Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular belief, Joseph did not intend to be stuck up. He just had to speak about his dreams because they were the only times he could see color. Unfortunately, people focused more on what was happening in his dreams than the marvel of something they take for granted.

All of Joseph’s brothers have already found their soulmates long before which left him the odd one out. This new wonder of color was old to them.

He was saddened when he felt the growing gap in his relationships with his brothers. Instead of his best friends, they were more akin to rivals. He would have said this was the worst situation of his life had it not been for his father’s consistent attention to him. He was not all alone.

Still, his father was a busy man with that many children, so Joseph spent a lot of time trying to see what his brothers saw in his dreams but to little avail. He only figured out that once he met his soulmate, he would become a more powerful member of society.

This pattern of an awkward conversation with one brother, spending time deciphering his dreams, another languishing talk with another brother, then rinse and repeat continued until Jacob gave Joseph a beautiful coat that was supposedly every imaginable color. That was the nail in his coffin. This was the moment he could refer to as his damning.

Of course, at the time he did not know that; he was just gleeful that he had a silky, light-weight coat that fit him perfectly.

In the background of his happiness, his brothers were scheming to tear him down. Upon growing used to the coat, he noticed that his brothers had left his side completely.

It damped his joy to see yet another thing cause him and his brothers’ divide to increase.

While he still loved his coat, it did not bring him the previous overall blissfulness it used to.

How ironic it was, Joseph, the man draped in the most vibrant fabrics anyone from his home had ever seen, still couldn’t enjoy his beauty in all its glory, for he had not yet found his soulmate.

—

It was a seemingly unimportant day of work like any other where he and his brothers went far to fetch water from a well. Joseph was the last to fill his bucket. As he leaned over to decline his bucket on the rope, he was shoved.

The fall hurt.

Hitting his head and shoulder had his vision going spotty. One moment he was free-falling and the next he was submerged. He felt lost. The overwhelming, piercing cold forced him to curl inwards. With his teeth chattering and his sense of direction gone, he did not have time to breathe.

He passed out without a thought on his mind but a primal fear and betrayal choked him.

Chapter Text

When Joseph awoke, he felt the rocking of waves. But that wasn’t right, he cracked open his eyes against the harsh light to find he was tied up on a camel. There was nothing around him that he could recognize as home; the familiar dry hills of Canaan summer were long gone and gave way to dunes. He wanted to speak but was cut off before he could begin with what he assumed to be Egyptian.

Joseph was confused. Where was he? He was just out with his brothers going to fetch water when…

He fell down the well?

No, his back, head, and shoulder ached. He was pushed.

The memory came flooding back to him, literally and metaphorically. His breath hitched, remembering how it felt to have the water fill his lungs.

The noise from him caused snark consonants he couldn’t identify to come his way and he knew that these people weren’t only strangers, but also enemies to him.

The small procession of camels stopped and the front rider hopped off and pulled Joseph off his camel. He felt the hot sand on his now sandal-less feet before darkness encompassed him as he was knocked out.

—

Again, Joseph was greeted with an unfamiliar sight when he woke up. He was in a shack with compacted dirt for a floor and the smell of mildew in the air.

“You’re awake.” A woman with similar features to his, his longing for Canaan returned, in ragged clothes came up to him. “Potiphar’s men dropped you in here a few hours ago.”

“Potiphar?”

The woman nodded, “Potiphar is the captain of the guard and we are his slaves.”

“Oh.”

Joseph’s brothers let him be sold into slavery. He felt tears well up in his eyes.

“Uh-“ the woman looked a little uncomfortable, “it’s not all that bad.” She grimaced and dabbed a dirty hand towel at his eyes. The intimate action of soulmates wasn’t there and the world still was colorless. “We’re less likely to get called for corvée, you know getting sent off to war and building monuments.” She shrugged awkwardly and stopped talking.

If Joseph wasn’t overwhelmed with confusion and sadness, he may have found the information of comfort. He got to stay in one place, but he was still overwhelmed and currently panicking.

“I’m never going home,” Joseph said as a statement to himself, but the woman replied anyway.

“No, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Joseph said, flatly as he began to stare at the wall.

They existed in silence for a moment before the woman fully sat down next to him. “I’m Beth by the way.”

“Joseph.”

Time passed like that until men came into the hut to fetch Joseph. “Get up, Potiphar wishes to see you,” one of the men said. Luckily, he spoke Hebrew too so he could understand the order.

Joseph got up and followed the men into a mansion. A man, Joseph assumed he was Potiphar, was sitting at the head of the table with other male slaves surrounding him. He had a dark shade of hair and was slightly paler than the other men. As Potiphar looked up to him, a chain on his neck glistened. “I was told you could read and write,” Potiphar stated more than asked.

“Yes, my lord” Joseph replied with wariness and intrigue.

