AN: Ok so since I can't seem to get my brain in gear with ideas of what to write, I decided to look into that 100 themes challenge in the hopes of sparking some sort of creative thinking. I have a few rough ideas for different numbers so far - hope to have more come along soon.

I'm also hoping this'll help me to continue working on the unfinished stories I have. Wish me luck.

Credit for the challenge idea(s) goes to whoever came up with them first; I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh! rights or characters, yadda yadda yadda.

The End of Kul Elna (#77: "Memories")

Bakura had never given much thought to how fast horses could move when prompted. One second they were at the top of the dunes, and before he knew it, they were stomping right through the village. His young friend beside him quickly grabbed him and pulled him out of the way as one horse nearly trampled him. People were sticking their heads out of their doors, or getting to their feet outside - all of them babbling in confusion.

Bakura smelled smoke.

He looked all around and saw several spots glowing over the closest rooftops. Then there were darker pillars of smoke, and the screaming began. Bakura's eyes widened and panic engulfed him. His friend grabbed his arm and pulled him along as they ran back to the boy's house. Guards on foot, guards on horses, everywhere they had to dodge the Pharaoh's men as the other villagers ran wildly in all directions.

They reached the boy's house only to find it was filled with the sounds of crashing and crying. They stopped running. Guards were there already, trying to drag people through the doorway while the occupants fought for their very lives. A strong pair of hands seized Bakura's shoulders, making both children cry out, as his friend's teenage brother quickly pulled them to the next house. He forced them to crouch in the shadows and ordered them to stay hidden before running back to his house.

The flames were getting higher all around, giving plenty of light to the brutality around them. Both boys watched as a young woman was pulled from the doorway, clutching a young child to her. The teen brother quickly attacked the guard responsible and sent all of them to the ground. More guards came quickly. One yelled a command and the guards in the house quickly retreated before blocking the door, trapping the villagers inside. The older brother was forced to his knees in front of the house, now bruised and bleeding, as the roof was set ablaze. Another lit torch was thrown in through the window. The teenager screamed as the wailing of several people rose shrilly from inside.

Bakura was petrified. He couldn't breathe. His eyes couldn't have gotten wider if he tried. His friend shrieked too and ran out toward his brother. Everywhere, flames were so high - many of the rushing bodies were silhouettes and shadows against the sand, blood, and smoke.

Bakura couldn't tell one person from the next. Just one big mess of violence. He never saw his friend again.

His vision was blocked as another man was thrown against the wall right in front of him. The impact startled Bakura out of his trance and he bolted from the scene in time to miss yet another guard attack the man.

Many houses where already reduced to huge heaps of glowing coals, a few weren't lit yet, but most were right in between. Bakura ran blindly through a cloud of black smoke, covering his face with his sleeve and trying to avoid every moving thing that approached him. When he finally cleared the smoke, he spun around frantically trying to get his bearings. Everything was destroyed, up-heaved, dead. All but the noise. The deafening pandemonium would only increase.

He covered his mouth again as he spotted someone standing on the high hill. The light of the fires illuminated him and the men who stood at each side of him.

Is that him? Bakura asked himself.

The man stood firmly with his arms crossed over his chest, his head raised, watching the whole thing from a safe distance. Bakura walked closer, staring up at him. The golden armor and jewelry gleamed maliciously in the flickering lights… As did the crown.

The Pharaoh turned his attention to the white-haired boy; his face cold as stone.

What are you doing? Bakura wanted to shout. Stop them! He opened his mouth but no words would come out. He stared up at the ruler who sneered back down to him.

Don't let them do this! the child thought. Please! Make them stop! Stop!

"Stop!" he yelled up to him, his voice drowned out by the surrounding chaos. "Stop this!"

The Pharaoh turned wordlessly to a guard at his left, who withdrew his sword and made his way down the hill.

Bakura turned and ran as fast as he could, meandering all over trying to get lost from view. He didn't stop until he became aware he was nearing his own house. From somewhere in all the confusion, he could hear his little sister yelling for their father, but Bakura couldn't see her. He saw his parents trying to fight off a whole group of men. His mother was pinned to the ground, wailing. His father struggled against two men, trying to get to her, but a third one came and he was overpowered. Bakura shouted for his father and ran toward him. Both parents saw him and screamed for him to turn and run.

