Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steven watched the proceedings quietly, though he didn’t really have any other choice. If it was up to him, he’d probably have just began spouting all the facts he could recall off the top of his head. Being here, in the great pyramids of Giza, watching a trial lead by incredibly powerful gods, it was a dream come true.

Well, almost, he was still stuck watching from the sidelines as Marc was in the front, probably enjoying the time far less then Steven would. Steven had only met him relatively recently, but he already had the idea that Marc was far less interested in myths and history, at least ancient history.

If Marc decided to stick around after all this was over, Steven made a note to tell him why history was so important, how it all influences the here and now. He’d been practicing the speech for the future, hoping it’d get him a tour guide spot or something.

Well, that hadn’t entirely worked out, but there was still hope.

His thoughts began to drift through many channels, including but not limited to: ‘I’m in the great pyramid of Giza’, ‘I am seeing a bunch of gods that are not, in fact, myths’, and ‘Can I use this experience to get a tour guiding position without people thinking I’m high?’. He was only drawn out of figuring out ways to uses this on his resume (Thor exists, surely this isn’t the strangest thing to put in a resume. Just a couple years ago half the planet disappeared and reappeared.) by his body nearly decking Harrow before being stopped by another god, Osiris, he believed. What the hell had he just missed out on. Why was Harrow here all of a sudden?

“Let us speak to Marc Spector.” Osiris, or, well, his avatar, said. There was a blink, and Steven felt a firm pressure leave the back of his head, one he hadn’t even noticed. Marc seemed to have noticed, though, as the man collapsed to the floor, hands clutching his chest as tears pooled in his eyes, tear tracks already running down his, their, face.

Okay, maybe Steven didn’t actually want to be the one in that room. It looked painful.

However, as he watched Marc struggle to speak, struggle to ask for help, and the gods not listening to him, he felt a wave of something wash over him. Protectiveness. Righteous anger. Was this how Marc felt as Moon Knight? This surge of protectiveness for those he was supposed to protect.

Steven had lost the awe this place had bestowed upon him. The glamour no longer blinding him to the way the gods were treating Marc.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew gods weren’t wonderful people (gods?). They weren’t sanitized, Disney versions that appeared in tv and movies. They were shades of grey, made to reflect humanity at the time, what was thought as moral or commonplace. That was why Zeus was such a wanker, literally and figuratively, and why women in myths were often treated harshly and punished for things that were sometimes not even their fault.

It was one thing to know that, though, and another thing to see it.

“Harrow has done nothing to warrant punishment,” Osiris said to the small group, making Steven focus back on the conversation, “he is free to-”

“Wait,” a voice interrupted, and every eye was brought to the woman who sat to the right of Osiris. Her posture was stiff, ramrod straight. In her eyes shone a deep wisdom that seemed to emanate from her very being. Her dark brown eyes seemed to stare through them, and Steven wasn’t entirely sure if it was just the goddess’ influence, or the goddess was just enhancing what was already present in her avatar. If Steven was in the front at that moment, he would have jumped as she continued, “We have heard from Marc Spector, but what of the other?”

“What other?” Harrow ground out, smile on his face growing sour, even as he tried to mask it.

“Steven Grant.” She said, and Steven felt chills as she said it, the first proper feeling he had since entering this space. “You said he used the name Steven Grant for his employment records, and that he does not even remember his name. So, let us see what this Steven says.”

Harrow looked like he was going to interrupt, but before he could breathe out any objections Horus spoke again, “Let us speak with Steven Grant.”

Steven returned to the front and, oh, yeah, this was definitely not pleasant. He breathed in, and it felt like his lungs were being torn apart. He felt Marc nearby, watching Steven like Steven had been watching him. Distantly, he felt worry, though it wasn’t coming from him.

“Steven Grant?” Hathor’s avatar, Yatzil, asked.

“Yeah, yup,” Steven muttered. Attempting to ignore the frankly overwhelming pain, he began to push himself up. He was trying to convince the gods that Harrow was bad news, and Marc had already made a terrible first impression, so Steven was left trying to pick up the pieces. It took a minute or so, but when he was finally up, he continued, “I’m Steven, yeah. With a V.” he added on without thinking, and he felt his face going red. Had he really just done that?

“Steven Grant, are you well?”

“Uh, well, I’ve been better.” He looked around, “Do you mind if I get a chair? It’s just, well, a lot is happening, and all you get chairs, so…” In the back of his mind, he could almost feel Marc face palm, or maybe that was just him. He at least knew that Khonsu hated his guts, but that didn’t seem to be new.

