Author's Notes: Okay, this was written as a Christmas gift for my friend Snare-chan (LoverofSilverHairedBishies).
Just a few things: whenever I use 'he' or 'him' in reference to Yami/Atemu, I capitalized it. Why would I do that? Because in Egypt, the Pharaoh was a living God, and since everyone always capitalizes 'he' and 'him' in reference to God… it stands to reason. So yeah. Lots of not-so-random capitalizing.
The other thing – I have Bakura acting a little bit weird in here. It's Egypt-centric, therefore he's still got all those memories of dead-people… he's a psychopath, basically (mood swings galore). But we love him anyway.
So, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Sorry in advance if the characterization seems a bit off.
[Edit: Okay, I'm re-posting this because I fixed up a few things that I messed up in the original. The sequel is almost finished (and a lot longer; I thought capitalizing all the 'h's in an 8-page fic was bad... x . x; Oy vey.). I guess that's it... ::thinks:: Yep. So again, enjoy!]
The Games We PlayThe sound of sandals slapping against stone was the only noise to be heard within the walls of the majestic palace at Memphis. It was deep in the night; the only light illuminating the intruder's path was that of the moon, shining in intervals along the floor. The intruder quickened his pace; his destination was just down the corridor. He had not encountered one single guard yet. A smirk crossed sun-bronzed features. 'How careless of the Pharaoh to leave his fortress so poorly defended...' It was a wonder nobody had heard him; it was not as if he was making any real effort to be silent. If he had wished it, he would have made not a sound.
A set of doors loomed in front of the intruder and he slowed and, finally, stopped before them. They were much larger than was in any way necessary, he noted, although that was to be expected: he was standing before the chamber of the Pharaoh of Egypt Himself. Grey eyes flickered in amusement. 'They're fools... all of them. All but Him... He knows. He can sense that I am here...' He pressed his hands to the doors, forcing them open soundlessly.
The Pharaoh's chamber was lit, like the halls, only by the moonlight, although it was more so because of the larger windows, and so the amount of blue-white light streaming in gave the feeling of being just beneath a surface of water. The figure stole forward, silent as death this time. 'Perhaps I give Him too much credit...' he thought bemusedly, moving to the large, curtained bed against the wall to his left. Sure enough, there was a figure beneath the blankets. The intruder drew a scorpion-tailed dagger from the folds of his crimson robe. He crept to the bedside, pulled back his arm and, in one swift motion, struck the figure in the bed, burying the dagger down to its hilt.
He had expected blood.
There was none.
He had expected a struggle.
None came.
Frowning in irritation, he swept the sheets back, revealing the figure had been comprised of nothing more than a couple of pillows. He snarled angrily; the Pharaoh HAD known... and He had allowed him entry just to make a mockery of him. He spun around, prepared to leave, but stopped short as he spotted the figure standing in the doorway.
The figure was not exceptionally tall, nor exceptionally well-built... to the untrained eye, He looked even weak. But the intruder knew better. He knew the figure's strength well enough. One could not determine a man's mental ability until he witnessed it first-hand. Amethyst eyes glittered in the moonlight. Hair like hellish flames surrounded the figure's head. Gold bands – bracelets, anklets, bangles, collars, rings – marked this man of power. The figure smiled.
"I see you have come again." The intruder said nothing. The figure in the doorway stepped into the room and closed the doors effortlessly behind him. "Why?" The intruder was caught off-guard by the inquiry.
"I will defeat you." The words, hissed through the intruder's barred teeth, dripped with hatred. The figure chuckled, unabashed by the intruder's obvious lack of respect. He knew better. He knew, in fact, just how MUCH respect the grey-eyed one had for Him. That was part of the reason He continued to allow the other to play this game. His inability to accept defeat intrigued the one of power.
"You will try, but you will never succeed."
The intruder clenched his fist tightly around the scorpion-dagger. "You know nothing," he spat. The figure drew still closer.
