned, his stance and demeanour steadfast. "I am not some old advisor under the thumb of you."

Mursili sneered, but said nothing. He knew his uncle's power reached deeper into depths he did not know of. Such were the benefits of being the land's greatest general.

"Your pride will be the death of you," Hattusili spat. "If I had not petitioned to have Malawashina marry the Pharaoh, I can guarantee that our current peace, prosperity, and security would not exist now. So perhaps you should learn a thing or two from your elders and cease acting like a whining child."

Mursili's nostrils flared as his uncle's words cut deep. "I will not be lectured by the likes of you."

It was Hattusili's turn to scoff. He knew what his nephew had done to his daughter. He knew. And whilst they stood there in the throne room, alone bar some guards, he could have disposed of his nephew then and there. Alas, Mursili still had some powerful allies and sway within the court. Time still needed to be abided.

"As much as I would enjoy staying and arguing with you, My King, I have more important matters to attend to."

Hattusili gave a curt bow and turned on his heels. As he reached the doors, Mursili called after him.

"I hope your daughter's health improves, and that her next child survives. If she is to have another, that is," Mursili jabbed.

Hattusili paused but did not turn to face his nephew, and continued to walk out of the hall.

As the door closed, Mursili sneered in contempt before making his way to the side of the room where a large table and a map sat. His fingers trailed over the carved figurines that represented the various military units of their nation. Hattusili had control over almost all of them. Banging his fist onto the table in frustration, Mursili's eyes burned with rage as his mind raced with ways in which he could get back at his uncle. The old man needed to be knocked down a few more notches. His precious daughter would be the best way to achieve it again.

Notes: Capsa - the name for a box used for storing scrolls. Could be rectangular or cylindrical in shape.