"GO! GO!" His father yelled, as one of the guards took out a long dagger.

Bakura wanted to look away - wanted to run. But he wanted to save them too. He could do nothing. He stared in transfixed horror as the men slid the blade effortlessly across his father's throat. Then they dropped him. The child felt his mouth open. Was he screaming? There were cries and shrieks everywhere, all meshing together. His mother was shrieking, he could hear her. She reached out to her husband's body as a man on horseback rode up, blocking her from Bakura's view. The rider looked down at the woman and raised an enormous spear above her. Bakura knew he was screaming now.

…

Marik shot up out of bed before he could even register which direction to go. He'd been yanked out of sleep by a frightening wail that vibrated through every room in the small house. Stumbling in the dark, Marik threw his door open - slamming himself into the doorframe on the way out - and ran down the hallway to Bakura's room.

The screaming was almost deafening as he opened the door and ran to the bed, yelling, "Bakura!"

The thief had both his hands fisted tightly in his hectic hair. His eyes were squeezed shut and his body spasmed as though he were trying to force himself deeper into the mattress.

Marik grabbed at his wrists, "Bakura! Bakura!"

The thief shook his head violently, interrupting his wails only to scream, "NO! STOP! STOP! STOP IT!"

"BAKURA!" Marik tried to yell over the noise. He shook his friend violently, trying to wake him. Bakura's released his hair and flailed his arms wildly. His eyes shot open and he immediately retreated backward, tumbling right off the bed. Marik quickly hopped across it and knelt on the other side. The pale one was sprawled on his side, hyperventilating and looking all around in confusion as he attempted to raise himself to a sitting position.

"Bakura!" Marik reached out to grab his shoulder but the pale one quickly withdrew from him; dragging himself toward the wall looking utterly panicked.

"Hey! It's okay! It's okay - it's me!" Marik crawled closer, holding a hand up in front of him.

Bakura stared at him, still breathing heavily.

"It's Marik," the tan one said in a lower voice, his face twisted with concern.

Bakura looked all around the dark room as fresh images of the dream played before his eyes. He tried to speak through his labored breathing but could only manage incoherencies,

"It's… went - smoke!… he did…" he looked back at Marik with glistening eyes, his chin quivering, "They got it… gone… I didn't -"

"Shh. Shh. Shh," Marik wrapped his arms around his partner; the white one was shaking badly. "It's ok. It's ok. It's over now. It's over."

The thief felt warm arms around him; a strong one wrapped around his back, another around his shoulder while a hand cradled the back of his reeling head. A gentle voice attempted to murmur safety and comfort in his ear. Bakura brought his own trembling arms up and clung to the young man who held him; hands fisting into the back of his black shirt, and vacant eyes staring over his shoulder. His brain was still lingering in the blaze of Kul Elna.

This tan one wasn't from there… No, this was the new one. What was his name? He tried to remember. The light scent of the Egyptian's skin brought back the image of lovely blonde hair and lavender eyes.

"N-N-Namu?" he whimpered into his dark shoulder.

Marik winced a little at hearing the name. Bakura never called him that. He must've really been lost in that nightmare. Marik shut his own eyes and hugged him tighter.

"Yes, I'm here. I'm here now," he said softly, gently rocking his partner in his arms.

Bakura allowed himself to be held; staring at the small patch of light on the floor cast through the blinds by the streetlamp outside. He took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself.

"It's alright," Marik whispered, curling his fingers in messy white hair.

The dream finally began to fade away. Reality started to settle in and Bakura gradually became aware of his surroundings. It was night-time. He was in his room. Marik was hugging him. He must've woken Marik up. He closed his eyes and sighed; he felt dizzy. Of course it had been a dream. The Pharaoh hadn't really been present when his order had been fulfilled. It was just a dream.

"Marik…" He slowly pulled himself away and ran his hand over his own face.

"Are you alright?" the blonde asked.

Bakura nodded, taking another deep breath and holding his head in his hand.

