A Yami Motou/Pharaoh Atemu One-Shot
TO SHADOW: HAPPY (belated) BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!! I know it's nearly two-months belated, but at least I got it done, right? AND you'll find this snug surprise in your inbox when you get back from your trip, AND I'm actually happy with it!!! HURRAY!! I hope you like it dearest!!! Thanks for everything!!
So this is my first piece in a long time, I hope it's liked. It's Yami/Atemu reflecting, all that good stuff. You could imply Scandal/Prideshipping if you like, but it's not specified. That's sort of your choice. As Shadow over Egypt loves the stuff, I let it hang as it is. (grins) Also, please check out my profile for update info, the new fic Shadow and I just updated, and why I'm never on (I apologize.)
Note on title: I love the poem (stanza three is the opener). The story has nothing to do with war, let alone WWI, but in some sense it connects. Well, somewhere in my mind. (By the way, the title translates to, "It is sweet and right" (to die for one's country – that's the "pro patria mori" part). If that helps at all?)
Disclaimer: The usual bit. Don't own anything, except perhaps the philosophy in this?
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud,
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such zest
To children ardent for some despondent glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
The day was neither hot nor cold. A breeze tickled his face and teased his blonde locks away from their places. A breath of a sigh escaped him as he combed ebony strands back into their former positions.
Yami Motou, dubbed so by those close to him, was not happy.
Despite this, he looked the picture of contentment. Leather hugged his delicate frame, his sleeveless shirt tucked under his – for once – plain belt. The sun glinted off the buckle of his collar as he lifted his head up into the heavens.
Yami's hand inadvertently brushed the Millennium Puzzle around his neck. Although he usually kept their mental link wide open, Yami could not bear to talk to his aibou at the moment. Yugi would understand – Yami had started to reflect on his own more and more recently. At the moment, Yugi did not try to talk to his other half, instead letting the ancient spirit have control of the body while he wandered Domino Gardens, letting his feet carrying him where they would.
Yami was not happy. He couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but he knew it lay with his past. Of rather, his lack of one.
Just who am I? What role do I play? If I use the Millennium Items as a catalyst, if I return them to the Tablet of Memories, will I truly remember? Will I return to where I rightfully belong, or am I stuck in this life forever?
Golden cape billowing around him in a silent breeze, he bent and gently picked a tigerlily from the edge of the Nile. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he twirled the flower between his fingers. It went limp, his hand returning to his side. The flower slipped out of his grasp and fluttered until it floated gently on the surface of the river.
He turned away, walking calmly back to the Palace walls. He felt the urge to walk through the Royal Gardens.
He was the Pharaoh Atemu, crowned recently enough to still feel the loss of his father, yet long enough to realize the responsibility that lay on his shoulders.
Atemu glided silently past his people, not bothering to stop for the questioning gazes of anyone clever enough to see past his disguise. Upon reaching the Palace walls, Atemu was bowed inside, worried looks on the faces of his guards. Their king, although young enough to be the son of almost any of them, wasn't usually reflecting so somberly.
Guess Seth told them I was out, Atemu thought idly, trying to avoid what he was feeling. Convenient. Hopefully Mahaado was told too; otherwise he'll throw a fit when I return.
That brought a soft smile to his lips, though it quickly faded. It was hard to be cheerful, now that he reined over "everything the sun touched." It was so much responsibility, and with no one to guide him…
Pharaoh Atemu was not happy. He looked as a young king would, lounging in his splendid golden and crimson robes and relishing the famous Royal Gardens. But he could not bring himself to smile, could not enjoy the fresh Egyptian air that floated into his lungs.
What is my great task as Pharaoh? How can I accomplish it? Who will stand by me? And why am I given these golden Items – what is their purpose? Are they a tool to fulfill my father's dreams, or will I be unable to achieve them?
Sorry crimson eyes watched as petals danced in the air, landing softly on the surface of the lake. The breeze gently swirled them, creating patterns on the surface of the water. Yami watched as the reflections mimicked their counterpart.
But what if we were the reflections, and they our real likeness? What if all we are is an appearance in a mirror, an image in the water? Our actions would thus be someone else's. We would no longer have our own identity. We would just… exist. Not live. Merely… be.