"Really?" the figure sounded amused; the amethyst eyes shone with a power of their own. "I know that you are weak," He took a step toward the intruder, who in turn took a step backward. "I know that you want me dead," another pair of steps – one forward, one back. "I know that you are only alive because I deign to KEEP you alive," and another. "I know that I am beginning to tire of this game," amethyst pierced grey with a look of annoyance. These last words seemed to ignite something in the grey-eyed one.
"That's all this is to you, isn't it," he growled, "a GAME. You think that everything is a GAME. I am not playing your GAME; I am not playing ANY game! I am—"
"LIFE is a game, my dear, deluded, insolent fool. But I do not expect you to be capable of comprehending such things. I expect very little of a mere thief..." The comment sent a flame of rage through the other, and he lunged forward, dagger aimed for the figure's heart. Unconcerned, the one of power sidestepped neatly and redirected his assailant's arm to a more convenient position – twisted behind its owner's back. The intruder, while taller than his current captor, was unable to break the smaller one's hold, and so, after several attempts, gave in to the fact that his arm was becoming rather sore and was no closer to being freed than when he'd begun. The figure's voice came again, in a whisper this time, right beside the intruder's ear.
"Bakura, Bakura, Bakura... when are you ever going to learn the virtue that is 'patience'?" The speaker received, expectedly, no reply. Undeterred, the figure, not one to pass up a chance at gaining the upper-hand in this game, pressed onward. "I try and I try," the figure's unoccupied hand trailed across the captured-one's shoulder, "and yet you never seem to grasp the concept." Deceivingly-thin fingers grasped the one dubbed Bakura's shoulder in emphasis; He was stronger than He appeared. Bakura bit back a gasp of protest, unwilling to show weakness in front of his captor. The voice continued. "Now. How long will we play the game tonight, Bakura?" The hand moved from Bakura's shoulder to his chest; the one of power's fingers were frigid, and Bakura bit his lip until it began to bleed. "Last time you came in here, I let you go when you fought me..."
"Just cut to the chase, Pharaoh," Bakura snarled, trying once more, in earnest, to break from the shorter one's grasp. He was startled slightly when he lurched forward; the Pharaoh had let go of his arm. He whirled around, crimson robe flaring behind him in what was, to most, a threatening maneuver. However, the Pharaoh neither heeded the distraction nor was He remotely interested by it. He shook his head; pity, of all things, surfaced in the amethyst depths of His eyes.
"I thought you were at least a bit more intelligent than THAT, Bakura... the chase is already over." Bakura fumed at the other's way of twisting his words.
"You KNOW what I meant." The Pharaoh shrugged his shoulders, a normally nonchalant gesture that He somehow made seem like some sort of graceful art. The movement sent his silk cape, the color of midnight, slinking across his arms and back.
"Those sheets and pillows that you ruined cost a fortune to import, you realize," the Pharaoh said, changing the subject.
"A fortune that COULD have been spent on bettering the lives of YOUR people," Bakura snarled. The Pharaoh remained unfazed.
"Pity. They probably sleep better than I do. Then again, I wouldn't know – I've never slept in the dirt." It took Bakura a great deal of willpower to keep from strangling the other. As it stood, he clenched and unclenched his his fists at his sides and focused on breathing consistently. The Pharaoh was good at getting a rise out of Bakura, and He knew it; the fact made Bakura's skin crawl.
"You're a heartless bastard, you know that? Sitting here in luxury while the rest of us slave away, doing your work for you." The Pharaoh raised an elegant eyebrow.
"How unappreciative of you, Bakura," He chided. "Do you think it wise to challenge the gods? As if it is not difficult to keep this country in power with all that has come about in the past few years? Tell me, Bakura: do you really believe my role as King is so trivial?" Bakura bit his tongue – He had twisted his words again...
