Chariots
Summary: SPOILERS!! Because sometimes you just needed to race a chariot as fast as you could, until all of your thoughts were replaced by the thrill of adrenaline and the rush of wind in your ears. Another post-series afterlife ficlet.
Mahaad could remember when he and the others had first eagerly introduced Atem to them. After all, he had loved his horses since he was a Child of the Kap, the Royal School in the House of Life, and of course one of the first things he had experienced in the Memory World had been riding at breakneck speed after Bakura, Slifer soaring above him, to defend his people. For himself, Atem had noticed a lot of people talking about their races and exploits, it being a popular sport from a certain period onwards (The New Kingdom, did Yugi's grandfather say? How odd it was to have been able to look back, in a way, over his country's past as if it were another lesson to be learned rather than the events of his homeland). He had stared in awe at his first real glance in the afterlife at one, Karim, Shada, Seto, Mana and Mahaad around him, at the sturdy wooden frame, the quiver for the arrows, the colours, the whole beautiful craftsmanship of it, listening with half an ear to Shada's talk about the difference between those chariots used for war and the more ornamental ones like this.
His first ride had been an experience to remember: standing beside Mahaad in one of them, gripping onto the bar as he had been told to, feet slightly apart for stability - he remembered thinking that his straight posture, the proper, proud way for a Pharaoh to stand, as had been drilled into him by his father and tutors, would serve him well.
They had begun slowly, the horses little faster than a trot, over the large, open expanse of hard desert rock. Turning his head, glancing over the bobbing heads of the two superb horses pulling their vessel, Atem could see the green and gleaming white of the lush vegetation and dwellings, hemming them in along one side, Mana, standing beside Kisara, catching his eye and waving exuberantly. He raised his hand and smiled in response before hurriedly replacing it on the front rail as one of the wheels rumbled over a small rock. Looking around again, he could see the rest of the chariots fanning out around them, catch the familiar profiles of Shada and Karim, and of course, Seto, standing proudly in - was that the blue and white of the dragon on the side of his own chariot? But suddenly he had less time to think about it: Mahaad had shifted his grip on the reins and turned more towards him, smiling slightly at the wonder that must have shown on his face and in his wide violet eyes.
"Are you doing well?" he enquired politely.
"Yes, thank you." And he was - this was fun, relaxing, entertainment for the sake of it, his friends around him, making sure that he was okay.
"Then would you like to try a little faster?"
"Yes," Atem replied, the old gleam entering his eyes as he smiled predatorily back at one of his oldest friends, sharing a grin with him, "I think I can handle it."
"Hang on tight, then, head down a bit for the wind - that's it." Then Mahaad turned, raising a hand to their other friends and riders around them, calling out to speed up. "Do you hear that?" Came Seto's voice, catching Atem's eyes with a grin of his own and a challenging tone of voice so similar and yet so unlike to Kaiba's, different by their shared light-hearted camaraderie, "His Majesty would like to go a little faster!" Atem chuckled at the other men's laughter and at the mocking use of his old title.
And then they did speed up, faster and faster at each of Mahaad's questioning glances, until they were charging across the plain, until the houses were mere dots behind them, Atem's senses full with the sight of the clouds of dust and sand flying up from the horses' hooves, the sound of the wheels and the laughter and shouts of the men around him, the pressure of his fingers tightly gripping the wooden bar, the exhilaration flooding him until he found himself letting out a laugh of his own - not his usual quiet, dignified chuckle, but a deep, rich, excited laugh of pure entertainment, the laugh of a young man finding and doing something he loved. Mahaad, reins tight around his hands, urging the horses on, looked at him with a smile to see it, the big grin on his face, and the two smiled at each other before both of their attention was completely caught by the race again.
Aknumkhanon had been standing in the doorway watching as the noisy group came back, accompanied by their riding companions, towards him, apparently in far higher spirits then when they had left. He caught sight of and recognized his son's unique hairstyle, vivid against the clear azure blue of the sky, dark skins and white clothes, but not, he realized with a pang, the expression on his face, as he chatted casually to a charioteer he didn't recognize, Mahaad and the others at his side. He looked so casual and happy, colour lighting his cheeks and his eyes shining as he caught his father's eyes and smiled, halfway through talking to the man who had caught his attention on his other side, leaning on his son's shoulder as if he was just part of the group. The thought affected him so much that Aknumkhanon could blame at least part of the reason he presented his son with a chariot of his own on it the next day, though the grateful smile and words his son gave him in response proved that he had done the right thing.
Since that day Atem had taken it upon himself to learn as much as he could about this new sport, adding to his already exceptional gift and knowledge of the horses he had been taught to ride since he was practically old enough to sit upright on their backs. What passed for the afternoons in their paradise would often find him practicing with others, or else simply crouched in the courtyard, running his eyes and slender fingers over its bodywork, learning to repair or else just sitting back on his hands to admire it, often with Mana chattering happily in the background. The thought that it was something that he had chosen to enjoy and spend time on, just as himself, was in itself exhilarating in a way he thought no-one else could truly understand.
While his father may have agreed with the pastime because it was something he enjoyed and it got him talking to others, Atem enjoyed it for another reason: being alone, racing across the plain as fast as he could, it achieved the same result as horse riding: he was able to focus on it and nothing else. Here, he could stop thinking about missing his friends, whether he had given them the wrong impression, not thanked them enough, the secret guilty feelings he harboured about his role in his friends' deaths, the whole anxiety and confusion over the ties left to the Millennium Items and its effect on his family, his uncle and cousin. He knew that he would be happy here, that it was where he belonged, that they would talk until everything was sorted out, the loose ends tied up.
How it felt like these thoughts were dragging him down as he went about his day, like wearing iron shoes while trying to swim.
How weirdnewbadconfusinggood it felt to be hearing these thoughts in his head alone.
So until that day he would slip away, get his gear, head far away from their beautiful house, and race until the maelstrom of thoughts in his head were drowned out by the exhilaration and focus of the race, as if the rain could whip them out of his head and send them blowing away as surely as the wind over his body, sending his blond bangs flying over his face and slitted eyes, rushing through his ears.
Because it was fun. Because it was a release. Because, he realized as he hauled on the reins, slowing down, because in the end he knew that they would all be back there waiting for him at the end of it. To get him to the place where he could smile his new, happy Atem smile and say "Hey, it's just a great hobby, really."