“Then come and read this trade agreement and tell me your interpretation,” Potiphar spat the words more than spoke clearly in annoyance and boredom.

Joseph walked forward to the head of the table and read the paper; it was the acknowledgment and acceptance of a new prisoner trade route change and inevitable delay. He turned to Potiphar and told him: “this would cause an inflation of the price of prisoners and put a strain on all current slaves due to the rise in demand for work with late shipments.”

Potiphar nodded with a gleam in his eye. “Good, I needed someone competent. I want you to run my household as the slave leader.”

Joseph nodded and mentally prepared to rise to the task as he looked up over the room he could see the envious looks of his fellow slaves.

—

Joseph’s new position resulted in him getting a small room in the mansion to himself to make sure he was always in the house.

Any chance of social interaction with his fellow slaves was stripped because now every one of them avoided him from either fear or anger.

—

Joseph went about his normal routine of filling out documents for Potiphar (which gradually became easier as he adapted to the Egyptian language) and making sure people fulfilled their tasks.

He was on his way up to Potiphar’s bedroom to get one of the old records he stored away when he heard the door shut behind him.

Confused, he turned around to see Mrs. Potiphar. He questioned, “My lady, is there something wrong?”

“Yes, there is in fact,” she started stalking towards him.

Joseph grew anxious and started to ask her what was wrong in specific, “Well-“

“You have not made yourself aquatinted with me.”

Joseph didn’t know that was something he was supposed to do and he was quick to apologize, “I’m sorry my lady; it didn’t realize-“

“Shhh,“ she placed a finger before his lips while her other arm slid under his outer tunic up to his shoulder. He jerked back but this only resulted in him hitting the wall behind him as her hold was surprisingly firm. “My husband has kept you busy and away from me because you’re just my type you know?”

Joseph’s breathing became shallow and panicked as he tried to come up with something, anything to say. “I,” he hesitated, choked on that one word. Why wouldn’t he say anything else?

“It’s ok; I can do the work for us this first time.” Mrs. Potiphar took advantage of Joseph’s frozen state and began to slip Joseph’s outer tunic over his head. “He spends so much time working and paying no attention to me,” a pout crossed her face like she expected him to react.

His slowed mind finally snapped into realization at that, “please,” she hummed taking that as a sign to continue, “Wait, stop… you’re not my soulmate. I don’t believe in free love.” He managed to say his last sentence with conviction. God gave people soulmates for a reason. It was shameful and blasphemous to go against his choices.

“Pity,” she said dismissively as she finished taking off his outer tunic.

With her hands around the tunic and not him, Joseph made a run for it out of the bedroom shaking his head.

Joseph ran down the stairs towards his small room and closed the door sitting down against it so she couldn’t enter. He held his hands over his head and started to shake and scratch at his right shoulder that she touched. Skin and blood collected under his nails as he ripped open the wounds from falling into the well. It wasn’t enough to remove her touch. He should have reacted sooner; he almost disobeyed God. He wouldn’t be able to bear himself after that.

Only pure exhaustion from the scary day forced him to sleep soon after on the floor.

—

Joseph wasn’t allowed to rest long because his door was knocked down by the two slaves who escorted him to Potiphar weeks prior. Dazed and still panicked, Joseph was carried by his arms and legs out of the house and through the village streets. “What’s going on?!” Joseph cried only to be met with silence and disapproving looks. They passed by Beth and she looked on in disgust as she folded her arms in front of herself.

The men just kept walking until they reached a prison where Joseph was thrown in the darkest cell.

Poor, poor Joseph,
Locked up in a cell.

Chapter Text

The prison walls were wet and black,
His chains heavy, weighed him down.
A candle was his only light,
The hungry rats his only sound.

“Hey Dreamer,” he looked up to see the outline of a man, “don’t be so upset.”

Another man appeared. “Hey Joseph, you’re not beaten yet.”

—

Those two men quickly integrated him into there social circle in the measly time spent outside of their cells. It was during those moments that he finally found people who would listen to his dreams. Not only that but people also wanted to know what he thought of their dreams. Through this, his interpretation skills developed more and more.

And likewise his reputation.

One day two new faces came to him in the morning sobbing from fright. “Hey Joseph, help us if you can,” one of them clutched him, “we’ve had dream that we don’t understand.”

Joseph felt a spike of fear at the contact and shifted away as he smiled at them uneasily, “tell me of your dreams, my friends, and I will tell you what they show. Though I can not guarantee to get it right, I’ll have a go.”

First, the skinny man took a hesitant breath, and then began to recite a story he has now become familiar with. “I was in the grape fields harvesting grapes to make wine for our king which he took readily from me and drank.”

Joseph nodded, “it seems that Pharaoh shall reinstate your position as his cupbearer.”

