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Millennium Trilogy:

The Kings' Arrangement

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Since long before mankind was even in the making, and before time was a variable in consideration, virtue, vice and the equivalence between the two was one of the first to be bestowed upon the world. This balance has been kept in patient observation by the very powers that be since the dawning of creation. It's scales continue to sway and tip and were tossed asunder yet again today. Each moment, the billions of choices made spin that balance in and out and in and out of calibration.

This tale, however, is no long list of Do's or Do Not's. Nor is it a lesson by way of philosophy. Nor an indication for what is good or wrong in the world. Rather, it is so much simpler, yet so much more, than that—inexplicably and irrevocably so.

I am M, your guide in all such things. What I lay out before you is but one possibility. Bear careful witness, Traveler, for everything you see may radically change everything you have ever come to know. Being lost in the sea of ages is but the least of your worries now. What partakes here today, tonight, shall be a legend an da tale and story you nigh-ever should forget.

. . .

The throne room of Millennium's innermost palace was a structural artwork, if one could call it so. Half had been designed akin to an amphitheater and extended out into the courtyard. The royal guard stood alert at either end and in the middle of each aisle. This was where the King addressed his peoples and it had been constructed with that in mind.

The other half was sectioned into three. One was where the council sat round an oval table, a spot at the head and foot reserved for the army general and the squad commander, respectively. Another was sectioned off for those seeking an audience with the king. And, the last was a semicircular platform on the far side lined on either side by slow rising stairs.

A pillar bisected the platform and on either side, a square cushion replaced the traditional thrones that may have once sat there. On these cushions sat one man each. Though identical they initially appeared, the two differed in age by almost eight years.

The furthest from the amphitheater half of the room sat primly with both feet propped on the other's knee. His posture remained straight, and his head held high. A veil covered the upper half of his face and the grand mass of his hair. This left only the pale sight of his jaw and a faint smile curdling his lips. The rest of his garb was layered sheer fabric in dark shades, almost appearing like a shadow of death cloaked his body.

On the other side, the other was shorter by three inches and the younger of the two. His face was, too, partially covered, but it was the lower half of his face that was hidden by a dark cloth tied over his nose and ears and behind his head. His hair was pulled into a tail behind him and tamed into a pool of black and gold that tangled about his waist and on the floor. His clothing was also made of layered fabrics but done in spun golden threads and dark purples. Atop his forehead, a circlet pinned a royal stone to the center of his face, looming like a third eye.

These were the brothers that ruled Millennium.

Annoyed, the second brother, their king, clapped his hands and sharp amber eyes glared down at their council. "Be silent." Lifting a mass of dark fabric, which could be identified under all the layers as his hand, he massaged his temples and tersely began, "Now, have you anything that is of relevance? Or are you only to give us a migraine?"

. . .

{ Yugi, the Boy King, of Millennium }

{ King of Millennium }

. . .

The council shuffled the question back and forth amongst themselves, seemingly in bewildered stupor, and their king sighed once more.

"Silence," he commanded again, then pointed a long, slender finger out from under his clothes at the door to their throne room, "Be gone. We tire of your presence."

"Yugi," his royal brother intoned, voice rich and rasped with disuse and scratched vocal cords. His dark veil turned in the direction of his brother and king, "Need we take a break? You are grouched." He spoke with an eloquence that belied his previous station as heir to the throne.

. . .

{ Yami, the Black Prince, of Millennium }

{ Crown Prince of Millennium }

. . .

Dropping his hands to his similarly folded lap, Yugi peered over at his brother and amber eyes shimmered and faded into violet. "No. We are fine," he announced slowly, voice even and without a trace of his prior frustration, "We find the arguments tedious, is all."

"So do we," Yami agreed without delay, his face turned towards the demure council who attempted to shrink further into their chairs with shame. "See to it," he took a moment to breathe, "that this does not happen again, gentlemen. Or we find you alternative points of establishment."

"Yes sir!" the council chimed as one, their stature suddenly of more formal demeanor, and for once, they appeared to get right to business.

Yugi settled, a smile creasing his mask just slightly. The expression crinkled the corners of his eyes and smoothed his forehead, making him appear younger than he was. "We are grateful," he leaned towards his brother to whisper, "Should we not make do with them once and for all?"

The elder man opened his mouth to speak, but all action in the hall was called to a halt when the ornate doors across from them were flung open from the other side. It was an astonishingly rare occurrence, and the royal guards at either side of it swung their swords up at the ready.

