Nezzar

Part One: The Visit

Nezzar had given in. Unable to take the silence of his mother for one more day, he sent a messenger in the early hours of the morning, asking to see her. Queen Tiamat, being who she was, demanded that he first ceremonially groom himself and come fasting. Fasting!

Nezzar chuffed as he frowned down at the dark head of the palace maid attending to his feet. It was evening, he had not had a single meal and his patience was at its lowest. Unclentching his jaw, Nezzar diverted his gaze from the maid to the intricate paintings of lush valleys and streams on the walls to his left. There was no need to be irritable.

I am Nebuchadnezzar. To stay without food for a moment is nothing. Mother is right to demand I come fasting. I have not been the most caring of sons.

It was true that no matter how noble, strong and fearsome a man was, there existed in him a form of softness. Take his late father for example. He had loved queen Tiamat to the degree of taking her along to battles. How foolish. She may have been easily killed off by the enemy. A perfect battle strategy.

But like his father, the queen mother was Nezzar's only softness. There were times he wished he did not care as much for her as he did, then other times he was grateful for his affection. For without it, all the war and killing would have consumed him, turning him into a beast.

"Hurry up, girl," Nezzar said, voice low and clipped. Hunger pangs assailed him, and his irritability grew despite his inner struggle.

At Nezzar's command, the maid gave a timid bow and hurried with whatever she was doing. With trembling hands, she wiped his feet with a warm towel and rubbed in olive oil. She was soon ushered out and replaced with two others who donned his evening wear upon him, making sure not to disturb his carefully curled hair and beard.

When Nezzar made it to his mother's quarters, she had a table decked with a bountiful meal. Roasted quails, the choice cutting of the wild boar, pomegranates, spiced wine. Nezzar forced his eyes away from the display. Was this why she asked him to come fasting, to influence him with food? Why did he feel like he just walked into a trap? No. He was the one who caved—the one who demanded to see her and not the other way round.

"My son, king of great Babylon." Queen Tiamat's smile was small but there was a light in her eyes as she bowed. She was happy to see him. Nezzar sighed on his inside.

"Come sit. Break my fast with me." Her appearance was the same. No signs of sickness. And she still wore her usual black damask gowns with an equally black scarf; a symbol that she still mourned his father.

After eyeing the table and searching for any hint of hidden intention upon his mother's features, Nezzar settled upon a plush floor pillow. There were guards stationed at every exit and servants close by to do their bidding, maybe that was why Queen Tiamat lowered her voice as she leaned in to talk to him.

"You look well."

"Why are you whispering?" Nezzar lifted an eyebrow as his goblet stopped halfway to his lips. He motioned for the servants and guards to step out of earshot. "Tell me whatever is on your mind, mother. I feel as if I walked into a snare." He cut a slab of pork, pulled out a succulent quail thigh, and spooned red sauce upon it.

She served herself as well; her portions were small and assorted. "I would have remained to my death without seeing you, you know?"

Nezzar shrugged a shoulder and snuffed the kennel of hurt her words caused. "I perceive that you are yet to speak what is on your mind, mother."

"Do you know that Abila of Media is a dear friend of mine?"

Nezzar forced himself to continue chewing. If he recalled properly, Abila was the mother of the Median princess. "Then she shall be spared when the invasion happens."