Disclaimer: I do not own or claim any rights to Yu-Gi-Oh! or anything associated with it. I am merely writing harmless fanfiction in which to entertain myself and improve my writing in hopes I'll learn something new while on a very, very long journey to writing my own novel.

Warnings: This story does contain YAOI – meaning guys have relationships with other guys. If this sort of relationship eeks you out, please do everyone, including yourself, a favor and turn back now. This story also contains an actual PLOT that is not solely centered on a relationship – so if all you want is a deep, meaningful and possibly schmoopy love endeavor go read a romance novel or manga. For those that care about more than love and relationships, please continue for you are greatly welcome here.

Reviews: I always love to hear opinions on not only my writing style, but also my content and story-telling ability. Anything helps, even words of encouragement or simply stating if you liked it or not. :) Even if you disliked it, please tell me why. I am interested in hearing that as well.

Guardian's Gaze

Chapter One:

Guardian

My loyalty is yours...

Each breath he sucked stiffly into his burning lungs wracked his frame and sent quaking shivers along his spine. His palms were coated in dark crimson blood – blood belonging to that of a dragon. The thick liquid, known to cure any ailment, dripped from his tanned fingertips like rich syrup. His hands trembled under his gaze and he screwed his eyes shut, tearing them away from the sight. Utilizing dragon's blood as medicine was considered disrespectful if the substance was taken from a dead subject. It was therefore outlawed, but in times of war when supplies were short and injuries were high, many were tempted to ignore divine law and take their chances.

Many did take their chances. Even the High Council had deemed it appropriate in such times. This man, the one drenched in the blood of a now deceased Blue Eyes White Dragon, was adverse to the idea. The once proud beast's blood had been tainted by a cruel spell. Any who were unfortunate enough to use the stained blood would be fatally poisoned and die within days. Their bodies would literally wither to ashes.

The dragon, Kooroo, was spread awkwardly across the battlefield. A tattered wing rest beneath her broken neck and one eye remained open to gaze at the heavens in stillness, as though asking why one of the greatest was to fall by such cold, dishonorable hands. She was torn and broken; a gaping hole through her broad chest that still trickled blood bore a silent message to all Warriors and Dragons; Spellcasters were not to be taken lightly. The powerful heart that had rested inside Kooroo was gone, having been removed with a single, devastating attack. It had been an attack executed by a mage more than willing to silence one of the land's greatest symbols of power.

And that silence now gripping the field was overpowering. Warriors stared, eyes on the legendary beast and the Dragonic Doctor who stood stunned by the creature's parted jaws. The air was broken by the hiss and mournful roar of another Blue Eyes. He shoved aside all in his path, crying out to his fallen mate and trampling small carts and makeshift medical tents as Warriors scrambled out of his path. His thundering footfalls halted as he reached her, lowering his head and nudging the motionless body. Cerulean eyes were wrenched in heartbreak. The sight of the only other dragon of his kind he knew, his only mate, lying defeated and lifeless crushed his soul. She would not rise or respond to his pleas - and never would.

The doctor crumbled to his knees, eyes burning and heart thrumming painfully. A mess. That's what it was – a racial war spurred on by one individual and the hatred their mind held for Warriors.

His eyes flared in white light, his dragonic side fighting against his emotions. The hitching breaths he drew were silenced by a calming hand on his shoulder.

"Tairn," the voice, comforting in its familiarity, was gentle, "you have a job to do." It was the voice of an old friend, one who provided him with reason, logic, and support when he needed it most.

"I know," the doctor, Tairn, rose to his feet, "I know."

"I'll take care of everything else. Go help them, doctor."

"Thank you... Konkari." He could not afford to think or dwell. The doctor had lost nothing until his job was done.

A bloody mess… That's all it is.

IOIOIOIOIOIOI

Harsh winds swept the lands of Hantella and brushed away lingering leaves as they combed through battle-trodden grass. The sun was sinking, smearing the sky an array of warm colors as it descended toward the horizon. The war that scarred these lands was not soon to be over, and the Warrior witnessing the mighty wind knew all too well of this disheartening truth. His body was growing tired of the battles that were fought on the once unstained terrain.