"Would it please you if I just sat back and let Egypt go to hell – just stop using my own magic and let tragedy fall as it might?" He closed their distance in two strides; the amethyst eyes held a look of controlled fury. Bakura forced himself not to move backward from the loathsome presence. The Pharoah continued.
"This particular game is very DANGEROUS, my simple-minded Bakura. You have NO IDEA how powerful the forces of the Realm of Shadows are." He took into His hand what Bakura knew to be the Puzzle of a Thousand Years. "See THIS?" He asked, brandishing the object. "All it would take," He whispered; Bakura had to strain to hear Him. "All it would take to ruin this land is one. little. spell. A miniscule little chant and it would be OVER. The Realm of Shadows would merge with our own, and nothing would be left in its wake." He was so close that all Bakura could see were those damned eyes...
"Is my role so unimportant?" the voice seemed to Bakura to speak from those eyes. He closed his own against them, even as he felt his resolve slipping.
"This is all YOUR fault to start with!" he admonished furiously. The one of power sighed deeply; tiredly.
"How many times must I explain to you that I did not create the Items?" Bakura's hatred began to make him irrational as he replied,
"It doesn't matter! I couldn't kill your father for it – I'll destroy you instead!" The grey eyes had opened again; a frantic look had filled them. The Pharaoh could only just BEGIN to imagine what the boy before Him had seen to make his eyes mad like that... crazed...
The Pharaoh placed His hands on Bakura's shoulders. The reaction was instantaneous. "Don't touch me, you BASTARD!" Bakura screamed, propelling himself backward. He readied the dagger once more in his fist. Panting, he snapped, "If you touch me again, I'll slit your throat..."
"No," the Pharaoh said knowingly. "You won't." Bakura trembled, his eyes flitting madly about the room. His façade of calm was gone; his confidence lost by the Pharaoh's having tricked him... again. As all the nights before, he was reduced to threats.
The Pharaoh diminished their distance once again, and again, He locked eyes with the thief. Slowly, Bakura's breathing steadied; he drew the Pharaoh's own calm into himself. His arm, holding the knife, dropped to his side; the dagger clattered to the stone floor. He collapsed forward, knowing from experience that the young Pharaoh would catch him before he could fall. He rested his head against the Phraraoh's silk-clad shoulder. It was taking all his strength just to breathe – to retain his shattering sanity. He felt the other's bejeweled fingers run through the white mane of his hair, down his back, then through his hair again.
After a time, Bakura regained his ability to speak, and he inquired of the Pharaoh, "Why?"
"Why, what?" came the soft reply.
"Why... anything." The Pharaoh snorted lightly.
"Why did my father agree to create the Items? I do not know. Why have the gods brought this turmoil to our land? I cannot say. Why are you shunned and forced into sneaking about like some sort of shadow? People fear what they do not understand. Why have you been forced to endure what to most is just a lingering fear? Perhaps it is your fate."
"Why... do you not just kill me, and put an end to this GAME?" Bakura whispered hoarsely.
"Because," the Pharaoh's voice, which Bakura had always found to be condescending in the past, held a note of concern. "I love you."
The thief felt his blood run cold, and his breathing became erratic once more. "W-what... what did you say?" The Pharaoh continued to pet his hair.
"I said 'I love you'. Is it so hard to believe?" Bakura closed his eyes, forcing himself to calm down.
"Why." The Pharaoh chortled at him again, softly. Bakura knew He didn't mean it in a demeaning way, but in his current state of mind, he had to convince himself of the fact.
"That is your favorite question," the Pharaoh pointed out grimly, "a question that I, unfortunately, often have no answer for." Bakura's confusion must have been evident, because the Pharaoh pressed on, "However, if that was a 'why do you love me?', then it is because of a combination of things. Your persistence, for example: I have never met a man in my life who has tried so hard to best me. Most give up, broken after one defeat... but not you. Never you," He crooned quietly. Bakura shivered.