"I could murder a cup of tea," he muttered groggily.

"Come on," Marik helped him to his feet and led him to the kitchen.

Bakura sat at the table, massaging his temples while Marik paired up two mugs with tea bags. No kettle nonsense at this hour, it was the microwave's turn.

"What time is it?" Bakura asked.

"About 3:15," Marik answered, filling the mugs with water.

The thief scratched his head, "Did I wake you?"

Marik made a noise to declare un understatement, "Yeah. Had me practically flying off the bed."

"Oh," Bakura blinked at him.

"You were screaming bloody murder, Bakura. If this were an apartment, the neighbors would've surely called the cops." He punched in numbers and pressed start on the microwave before turning back to face the other; arms folded across his chest. He added in a quiet tone, "You scared the hell out of me."

Bakura met his gaze; those lavender eyes were sincere and somewhat concerned. The thief couldn't think of anything to say. He simply lowered his eyes and muttered, "Not intentionally."

Marik's eyes lingered on his pale figure for a moment, before he turned and opened the refrigerator.

"You want me to make you something to eat?"

"No. No thanks."

Marik withdrew a carton of orange juice and poured himself a glass. He quickly downed the whole thing just as the microwave beeped. He retrieved the mugs, added sugar and placed them both in front of his partner. "What was it?" he asked.

Bakura eagerly took a mug and drank the entire thing down, relishing the warmth that spread through him.

"What?" he asked when he'd finished.

"The dream," Marik replied. "What happened?"

Bakura hesitated before muttering, "Kul Elna." He picked up the other mug and took a smaller drink.

"Ahh," Marik nodded in acknowledgement. He supposed he should've guessed as much. "It's been a while since you've had troubles with that."

"Mm," Bakura frowned slightly at his mug, taking another sip. Marik could tell he didn't want to discuss it, so he thought of only one question before dropping it:

"How old were you?"

The pale face looked thoughtful, "Six…Seven? It's hard to know, I was in a fog for a long time. I can't remember the exact date."

Just a little kid, Marik thought. That would explain the terror it caused him to dream about it.

Without a word, he walked over and kissed Bakura on the head before taking the empty mug to the sink and heading for the doorway.

"You going back to bed?" Bakura asked.

"Nah, I'm awake now." Marik turned back to him and stretched, his bronze abs visible for only a second below his black shirt. "Figure I'll watch stupid sitcoms for a while. Wanna sit with me?"

Bakura debated as he looked down into his mug. It would beat sitting alone in the kitchen. "Okay."

Marik turned the light out and made his way to the living room. He turned on the tv and flipped to the right channel, while Bakura took a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it around himself. He then took his tea cup and curled up on the couch beside Marik.

The glow of the tv washed over the living room, and both boys sat in silence watching half an episode with little interest. Bakura ultimately spent more time gazing vacantly around the tv and fidgeting with his now empty mug. Marik spotted this more than once out of the corner of his eye, and decided to look at his partner directly. The white-haired boy didn't bother to return the glance but rather stared at the tv, massaging his temple again. Marik extended his arm along the back of the couch, and stroked Bakura's hair lightly. Sympathetically.

The thief gave him a look of acknowledgement and turned his gaze forward again, sighing unhappily. Marik then moved his hand down and began massaging the back of Bakura's neck. The pale one didn't object, Marik's fingers had a way of always finding the perfect spots. Soon his headache began to subside and he closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of his lover's touch. The sitcom rambled on for another ten minutes before Bakura let out a tiny moan and his head began to slump forward. Marik gently coaxed him to lean his way, until Bakura came to rest his head against Marik's shoulder. The Egyptian lowered the volume against the tv's overkill laugh tracks and took the empty cup from the thief's hands. He placed it on the side table and held Bakura to him, gently burying his face in that soft white hair. My thief, you sleep now. And have no more nightmares. Marik kissed his head tenderly and whispered, "I love you."

He sat through four more half-hour shows until his eyes began to feel heavy, then he rested his head against the back of the couch and fell asleep.

...