He didn't understand, and he never had. Why did so many of the Spellcasters rail against the Warriors? Although the Warriors were known as proud, intelligent, and fair creatures, they found it difficult to understand their opponents. This was a conflict his side would lose. Their strength could not last against the overwhelming magic of mages and magicians. Not in their current condition.

He sighed, exhausted and frustrated.

"It doesn't matter how tired I am. I'll remain and fight." The elf declared his decision, the wind twirling in response. His voice was soft-natured but firm, contrasting his feelings of being devastatingly overwhelmed. The wind rustled his yellow hair, uncovering the light green tint the strands held. It was gentle, and he observed gusts pass him and glide through the grass. His armor gleamed in the dying illumination; the dark emerald surface was polished to spotless perfection and emanated the appearance of new. Taking care of his weapons and armor was important. If Warriors didn't have swift and sharp blades they would fail to perform at their highest level. If their defenses were too weak they may one day find themselves on the receiving end of a grand weapon, such as a mage's staff.

It was easy to die. Preserving life was the real challenge. Magic was strong against a Warrior's blade, and he was thankful their armor carried a degree of resistance to the attacks. Without it, they would have been defeated before a war truly began.

He didn't want to return to his section of the Warrior castle. There were several other Warriors that accompanied him in his division. Gaia, Konkari and Tairn were influential figures, and Neo was always there. And although Neo did contain magic, he was also a swordsman and chose to fight alongside the Warriors instead of serving as a lackey to a mage. These may have been his greatest friends, and he loved to spend time with them, but the thought of looking upon that damaged and partially crumbled castle was enough to turn him away, at least for a little while.

As he was lost in his ocean of thoughts, a dimensional pulse erupted. Air currents shifted, scattering like mice fleeing from a cat. The pulse dissipated after covering a short distance, and the Warrior was indifferent to them at first, but steadily they grew in strength. He returned to reality, golden eyes widening, and he nearly toppled over as a large wave of intense, almost painful heat rolled through him. A portal was opening, the magic's pulse now pounding in his ears. He hurried to his feet, tossing his gaze wildly around. Where is it coming from?

A loud crack shattered the rushing wind and a dark oval formed in the sky. His attention was drawn to it in utter fascination as it expanded and an electrical field bounced tendrils of lightening about. It twisted, swirling and widening until it was the size of a large horse. The elf's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his sword, expecting a Spellcaster of some sort. After all, Spellcaster and Sorcerers were the only beings that controlled this level of magic.

He was surprised when he heard a pained cry followed by a body flying from the depths of the portal. However, it was not the divine form of a powerful mage he saw. It was a thin man, or so it appeared from the distance they were apart. He would not have been able to make out the figure if he were not an Elf. His sharp eyes caught even the tiny shreds of fabric fluttering.

A dark beam of energy burst through the gateway, striking the male on the left shoulder. The attack cracked the male backward, burning and marring the pale flesh. The beam dissipated within seconds after striking. As though the dimensional tunnel had timed out it began contracting on itself.

The elf stepped forward, looking on in awe as the new visitor fell from the sky. Purple material fluttered along in the light breeze, but it was forgotten as the Warrior gripped his weapon tighter and dashed over the hill to find where the Spellcaster had fallen. His legs were swift on the knobby ground, blades of grass sinking into the muddy soil where his feet touched.

Their distance apart was farther than he estimated but he arrived quickly, skidding to a stop a few yards from the fallen male. He could tell from the remains of the uniform it was a magician, and a highly skilled one at that. The magician's light blue eyes were barely open, staring up at the sky. Was he dead? Had the fall killed him? No... Lives of high class Spellcasters are not taken so easily. He must be stunned.

His royal purple garments were shredded, shoulder armor and protective hood shattered. The pale skin sported severe bruises and charring. Long and slender legs were covered in blood that was still flowing from fresh injuries. It was a worrying sight to witness. The Spellcaster had been the victim of a severe assault finished with a dominating final spell.

The Warrior dropped his wariness, seeing or sensing no danger, and began to approach slowly and silently. A cough rose from the magician's mouth as blood ran down his cheek, curved to the crest of his ear, and dripped to the grass. The elf froze and listened for any other sign of life from the tattered man. A few strands of purple hair fell from the Spellcaster's face and floated to the earth.