“You are on trial, and you ask to have a chair?” The other avatar, of Tefnut, he believed, now spoke.

“Well, last I checked, it was Harrow on trial, not me or Marc.” Steven shook his head, “Never mind.”

“If you feel used by Khonsu,” Hathor’s avatar repeated what she had said to Marc. Steven rolled his eyes. He was getting very annoyed with this impromptu therapy session, it was too similar to his HR meeting a few days before, and he was still a bit upset about getting fired.

“Yes, well, in my opinion the stupid pigeon is definitely using us, but there are far more important things on the line at the moment, like Harrow trying to free Ammit.” Then, feeling like they would only actually listen to the first part, “And, anyway, you lot are using your Avatars too. A bit hypocritical, no?”

“Our avatars are here to observe.” Osiris said.

“Yes, and that means I am also here to observe, and what I’ve observed is Harrow running a bloody murder cult with a magic stick!” Steven stopped, taking a deep breath. He couldn’t just freak out, he needed to stay calm and collected, or else they wouldn’t listen to him. He tried to slow his heartrate. “I just don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

“What ‘magic stick’?”

“Oh, uh, well, Harrow decided to show me his cult the other day, and when I didn’t agree on his viewpoint he threatened me, saying something about the stick being a gift from Ammit to her first avatar. Then it started to glow bright purple, and a huge jackal just,” he made a gesture with his hands that he didn’t even understand, “Y’know, appeared. Rose up from the ground and all that.”

“And did anyone else see this?”

“Well, uh, Layla sort of saw it? I guess.”

“Layla?” Hathor asked, head tilted slightly.

“Uh, Marc’s wife.” He felt a blush crawl up his cheeks and looked down at his hands. He hoped that the room was dark enough for the gods, and Marc, to not notice.

“What is her name?” Osiris asked.

Before Steven could admit to not actually knowing Layla’s last name, Marc came to the rescue. “Layla El-Faouly,” and then he was gone again, easier than last time. It almost felt like Marc was giving him space, trusting his judgment. It was nice, made him feel all responsible.

“We call Layla El-Faouly to the stand.” Then, Osiris turned back to Steven, “Before we speak to her, do you have any more evidence you would like to be brought out?”

Steven felt a warm fuzzy feeling inside of him. They were listening. He could do this, they could do this.

“He has a scale on his right forearm. A few days ago, I was in the alps, and I saw him in a village, judging people. There was this old lady, and apparently, she was unworthy or whatever, and Harrow just,” his hands flailed about, “just sucked her soul out, you know, like one of those movies?” The gods watched him, a bit confused, “Okay, so you don’t now what I’m talking about, but it was like all the colour was sucked out of her. It was freaky.”

“Arthur Harrow, would you show to us your right forearm?”

Harrow was watching the whole proceedings with wide eyes, mouth opening and closing as if he wants to object, but not knowing how. Then, as if finally realizing he had been called upon, shook his head.

“Arthur Harrow, please roll up your sleeve and show us whether or not you have a scale on your arm.”

Harrow seemed to realize that just standing there was making him look even more guilty and began to do what the goddess had asked. It was a slow process, like he was pulling teeth. However, it was only forestalling the inevitable. When the gods saw the tattoo, it was even more damning than Steven had described. The scales were held by two crocodile heads and, though the tattoo itself held no power, traces of magic still emanated from it.

It was then that Layla entered, immediately finding Steven standing there. She knew as soon as she saw him that it was Steven at the front, Marc was never that relaxed, his shoulders never that hunched in.

“Steven!” she walked briskly toward him, “What are you doing here? What is this place?”

“The great pyramid of Giza.” The excitement flooded into his voice, once again being reminded of this incredible moment, but then tried to dampen down his pure glee. He was going to geek out as soon as possible, but he had to be professional. “They have a few questions for you.”

Now the attention of the gods was on her, and Steven was able to breathe. He was a bit worried about Layla being the focus of the gods, but those worries seemed to be unfounded. She was quick to answer the gods’ questions, describing what had happened in London, and a bit more info than Steven knew about Harrow and the scarab.

When her account was finished, Steven felt quite confident. They had so much evidence against Harrow, and Steven could tell that the man was worried. It seemed that, after the compete trainwreck of a beginning, they would actually be able to stop Harrow from releasing Ammit.

The gods stood from their seats and went to discuss their thoughts in a separate room, leaving the three mortals, unpossessed by gods, to wait in the center room. When the last god turned around the corner, Steven felt like he could finally breathe fully. Yes, he was standing right beside a murderer, but he had already had a hell of a day, and he really didn’t want to think too much about the situation he had been, and still is, in.