"But... you always trick me somehow. And you think me ignorant—" To Bakura's surprise, the Pharaoh began to laugh whole-heartedly at these words. He felt a hot rage beginning to build inside him – he had been tricked again...
The laughter subsided; the one of power returned, "How quickly we forget, my dear Bakura... I have not tricked you, as you say. I simply have outdone you in our game on numerous occasions. And as for thinking you ignorant..." He paused, and for a moment, Bakura thought that He was going to leave it at that, "I do not believe you so much ignorant as... disillusioned." The one of power chose His words carefully.
"Disillusioned...?" Bakura echoed in question. He felt rather than saw the other nod. "Disillusioned how?" The Pharaoh sighed.
"More questions," He lamented. "Ah well, I suppose I should not complain; I, too, was once filled with questions... many of which have yet to be answered. However, I must be the one to tell you, Bakura: some things are not worth knowing."
"I don't care; just answer!" Bakura spat, his anger temporarily winning out over his wits again. The arms around him tightened, and Bakura felt the other's support. He drew the strength he needed from Him, and His arms loosened their hold.
"Patience, Bakura," the Pharaoh murmured. "I think that you are disillusioned in that the things you have witnessed have warped the way you perceive things." Bakura stiffened.
"And I suppose that is a wonderful quality for the mighty-Pharaoh's LOVE to possess," he grumbled bitterly. The one of power seemed surprised.
"You still do not believe me." It was more of a statement than a question. Another regal sigh escaped the Pharaoh's lips. "Perhaps I was wrong to think tonight would be the one..." Bakura immediately tried for another question.
"What do you mean 'the one'?! 'The one' for what?!" He began to struggle anew against the once-safe but now-threatening arms encircling him. The Pharaoh held him fast, and Bakura once more gave in to his capture, albeit reluctantly.
"You misunderstand me, Bakura. I was hoping that tonight we could end this game once and for all. But now I am no longer sure. If you have not yet destroyed this demon within yourself—" Bakura's temper flared fiercely.
"You know NOTHING about me," he hissed, fighting the Pharaoh with all his strength. The other, however, would not relinquish His hold. Bakura fell to trembling again; the Pharaoh's hands returned to their previous task of brushing Bakura's hair.
"I know more than you want me to," the Pharaoh sounded sad. "I know that you watched your entire village perish under orders presumably given by my father. I know that you think of avenging your people by destroying me. I know that you cannot bring yourself to carry it out. What I do not know is 'why'. But perhaps that is not for me to know."
"Some Pharaoh you are," Bakura noted dully. The other frowned.
"I try." He sounded disappointed.
They sat in silence for a long time.
"......I know." Bakura said plaintively after a while. "I just..." The Pharaoh waited while Bakura composed his resolve once again. But Bakura couldn't find the words he needed. When this became apparent, the other tried for him.
"You just cannot accept that I am not responsible for your suffering." Bakura bristled.
"What would YOU know of suffering?" he questioned darkly.
"Correct me if I am wrong, Bakura, but unless I am mistaken, you have never, of yet, entered a Duel of Shadows?" At Bakura's tentative nod, the Pharaoh continued. "That being the case, you will have to take my word for this: I have SUFFERED through enough Shadow-Duels to have a vague idea of the torment you are in." Bakura looked doubtful. "I have seen brutal things happen to those who lose in the Duels. The fact that you wish to unleash that maddening power onto the world worries me endlessly... especially knowing that you have seen what it is able to do first-hand," the Pharaoh said, His voice firm. Bakura frowned.
"That was not the power of the Items. That was the greed of YOUR father and HIS army—"
"And what do you think drove them to that?!" the Pharaoh's voice was like thunder now; Bakura, from his position in the other's arms, could feel its source – it reverberated from deep within the Pharaoh's chest. "The Items have power beyond mortal comprehension. Even now, the Puzzle tries to consume me with its promises of glory and power, but I know better than to trust such empty lies..." Bakura couldn't tell whether the other was angered with HIM, or with the Puzzle, or with something Bakura was yet unaware of.