The cupbearer broke out into a contagious smile that had Joseph’s nerves melting away. He then pushed his friend forward to recite his dream.

The second man was hesitant too but brightened with the possibility of freedom for himself. “Well I was carrying baskets of bread into the palace when three birds swooped down and ate it all.”

Joseph felt confusion before cold realization hit him. The birds meant to lift him. The only thing he could see in his mind’s eye was the poor baker being hanged.

Joseph didn’t want to say anything, but looking into the man’s pleading, hopeful eyes made him feel obligated to give him a warning.

“You won’t be in prison for long either,” the baker inhaled sharply and Joseph hated himself, “but I do not believe you will get the freedom you want. Pharaoh has it in for you, your execution date is set.”

The baker reeled back before trying to surge forward when the cupbearer’s arms and Joseph’s next words stopped him. “Now don’t rely on all I’ve said I saw,” the man relaxed minutely, “it’s just that I have not been wrong before…”

Both men looked at him devastated. Only a moment passed before physical retaliations met his body. Joseph fell with a strangled gasp. The guards turned a blind eye along with the other inmates as Joseph was harmed.

—

Joseph stopped leaving his cell after that. He didn’t see either man again after that morning, but rumors started to trickle down from the guards about them. Turns out, just as Joseph thought, both men were fetched after three days. The cupbearer was pardoned and the baker was put to death.

It saddened Joseph, but he couldn’t stop taking care of himself. No one else would.

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Cupbearer’s pov:

The Pharaoh has become distant as of late. He no longer makes appearances in the street, no longer calls meetings for council, he doesn’t even eat the food brought to him. His cupbearer waited by his door, loyally and hoping for a summons. At night he can hear tossing and turning, whining and pleas of no. He’s plagued by nightmares.

One day, Pharaoh finally summoned his physician, searching for an herbal remedy, but this was to no avail.

He expanded his searches, calling for all magicians in the land to try and cleanse him of his nightmares. Although this too brought him no relief.

It pained his cupbearer to watch the Pharaoh slowly wither. He spent his time pondering ways he could aid him.

He suddenly remembered a promise he made two years ago. A man by the name of Joseph interpreted his dreams and saved him from despair.

He prayed that the man was still alive as he ran from his station to check the guards for information.

—

The thick, damp prison walls still elicited the same amount of fear and heartache of his lost soulmate even long after he was freed, but he had to face it.

He approached a guard with the most confidence he could muster, “I was sent on orders from the Pharaoh to gain a list of all the prisoners.”

The guard looked at him with suspicion, but he did not want to question the Pharaoh, especially not after his silence.

“Go inside and take the first set of stairs, talk with the man standing by the door, and he will grab you the files.”

The cupbearer briskly walked inside and up the stairs where he did just as he was told and came out with his list. Once out of sight, he read it and to his great amazement, Joseph’s name was on it.

With an even greater amount of speed than he used to get there, he ran back to the palace.

—

The cupbearer waited outside of Pharaoh’s door again, hoping for a summons.

His gods favored him that day when Pharaoh asked for a chalice of water. He diligently walked into the room and gently spoke, “If it may please you, I know a bloke in jail who is hot on dreams; he could explain your tale.”

The Pharaoh lifted his head, to look at his cupbearer; his eyes were bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles of insomnia, instead of khol. He whispered, “well, fetch me this man. I need him to help me if he can.”

—

Joseph was curled up in the corner of his cell when he heard keys jingling and the rusty hinges of a door moved. He didn’t look up. He expected a beating or a stale piece of bread to be tossed at his feet, but neither of those came. Instead, an outstretched hand appeared before him. Joseph looked up in confusion to be met with similar look of envy that he recognized from a few years ago, “the Pharaoh has summoned you.”

That was the only knowledge he got before he was brought out in his chains up to the palace.

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The obsessive sun’s reach vanished as Joseph passed through the grand gateway. As his eyes adjusted, he was awestruck. It was luxurious, more so than Potiphar’s estate, and dark but unlike the prison. This entry was more lively and welcoming.

From the windows hung wet reed mats, and in between them alternated torches and burning incense. Painted upon the walls and pillars were hieroglyphs of suns, scarabs, and vultures. Servants ran around to and fro with efficiency.

It was only a shove to Joseph’s back that got him walking forward again. He didn’t like the feeling of the contact; it sent a crawling feeling up his spine.

He looked down at the ground in front of him. He couldn’t risk offending the Pharaoh.

As he was shepherded further into the palace, the halls became more ornate. Sparkles from various paints on the walls and vases caught his eye. Each time it was a struggle to look back down and not gawk until they finally stopped before large, but otherwise unassuming, doors.

He immediately bowed his head as the doors opened and he was forced to go forwards and then onto his knees.

He might as well make an effort: “Please tell me your problem, mighty one.”

