Sakhmet is no less beautiful to the eyes of the brothers than Eness and the simple fact of her spiritedness and vehemence does nothing to dissuade them, though Atair chafes in his honor to be falsely accused when such accusations did hit home from some very real experiences that had darkened his heart for a time to a tinge more like his coat than it would have been to seen it ripped from his chest and laid bare now. War was not easy, was not meant for soft hands and soft hearts. He had seen too much and been through too much in his short life already not to find her view of him troubling to what he thought was his much redeemed self.
Antares had been the primary function to that end and that had been the reason for his interest in taking his eldest brother from a loveless, soulless, match - even if now he knew that it had been futile and folly to defy Isis’s choice for his brother. Isis and Set did not often work together in things regarding mortals - so bitter was Isis over the murder of her revived husband - but it had clearly meant much to see Sayyida and Antares together.
Antares knows at least some of this, though not all the things his brother had seen, and so he steps in to lighten the blow from his brothers hide with jesting to distract. His brother is not usually so easy to prod, so soft bellied in the face of words meant to stab - but lately things being as they were had left Atair without the support of others knowing what he had done for his brother’s sake, his kingdom’s sake, for the sake of the men who served under him and the women who had followed him into combat.
Antares can see the look on his face and knows that Sakhmet may indeed remind him of one or more of those women - though Antares is not certain if it is in spirit or appearance. Atair does not disappoint him with his angsty lashing out, the disruption of that discussion well and truly thwarted. Antares is not wrong, but Atair would not give them proof of it further than he had - respecting Sakhmet’s clear aversion to such a thing, as well as her aversion to him for herself in general. A tumultuous home was not what he sought, after all, for all that Antares was leading him towards taking a wife himself.
It could not be Sakhmet who reviled him. One as Sakhmet’s nature may withstand it, he thinks, though he would not take a woman who did not wish the taking. Some from Mira might have taken her warrior spirit and willingness to battle as foregoing the protection of Isis and Bast, but he had never been a part of those. It could not be Eness who could not understand the brutishness that was all he had to offer. He would not somehow be turn soft and tender now, so long using his body to subjugate or destroy. She was not bred free of the fires of Ra, certainly, with her standing forward to them, between her warrior companion and a threat, speaking as she does to him with demands and command. He does not think her weak or tame - only tender and unused to the abuses of the body her sadiq seemed to have endured at the hands of heretics.
Sakhmet offers her threat and Atair nods, approvingly or acknowledgingly… one might never know. Antares offers a snort only, concluding his thought on the matter of being thought deceptive. He was more than aware the kind of damage a woman in war could do. What amuses him instead, drawing his attention along with the attention of Sakhmet, was her next accusation and the swiftly followed interest of Eness after her profession of their accompaniment. “After all, you did not tell them your name or introduce yourself in your eagerness to defend me against our lady of Sekhmet’s own name.”
All eyes on him, Atair flicks back his ears, flattening them for the sudden focusing in of their party on himself. Sakhmet’s goading, Eness’ interest, and Antares’ jesting applying pressure that he was unused to bearing. “Atair, Son of Mira, Third of Sirius, Sanctified of Montu, Knighted of Sekhmet.” The pressure renders him into the safety of formality, though he does not continue with the other epithets used to describe him back home. This greeting makes Antares’ raise a brow, so to speak. “These fine women are not dignitaries, Atair. They are companions. Your formality is flattering, but not necessary to those who do not understand our Faith or our past...” The lily-fleshed brother smiles, however, “As it is… You have met now Atair and Antares - now let’s go so you may meet the others, like my wife Sayyida.” To which Atair turns away towards the island of Salem with a muttered, “Yes, Aldebaran the irritating and Rigel the windbag.” So much for the love of a twin, ey?
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