"It's... pointless..." The voice rose from bleeding lips as the magician's eyes remained shadowed by long lashes, "Pointless pain... all those deaths... for nothing other than a grudge." The magician wasn't aware of his company. His mind refused to acknowledge his place upon the battle-worn field. Bringing his own death might have been his best choice now. Either that, or he could bleed to death slowly.

His eyes closed, and he relaxed his tense and pain-stressed body with a sigh. He would give up; no more fighting or struggling. Peace awaited him. His hand tightened around the staff he had refused to free and he raised it, aiming the bladed end at his heart. Yes, he had enough strength for one last attack. A final attack…

A pained smile formed on his lips and he laughed lightly as tears fell from his eyes. It had been so long since he had shed tears there were times when he wondered if he could at all, but now those doubts washed away with the salty droplets.

He froze suddenly as a rough hand closed around his wrist, and he gazed toward the clouds for the cause. Brownish gold eyes were staring at him with solid determination. The magician blinked with rapt interest. He had not seen or heard this fighter. When had he appeared?

The realization of what the elf was dawned on him. He was a Warrior - supposedly his enemy, but it didn't appear as though this one wanted to fight. The magician mentally cursed himself for not resisting when his staff was taken. It was Spellcaster tradition and honor to defend one's staff at all costs. He quickly took steps to correct his mistake and reached for his weapon. Luck was not on his side, and foolishness was laughing at him as he sat up and bumped into a dark green and silver breast plate. Once again, the magician had failed to survey his surroundings carefully. The warrior was nearly on top of him. The distance between them had decreased further when he made his attempt to snatch back his favorite weapon.

"Lie still. You're badly hurt." The armored Warrior set the weapon to the side.

Why is he so close? Is he afraid to give me room for fear I'll escape? The magician curled in as a freezing shiver ran up his spine. The answer to his question arrived quickly. He had been told stories as a child, stories about Dragons, Warriors, Fiends, and all other creatures that roamed the land. Elvin Warriors were proud, dependable, loyal fighters, often having mercy even for their opponents. The elf was hugged so close because he was protecting him, whether it was from a surprise attack or the icy blasts of wind. This elf was acting as his shield.

He had been so caught up in trying to discover the answer to his question he hardly realized the elf had spoken. Tracing back, the Spellcaster retrieved the words and formulated several responses. Staying silent would hardly do him any good, and saying he did not require assistance was a terrible and obvious lie, but if he were to accept this Warrior he at least had a chance of turning his now pitiful situation into something better.

"Forgive me. I've been rude." He apologized, turning his eyes down as a sign of respect.

"Yes, and forgive me for my interfering, but I would never have forgiven myself if I turned away." the elf bowed his head once, "May I request a name?" The Spellcaster's pale blue eyes snapped up, focusing on the smooth features of the elf's face.

He swallowed, "Keiran, the Dark Magician." Keiran gazed into those golden eyes speckled with bronze shards, "And you, Elfin Warrior? Do you have a name, or should I simply call you Guardian?"

The elf smiled kindly, "It would be fitting. I am Bix, the Celtic Guardian." The elf watched blue eyes broaden in wonder.

"The Celtic Guardian? You must be skilled to have achieved that rank." Keiran scolded himself for his thoughtlessness; he had no reason to fear this Warrior. The elves of Hantella were known for their kindness, as well as their skill, and often aided those in need.

Foolish Keiran... open your eyes... Keiran's thoughts turned hazy as he felt darkness closing in on the edges of his mind. Without much warning he drifted into unconsciousness, collapsing onto a pair of protecting arms. For the first time in years, Keiran felt at ease.

IOIOIOIOIOIOI

e. 1.28.07

e. 10.3.09

(Each chapter that has been edited after the original posting will have the date in which it was last revised, as shown above. Many of the chapters have been altered since their first postings. I've added scenes and changed dialogue and removed mistakes. However, please, please, PLEASE point out ANY mistakes you find. Even the tiny ones that don't seem important, because – to me – they are important. And of course – reviews are greatly appreciated and much loved.)