He decided, instead, to once again look around the room. After all, he was probably one of only a few that would see this place in the next century.

It was as glamourous as anyone could have expected. Gods would, obviously, want to live somewhere fancy. Before Khonsu had mentioned the ‘Overvoid’ which he didn’t recognize from the myths, but may have been one of those things left out, or some weird thing like what had happened with the Norse gods.

“I can’t believe I’m in here.” Layla said beside him, making him jump out of his thoughts. When the words registered, though, he nodded. She took the words right out of his mouth. “Look at those statues,” she continued.

“I never thought I would see anything like this up close, let alone in this condition.” Steven wanted to go up to the statues, to touch them, but he kept his feet firmly planted on the floor. He couldn’t risk angering the gods, not when they were so close.

“My dad took me to a bunch of dig sites, but we never found something like this.”

They let themselves geek out, talking about different statues, what gods they probably represented, and quickly turning to burial practices. Steven was even able to get into a rather lengthy lecture about Hatshepsut’s trading routes and how she made Egypt rich before he was, quite rudely, interrupted by Harrow.

“Layla El-Faouly” Harrow said quietly, reminding the two about the third person standing there. “Are you related to Abdallah El-Faouly?”

Beside him Layla’s relaxed posture tensed, and he could feel Marc starting to push to the front, worry and, strangely, fear, flooding his mind. However, Steven made sure to not show this, trying to stay relaxed. Marc was the one feeling this, and he wasn’t going to be afraid of what he didn’t know. He would stay calm.

“How do you know that name?” Layla’s every word was coated in venom.

“He was an archeologist, wasn’t he?” Harrow turned to Steven, “Was killed by a bunch of mercenaries. How interesting.”

Oh! Oh. Well, that certainly wasn’t very good.

“You know who killed him?” She was now standing inches away from Harrow, and Steven was surprised that he wasn’t cowering under her stare. Marc was still trying to push himself to the front, but Steven tried to stay present. He did not want to deal with the whole revelation that Layla was about to have, but he had just convinced the gods that Harrow was no good, and he could not have Marc taking them three steps back, as much as he meant well.

“I do not know who killed him,” Harrow continued, a smile barely visible, “but perhaps your husband will know.”

Steven took a deep breath as she turned to him, confusion dancing in her eyes, but before either of them could say anything the gods returned.

“It has been decided.” Osiris’ voice echoed in the open room, “Arthur Harrow, you have conspired to release Ammit, and have sent many mortals to the Duat before their time. For this, you must be punished.”

“What will the punishment be, my lord?” Harrow ground out, smile from before now gone.

“We believe that Khonsu should say what he believes the punishment to be, as he is the one who saw through you first”

And then Steven no longer in control, watching from a distance at the words being spoken. It wasn’t like when Marc was at the front, though. It was far more painful. Still, through the pain, Steven tried to listen.

“He shall stop looking for Ammit and disband his cult.” The god seemed calmer than before, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. “He will return the scarab to be destroyed so that no other can search for Ammit, and Harrow, along with the most loyal of his cult members, will be watched, so as to not let them kill again.”

That was, in Steven’s opinion of the god, actually very generous. Given how almost every time he had heard the god speak the god was threatening death, Steven was quite happy with the arrangement. Well, almost completely happy.

“But they already know where she is buried.” He forced out, and then quickly let the god take over again. That was actually more painful than just letting the god talk.

“Steven Grant is correct, Harrow and his cult have no doubt already found her resting place, and are likely uncovering it as we speak.” Khonsu said, for once agreeing with Steven.

The five gods seated looked to each other, then back to the three at the center of the room. Then Horus spoke, “We will find somewhere else to hide her, someone who we believe is trustworthy enough to find a safe place to keep her.” He turned to the other gods, who each nodded at him. “Layla El-Faouly, will you do the honor in once again hiding Ammit from the world and those who would release her?”
Layla still seemed a bit conflicted by what Harrow had just told her, but nodded. “I swear to you I will.”

“Then it is decided. The matter is closed.”

And that was it. The scarab was given to Layla, the arrangements were made, a few minor gods were sent out to watch over Harrow and his cult, and everything was done.

Before Layla left for the tomb, Steven let Marc front. He and Layla really needed to talk, after all. As Marc approached his wife, Steven let himself take a few steps back. This was something private, though maybe that was just the excuse Steven was using to not deal with it.

Instead of watching, he let himself relax. That was probably the most stressful moment in his life, so he deserved a bit of a break. So, he let himself drift off.