I'm actually doing this for a school project, historic fiction. I chose something before Christ so I could make up just about everything 
I think I have a pretty good start.
“General Zidrarchowbaryrsch.” Zidrar, startled, looked up from his map in time to see an arm garbed in gold enter through the flap of his cow hide tent. The king entered and stood calmly, shooting the general a cold glare leaving no doubt that something was amiss. Zidrar lept over his Phoenician table and bowed before the king, his wrinkly forehead nearly touching the ground.
“King Ashur-etil-ilani” he breathed. “What a magnificent surprise.”
The king left Zidrar bowing, and sauntered past the table to have a seat in the general’s chair, his golden sleeves nearly touching the floor. He picked a reed pen off the table and fiddled with it absentmindedly. “You’re surprised I’m here?”
Zidrar straightened and turned to the king, studying him intently. Any message he had sent, Zidrar surely would have received. “Your majesty, I received no word of your having left the capital Nippur. Forgive me for my ignorance.”
The king put the pen down and folded his dark hands on the table. He simply looked at the general for a few moments, his expression impossible to read. “I sent no word.”
There was another moment of tension, the two men regarding each other intently, before the king stood and began pacing around the tent, scratching his stubbly chin and raking his hands through his knotty brown hair. He stopped at the exit, and without looking back, raised a hand and simply said, “come.”
Outside, the sun shone bright and the air was clear, and from the heights of a bluff such as the one Zidrar’s tent was set on, one could see for miles.
The king waved his hand in a sweeping motion, indicating the scene before the two. “There it is, Babylon, grandest city in the world.”
None could doubt his words. In the distance sat Babylon, its beautiful golden spires rising higher than many a bird dared to fly, the mighty Tigris weaving down from the hills and flowing under the walls of the city, imitating a vein carrying blood to and from the heart of the land. Not all was beautiful and serene about the sight however, surrounding the great stones walls of the city were thousands of Assyrian forces, their tents glistening in the sun.
“This is my city,” the king stated, leaving no room for question. “YET I CANNOT WALK WITHIN ITS WALLS, WHY IS THIS?”
Zidrar stood silently, stunned. The king of the Assyrian empire was not the sort of man you want shrieking at you.
Ashur turned away and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, letting the blood recede from his cheeks. “It’s been two months, Zidrarchowbaryrsch, two months that I don’t control my birthright.”
“My lord, these things take time,” Zidrar appealed, his hands spread in exasperation.“
I think I have a pretty good start.“General Zidrarchowbaryrsch.” Zidrar, startled, looked up from his map in time to see an arm garbed in gold enter through the flap of his cow hide tent. The king entered and stood calmly, shooting the general a cold glare leaving no doubt that something was amiss. Zidrar lept over his Phoenician table and bowed before the king, his wrinkly forehead nearly touching the ground.
“King Ashur-etil-ilani” he breathed. “What a magnificent surprise.”
The king left Zidrar bowing, and sauntered past the table to have a seat in the general’s chair, his golden sleeves nearly touching the floor. He picked a reed pen off the table and fiddled with it absentmindedly. “You’re surprised I’m here?”
Zidrar straightened and turned to the king, studying him intently. Any message he had sent, Zidrar surely would have received. “Your majesty, I received no word of your having left the capital Nippur. Forgive me for my ignorance.”
The king put the pen down and folded his dark hands on the table. He simply looked at the general for a few moments, his expression impossible to read. “I sent no word.”
There was another moment of tension, the two men regarding each other intently, before the king stood and began pacing around the tent, scratching his stubbly chin and raking his hands through his knotty brown hair. He stopped at the exit, and without looking back, raised a hand and simply said, “come.”
Outside, the sun shone bright and the air was clear, and from the heights of a bluff such as the one Zidrar’s tent was set on, one could see for miles.
The king waved his hand in a sweeping motion, indicating the scene before the two. “There it is, Babylon, grandest city in the world.”
None could doubt his words. In the distance sat Babylon, its beautiful golden spires rising higher than many a bird dared to fly, the mighty Tigris weaving down from the hills and flowing under the walls of the city, imitating a vein carrying blood to and from the heart of the land. Not all was beautiful and serene about the sight however, surrounding the great stones walls of the city were thousands of Assyrian forces, their tents glistening in the sun.
“This is my city,” the king stated, leaving no room for question. “YET I CANNOT WALK WITHIN ITS WALLS, WHY IS THIS?”
Zidrar stood silently, stunned. The king of the Assyrian empire was not the sort of man you want shrieking at you.
Ashur turned away and closed his eyes, his fists clenched, letting the blood recede from his cheeks. “It’s been two months, Zidrarchowbaryrsch, two months that I don’t control my birthright.”
“My lord, these things take time,” Zidrar appealed, his hands spread in exasperation.“