"Halt!" a tall blond bellowed from the cusp of the thrones' platform. His arms were spread wide, two circular shields spun out on either side of him, covering the two royals from view. His hair whipped behind him like the tail he should have had, long and pulled back as it was. Atop his head, tall slender ears slanted forward and were pitched to listen.

. . .

{ Katsuya, the Demon Dog, of Jono }

{ Captain of the Royal Guard }

. . .

Having determined the man standing at the doorway not a threat, Katsuya stepped back and spun the two shields back into one, tossing it onto his back with remarkable ease. "Lower your arms, return to position," he commanded twice and treaded back until he once more faded into the shadows that shrouded the area behind the two royals.

Like the water tide rippling back into the ocean, all the weapons pointed to the doors were returned to their places and the many guards that had snapped to attention now settled back. Silence reigned over the hall.

Still, the indomitable intruder stood beneath the aesthetic arching entrance and remained unperturbed. He retracted his spread arms to cross them over his chest and shifted his feet so they settled a calculated distance apart. The fierce aura that sprung free of his back gave his presence the essence of a tiger or jackal on the prowl. The backlight had thus far cocooned him in the shadowed wings of darkness, but now the light shattered his blinding silhouette and he was once more filled with color.

Golden off white hair settled about his shoulders in feather soft layers, contrasting the rich, sun kissed bronze of his skin. Narrowed eyes, the gradient shade of a heliotrope in full bloom, stared sharply out from between pale, interlocking lashes. All that met his eerie gaze shivered thrice and politely bowed out of the contest.

The glaring white sheen that obscured his pupils, and the white coloring of his hair, were distinct characteristics of his family and could be traced back to the royal line through several generations. Still, his entire dramatic heritage barely held up a candle in the wake of the reputation that trailed upon this man's coattails.

. . .

{ Marik , the Crimson Blade, of Ishtar }

{ General of the Royal Army }

. . .

Marik swept his uncanny gaze left and right about his surroundings and nodded once in acknowledgement to the royal guard on either side of him, then to the council he had deliberately interrupted. Dropping his arms to his side, he swept forward into the room and his radiantly red cloak swirled up and billed out from his feet.

That cloak had been said to have once been a dirt brown in color. It had been so saturated by the blood that fell upon it through its wearer's many battles that it now remained the same crimson. By then, the rumbling of the council's renewed argument had long since shriveled to silence and their wary eyes turned to study the deceptively slim warrior general.

His cloak parted about his thighs as he glided down the entry path and draped out behind him, exposing the twin swords glimmering in the light at his hip. The Ishtar emblem may as well have been etched into the blade's hilt for all that they were part of his identity.

General of the royal army, he was also one of the Millennium Three, Lord and Head to the Ishtar House of Wind, Millennium's best dual swordsman, and wielder of the Akagitsune blades. None had ever lived to tell of his battle prowess, none that were not Millennium's own though, but the blood-stained battlefields left in his wake told more than enough. His very name would strike fear into the hearts of his enemies for many a year, even long after he was gone.

Behind him, by a measured two and a half stepped, was the younger of the Ishtar brothers. This one's pallor was significantly paler than his elder's but still blessed by the sun's rays. His eyes rarely ever left the path he walked, so the shadows of his hood, so few had ever bore witness to the cloudy white by the center of their viridian irises. His hair, also a pristine white though slathered in silver, draped down his left shoulders in one loose braid to just above his waist.

. . .

{ Ryou, the Death Angel, of Ishtar }

{ Commander of the Royal Squad }

. . .

He was heir apparent to the Ishtar house, the third of the Millennium Three, Commander of the assassination squad, Head of the ceremonial division, a certified healer mage of the royal court, and a master of heavy weaponry. The latest of which he openly portrayed by the enormous spear and cleaver sword he kept strapped to his back.

Both Ishtar's strode to the throne's raised plateau and dropped to a single knee before the slow rising stairs. Preventing traversal of said stairwell, the royal guard stationed there saluted once and returned to martial position. In response, their superior officers nodded once and crossed their arm across their heart.

Despite their differences, they were a well-practiced duo and managed to complete the entirety of the aforementioned actions in utter synchrony. Their inaudible request to speak was quietly scrutinized by the room's occupants though none more diligently than by their king seated above them.