"...Are you afraid, Pharaoh? You, the most powerful King Egypt has ever seen, afraid of the Realm of Shadows and its Items?"
"I would be speaking falsely if I were to tell you that I do not fear them. I would be foolish NOT to fear them," the other replied, His voice soft. Bakura felt cold.
"But... you can CONTROL the Dark Magics—"
"Only to an EXTENT, Bakura." The Pharaoh shook his head despairingly. "You make it seem so simple..."
"It should be," the white-haired one mumbled petulantly. "I have seen your Ka creatures; I have seen what you are capable of. I cannot fathom how there is any power that is stronger that yours..."
"You flatter me," the fiery-haired one spoke primly. "What I don't understand is why you wish to destroy me, when you yourself seem to think that I may be Egypt's only hope."
Bakura frowned as the Pharaoh's hands moved to stroke his arms. "Every night, we talk, and yet you only bring this up now..." he took a deep breath. "You don't understand," he began, looking up into those amethyst eyes once more. "I was barely five years old when I watched your father's army invade and mercilessly SLAUGHTER my village and its people..." he paused, looking for something in the Pharaoh's gaze.
"KuruEruna... continue," He prompted gently. Bakura nodded and went on.
"The only reason I even knew it was your father's army and not a foreign invasion was because my people were screaming. 'Why?! Why has the Pharaoh forsaken us?! Why is He killing us?!'" he glared pointedly at the amethyst eyes.
"Why, indeed," came the soft response.
"So from then on, 'Pharaoh', to me, became the equivalent of 'cruel'. That scene will live within me for the rest of my LIFE!" he hissed, suddenly furious again. "It was the first time I ever saw blood; the first time I witnessed the power of greed, and even more powerful – the power of inflicted PAIN..."
The Pharaoh gazed at him sadly; pityingly. Bakura growled, baring his fangs in a feral gesture.
"I don't want your damned PITY."
"Calm, Bakura – I am not pitying YOU; only that you somehow believe me responsible. You must realize that I was merely an infant at the time..."
Bakura fumed. "I KNOW that you are not responsible! Don't you understand?! I can't..." he quieted, "I can't get these images out of my head..." he pressed his palms to his brow; grey eyes were wide, shining madly once more. "No matter how many temples I destroy, no matter how many palace officials I murder... nothing stops the images... the screams haunt my sleep..." he shook violently; placed his head on the Pharaoh's shoulder again; his fingers twitched spasmodically as he tried to stop the images he had invoked... no... that HE had invoked!
He screamed in fury, pushing the Pharaoh away from him; he snatched the scorpion-tail dagger from its position on the stone floor, and slashed wildly at the source of his misery. The fire-crowned figure caught his arm as deftly as He first had. Crying in outrage, Bakura tried desperately to strike Him down, but to no avail. He struggled fiercely.
"You liar! You fucking lying BASTARD! You say you love me; you lead me on and bring forth all the things I strive to forget! If I kill you – it will all end! All of it! You... you... I..."
The wearied thief had said all he could. The dagger hung limply in his right hand. He sank to his knees; the figure beside him followed the motion and, for the umpteenth time that evening, drew the thief into His arms.
"Hush," He admonished gently. "Do you see, now? THIS is the insanity that the Items have created. Killing me will not relieve you of this agony, Bakura. Sealing the Realm of Shadows is the only way that this madness will stop."
Bakura's next words were muffled by the Pharaoh's cape, "Then why haven't you and your priests DONE that?"
"We do not know HOW, Bakura," He whispered. Bakura raised his eyes, seeking-out the Pharaoh's. Holding the intense gaze with one of his own, he spoke quietly,
"If you truly love me as you say you do... you will find a way."
The Pharaoh nodded in silence. Bakura closed his eyes. "I will find a way, Bakura... it will be dangerous, but I will find a way."