When Bakura finally awoke, sunlight seeped into the room around the blinds. The news was on tv and the little clock in the corner of the screen read 10:55 He shifted his position slightly and stretched his legs out along the couch, the movement causing Marik to stir as well. Bakura raised himself to a sitting position and blinked groggily at the news. Nothing of immediate interest. He shed the blanket and made his way to the bathroom. Marik scratched his head and stretched as he headed to the kitchen to make coffee. He then went down the hall to await his turn in the bathroom. He heard the toilet flush through the closed door, followed almost instantly by the sound of the shower faucets. Marik turned back to the kitchen - he could wait. Turning on the sink faucet, he splashed water over his face and dried off with the hem of his shirt.

He then gathered up the cups and washed them, and fixed himself a cup of coffee before returning to the living room. The news was still boring. Marik had set to work opening all the blinds when the phone rang. With a displeased huff, he picked it up and answered in a cracking voice, "Hello?"

"Good afternoon, Marik," Ryou's voice answered happily.

"Good after-" he glanced at the clock; 11:15, "…noon. Hi, Ryou."

"Did I wake you?"

"No," Marik rubbed his eyes. "Nope, I'm up. I was just making coffee."

"Late start, huh?"

"Well," Marik sighed. "Bit of a rough night, actually."

"…Rough in a bad way?" Ryou asked uncertainly.

"Bakura had a nightmare last night. He woke up screaming his head off." Marik explained the whole story and Ryou gasped.

"Oh my go- is he alright?" he asked frantically.

"Yeah he's fine. He's in the shower now." The distant sound of the shower faucet ceased at that very moment. "Well, just got out, as a matter of fact."

"Poor Bakura."

"Nah, it's good for him."

"What?"

"No one wants a crusty creampuff," Marik grinned.

"Oh, Marik, you know I was talking about the dream," Ryou insisted.

"Yeah, I know," Marik sat down on the couch and took another sip of coffee.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like. For either of you."

"Scary as all get out," Marik replied.

"How horrible."

"It's past now though. I don't doubt he'll be his regular hard-ass self in no time."

"Who the hell are you talking to?" Bakura demanded, coming into the living room. He was already dressed and was drying his hair with the towel.

"What did I tell you?" Marik smirked into the phone before turning his head back to Bakura. "It's Ryou. Wanna talk to him?" he extended the phone to him.

Bakura stared down at him with half-lidded eyes, "No."

"Bakura?" Ryou's voice called faintly through the receiver.

"But he wants to talk to you," Marik said.

"Tough shit."

Marik wagged the phone back and forth, "But-he-miss-es-yoooouu."

"I-don't-give-a-fuuuuck," Bakura sneered.

"Hello?" Ryou called again.

"Oh just talk to him, for Ra's sake!" Marik hissed.

Bakura glowered at him but Marik just returned it with an insistent glare.

"Marik? … Anybody?"

Bakura bared his teeth and swiped the phone from Marik's hand. The tan one watched as he brought it to his ear.

"Yeah?" he growled. "Mm…Uh-huh…Yes…"

Marik slid his jaw to the side and shook his head with a scoff.

"Fine… right…," Bakura hung up the phone and gave Marik a 'satisfied?' look.

Marik crossed his arms over his chest and stared at his partner. "That, uh… that was heartwarming," he said with a nod. "Really, I never knew you two could be so open with each other."

Bakura rolled his eyes and flipped him off.

"If only I could learn to open up like you, Bakura, I would feel so much better about things…Life, in general. Who knows, I…might one day find a reason to go on living," he batted his eyes and looked woefully at the ceiling.

Bakura gagged, "Oh, blow me!" He headed for the kitchen.

"Later, perhaps. If you behave."

"What a funny guy," Bakura mocked over his shoulder in a dopey voice.

"You think I'm funny?" Marik teased.

"Like hell!"

"Dick."

"Pussy."

Marik bit his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. He finished the last of his coffee before heading to the bathroom.

AN: I decided to end it there. I had significantly more written, but I was really tired (literally falling asleep at the computer) and it was starting to show in my writing. The later stuff seemed like it was part of a different story as well as distracted from this theme, so I'll hang onto it and put it somewhere else.

Hope you enjoyed this. Reviews are appreciated :) Thanks.