Seconds felt like hours before he heard a weak voice, wholly unlike the one he was expecting. “I was walking along the Nile when seven fat cows came out of the river, but right behind them were seven gauntly cows that devoured them. They weren’t satisfied with their first meal. Wherever they went, withering followed; my fields fell. I-” The king stopped himself before he said anything else with a shaky exhale.

This time, Joseph couldn’t stop himself from looking up, and when he did, his heart broke at the look of bruised hope focused on him. He had to help him. He quickly racked his mind for meaning when the symbolism struck him.

Joseph spoke with a low tone as if he was trying not to spook the tired man before him, “for seven years, your farms will boom; there won’t be room to store the surplus food you grow. But after that, famine’s hand will starve with the land with food an all time low.”

The Pharaoh looked like he was about to despair when Joseph rushed to speak again, this time startling him, “noble king, I have no doubt what your dreams are all about. You must find a man to lead you through the famine with a flair for economic planning.” But- Joseph didn’t know what to say next. He paused before admitting in a lower tone. “But who this man could be, I just don’t know,” he bowed his head back down in shame.

The Pharaoh seemed to consider this for a moment before asking him, “what do you know of farming?”

Joseph slowly raised his head again in surprise, “I was a Shepard’s son before I was taken to Egypt. I know how to manage a field.”

“Well then, I think that settles it.” The king was looking deep into his eyes. Joseph felt seen in a way he hadn’t before. “You shall be the man to lead me through this famine.” The Pharaoh’s next sentence floored Joseph.

The Pharaoh then looked up at his guards and said in a more resolute voice, “give him a room on the second floor and have a servant see to him immediately.”

That was the last he heard from the king before he was dragged away.

Chapter Text

The next few days were a blur. Joseph was outfitted in linen shentis, beaded necklaces and anklets, honey, and oils, all of which grew more elaborate as he started to organize the fields.

He first needed to maximize fertility and yields. The land nearest the Nile was the most fertile and at the highest risk of being washed away.

In the archives, Joseph found records of watering and harvesting methods and their outputs.

Using shadufs for watering and oxen to plow would only provide enough for the following year. He pinched the bridge of his nose and hung his head. He had to figure out a way to increase the rate at which the Nile fertilized the soil and the most reliable method of germination.

Maybe if he asked the Pharaoh—

“It’s quite late; you’ve been burning my candles far into the night.”

Joseph looked up, startled; he hadn’t noticed him enter. “Is it really? I hadn’t realized I was searching for so long.”

“Yes, Khepri is to wake soon.” The Pharaoh was looking at him oddly. Had he done something? Maybe he made a face; it was odd getting used to the idea of other gods being worshipped. He found himself parched and wanted to change the subject.

“I see… Well, I was wondering if men could be spared to construct a more effective method of washing the fields.” The selfishness of his request suddenly struck him. He hadn’t provided results, and yet he was already demanding. The paper he was holding in his hand crinkled from his clenching. The Pharaoh took notice.

“I am Pharaoh, but without your word, no one will lift hand or foot in all of Egypt.” The Pharaoh’s gaze shifted downward to what Joseph was holding. “Now let me see your plans.”

The earnest interest and acceptance in the king’s voice urged Joseph to move before he could think twice about it.

Joseph presented a sketch next to a map of the Nile. “I believe that if a canal is dug from the Nile to the Faiyyum Oasis, the water flowing year-round, instead of the flooding in the summer, would increase yields,” Joseph took a shuddering breath, “Once that is done, systematic changes can be made.”

“Systematic changes?” The pharaoh leaned closer, but he was no longer looking at the design; he was looking into Joseph’s eyes.

Joseph resisted a strange urge to lean closer and instead shifted his weight away, holding onto the table. “Changes could be made to the planting stage to prevent the loss of seeds, such as the ground being compacted by the pigs or goats in the field,” Joseph pointed to an account of animal distribution, which the pharaoh picked up and read.

There was a peaceful quiet for a moment before it was broken by the low, inquisitive voice of the king. “When can this be implemented?”

“As soon as the Akhet’s flood begins to recede, the construction won’t be washed away in its early stages,” Joseph paused, “In the meantime, I would like to explore a system of grain distribution that would allow us to save for our future.”

—

For our future.

How does Joseph make things sound so personal? How did he capture his attention so quickly?

Maybe he’s starved for friendship and is focused on the one non-overly formal person in the palace, but it doesn’t feel like that.

Joseph took to his position immediately, spending almost all hours of the day in the archives, barely touching the food his servants brought him.

It concerned the pharaoh about Joseph’s health.

He sighed and stood up from his desk, determined to talk Joseph into resting.

The king entered the archive only to be met with the sight of Joseph curled on the floor, unconscious.

The pharaoh ran back out to call for his servants to bring Joseph to his room as he rushed to find the physician.