"That is all I can ask of you," Bakura murmured.
They were quiet for a time; the Pharaoh had resumed stroking Bakura's hair. The moon had set, and the sky outside His window began to lighten. The bluish-white tint of the room faded into a rosy color. Bakura shifted in His arms.
"I will need to leave soon; your guards and advisors will be mulling around shortly..."
"Very well," He murmured; His voice still sounded sad. He freed Bakura from His hold, but the thief did not move. Amethyst eyes peered at him inquisitively.
"Do you..." Bakura hesitated, "Do you... really love me?" The Pharaoh smiled warmly.
"Yes, Bakura. I will say it again: I love you."
For a moment, grey eyes cleared; took on a look of sane, rational understanding, and the Pharaoh knew He had won His own, personal game – He had witnessed Bakura's true self, un-cloaked from the veil of insanity the events at KuruEruna had created.
"I love you, too... Atemu." Without warning, the taller boy snatched a kiss from the Pharaoh's lips, stealing as was his way of life, as the sun threw its rays upon them in a sort of blessing. The Pharaoh smirked as Bakura broke away and dashed out the door to make his escape. He moved to the window.
"Amun-Ra," He implored softly. "If it is right that he and I, peasant and King, should love each other, please," He raised His arms heavenward, "help me find a way to seal the Realm of Shadows and thence end his suffering!" The sun shone brilliantly over His kingdom, and He slowly lowered His arms. "I must find a way," He whispered.
There was a sharp knock at His door. "Enter." The Pharaoh kept His eyes on the view of Memphis out His window as His High Priest entered the chamber.
"Good morning, Highness," the young man said stiffly. The Pharaoh turned and gave him a nod.
"Good morning, Seto." The brown-haired newcomer straightened from his bow. The priest's eyes swept the room, and the cerulean gaze fell upon the Pharaoh's bed. He arched an eyebrow.
"He came back." The priest sounded bemused. The Pharaoh nodded again. "Those bedclothes are expensive, my liege..."
"I told him so."
They stood in silence a moment. Seto cleared his throat.
"You made sure the guards know to let him leave undeterred?" It was Seto's turn to nod. "Very well..." The fire-haired one moved the wrecked bedclothes aside and sat upon the bed. "Have you anything to report?"
It was back to business as usual.
'No rest for the wicked,' the Pharaoh thought to Himself with a sigh as His cousin began to speak.
----------------------
For the second time that morning, the slapping of sandals against stone filled the palace's corridors. Bakura raced toward the main gate – he was running out of time, he knew, before the guards would be awakening from their slumber. He ducked out and scampered down the path into the city of Memphis itself. The pair of guards, who had merely been feigning sleep – as per their orders, opened their eyes to watch the crimson-clad bandit's retreat.
Everything seemed somehow... brighter to the white-haired thief that morning as he moved throughout the city. Faith renewed, he raised his arms to the sky. "Amun-Ra, I praise you – please," he called out, "let there be an end to this pain – this grudge – so that Atemu and I may be at peace. Lift the burden of the Shadow Duels from His shoulders!"
With that, Bakura set about the daily task of finding food. Smiling genuinely for the first time in ages, he slipped into the marketplace's unsuspecting throng. As he slid a clove of garlic into his pocket, he smirked.
'All's fair in love and war – such is the game we play.' With a whirl of his cloak and a fanged grin, he let himself be swept into the crowd.
End Notes: So there you have it. My first ever attempt at ::blatantly:: writing one of my two favorite pairings! This one's Casteshipping (Pharaoh Yami/Atemu x Thief Bakura), and, as should be relatively obvious, my other favorite is Darkshipping (Yami no Yuugi x Yami no Bakura). Totally works if you look at the evidence. But whatever. (...I miss my Japanese emoticons... darned formatting... now you can't tell when I'm joking/being sarcastic. XD)
Like it? Don't like it? Let me know in your review!