And the silence stretched on and on about the room in a blistering cloud of oppressive judgment, until even a breath sounded like the rasping wails of a sandstorm.

Then Yugi leaned but a few terrible inches forward and hummed pleasantly. "Marik, Ryou." Dark eyes flashed an invigorating gold and their king tilted his head to the side in a sensually slow motion—not quite unlike the dreadful stall of the guillotine before it fell in its graceful arc. Yugi's cloth mask stretched along the seam of his dangerous smile and he continued cheerfully, "Come now, we are family. Let us do away with this stubborn attachment to needless formality between blood, shall we? Speak, dear cousins."

Now, while the younger was certainly more reserved than the elder, neither of the two brothers were ever accused of being too formal. The spark in the royal's eyes had them playing along, however, and the two stood to mast laughing. "Your Majesty," Marik began with a grin, "You are both master and owner of my life. I exist to be your hands,"

"and your feet," Ryou chimed in, swallowing his brother's rough voice under his softer decibel, "We are your sword,"

"and your shield," Marik continued with a smirk, voice deepening to a purr, "How could we ever—"

"—call thy royal majesty by name?" and Ryou once more finished their line, eyes never wandering from their king's, despite the aghast gasps echoing from the council behind them.

The king laughed, loud and free, and he laughed until his eyes danced a sparkling honey and tears glistened at their corners. Then they softened to a vivid shade of purple and he smiled. "Aye," he announced once he'd caught his breath, "But do you not think it far more insubordinate to disobey a direct order?" He turned his gaze to his side, "How say you brother?"

Yami drawled in the uniquely silken baritone his illness provided him, "Why, 'tis unfortunate I must say I have to agree with you, Yugi." He reached across to lace his fingers with his brother's and even then, the matching masks they all wore could not hide the distinctly impish impression of their smiles.

Marik rolled his eyes blatantly but quickly regained his composure. "Very well," he murmured on a breath and cast his gaze back up to Yugi's almost glowing eyes, "The delegates, your majesties, of Kemet and Ellada have crossed into the capital outskirts. I shall personally receive them and provide escort."

At the royal duo's bemused but courteous nod, Marik snapped to attention and his broad shoulders curled up in imitation of the vehement smile that overtook his mouth. Crossing his arm over his heart, he bent his left behind his back and dipped forward in a formal bow, then he pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully out the way he had come.

Ryou paused long enough to mirror his brother's brow but also flashed a small smile at the royal pair. At the door, the younger Ishtar turned back briefly and, touching the spear attached to his back with the tip of his index finger, flung a single silver strand of ether towards their king.

At once, the entire royal guard tensed and their captain melded out from the shadows of the thrones. Each of their aura suddenly powerful and overbearing. However, none moved to intercept the wisp and Yugi reached forward with a curious, covered hand, catching it around his pinky. His actions were immediately rewarded with Ryou's soft voice echoing in his mind, "Be forewarned, my King, serpents come bearing gifts and blessings of good will."

Yugi stilled, brow furrowing momentarily as he turned to his mirror image. Intimately familiar with the lack of privacy afforded to them, especially by the goggle of men still parading for his attention just steps below, he reached out a hand to his brother and passed along the smoke like wisp. Through cloth, he could see his brother's musculature tense, and he quickly shook his head.

Tension never did Yami's immune system any good. Yami inhaled slowly, the expansion of his lungs and chest inflating his displeased presence. Then he smiled and the curve of his lips eased the same discontent away. "This is it," he said to Yugi, pulling back just far enough to study his younger brother's countenance. Shaking his head to clear it, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Yugi's pulsing temple. "We have waited long enough, little king, so smile."

Eyeing him, Yugi shifted back so he was sitting straight up once again and pursed his lips pensively. He absently snapped his fingers to the right and the familiar golden iris of his omnipresent guard met his gaze. He smiled, demonically, and his eyes flashed an ominous, angry, red orange, "Katsuya, beware."

The final member of the Millennium Three eyed him curiously but acknowledge the glint in his eye with a silent nod, his blond mane curtaining his face. His ears, the long triangular shapes atop his head tufted in black like a wolf's, swiveled toward the doors and he vanished once more into the throne's murky shadows.

. . .

May the blessings of god be with you.

May the demons of hell shy away from you.

May your heart be steady and strong.

May the world lay itself bear before you.

May the madness of this life never overtake you.

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