Yami Motou sighed and kept walking along the path.
Atemu bent forwards and picked a flower from the Garden floor. It was wilted, its life force fleeing from it. He twirled it in his fingertips, mimicking an earlier action. Then he stopped and examined the flower. It was a bird of paradise – large, with splendid colours decorating its visage. Marvelous blues and yellows sparked into life, clashing and swirling before the royal ruby eyes.
Birds of paradise indeed… yet what is paradise? What is possibly the most sought-after place to mortals, a world of bliss and happiness for eternity? Are we not shaped by our experiences through hardships, trials of suffering? Then… is paradise truly the best possibly solution?
Atemu rubbed his temples, trying to dispel the random pessimistic thoughts. What would his friends say if they heard the usual peaceful Atemu now? he thought bitterly. Ra, I can hear – nigh, see their expressions – now. Karim and Shada trading glances, Isis staring, Mahaado's hand on my shoulder while Seth…
The young king frowned thoughtfully, stroking his chin. How would his ill-tempered cousin act? Would he glower at him and call him an idiot, or would he sympathize, even agree?
Footsteps. Atemu turned to see a familiar, handsome brunette. Cobalt eyes surveyed his young Pharaoh while a small breeze whipped his blue cape around him as he bowed.
Speak of the devil… "What brings you to the Gardens, cousin mine?"
High Priest Seth arched a delicate eyebrow. "Can one simply not wish to enjoy the scenery, my king?" he replied, bending to pick up Atemu's fallen flower. "A bird of paradise? How appropriate, dear Pharaoh."
He must have guessed what I was thinking. "Oh?"
Seth arched another brow. "Truly, does Your Majesty think so little of me? I know you far better than you must realize."
Ah… Atemu couldn't help but allow a wry smile to slip onto his features. "Forgive me, cousin. I'm just a bit preoccupied."
"What troubles your thoughts?" the brunette couldn't help but ask. He followed Atemu deeper in the Gardens.
"It is of no consequence to you," said Atemu, somewhat sharply. The pleasant breeze picked up, become harsher. Overhead, the sky, overcast since the morning, started to darken.
"Of course it is of consequence – you are Pharaoh, Horus-On-Earth, God-born and -chosen. You are our king."
Atemu looked away, trying to blink away sudden tears. The skies opened up and a soft drizzle began to bless Egypt. "Forgive me, Seth. I know you care, that you're concerned. Please, forgive me. I know you mean well."
The Priest shed his cloak and used it to cover his younger cousin. "Come, Atemu. It's raining."
"I like the rain," murmured Atemu. "Let us stay out just a little while longer, if you don't mind." He did not mention that he wanted the rain to wash away his tears.
Seth sighed and obeyed.
Yami rubbed his arms as the pleasant breeze picked up. Wild crimson and ebony hair flashed as golden locks whipped past his face. He tried to contain them, and failed miserably.
"You know," said a deep, quiet voice from behind him. "If you kept your hair in a sensible fashion, it would be a lot easier to manage."
Yami turned to see his rival, Seto Kaiba, leaning against a tree behind him. His stance was casual, but his sapphire eyes were sharp, trying to read the Game King's expression. The latter sighed and turned, walking away from the taller man. "Go away, Kaiba. I'm not in the mood for petty arguments."
"Then it's a good thing I'm not here to pick any," said the brunette coolly, easily catching up to his shorter companion.
Yami – tired, frustrated, overwhelmed Yami – spun to face him. As he did, the heavens opened up and rain descended on the earth at last. "Then, why, pray tell, are you here, Kaiba?" His voice was curt, yet weary. His eyes were wide with exhaustion and brimming with unwanted tears. For Ra's sake, why must I feel like crying now
Seto slipped his hands into his pockets and looked up at the oncoming rain. "Funny, how it always happens to rain when you're sad."
Seth looked across the city and then back at Atemu. The king looked weary, burdened. He met Seth's cool glance with his fiery crimson orbs, now filled with tears. Slowly, they slipped past his shields until he was safely in his cousin's arms, sobbing into the latter's tunic.
Voice muffled, Atemu said, "It's the rain."
"I thought you liked the rain," retorted Seth before he could stop himself.
"Yeah, well, many people cry because it rains, liking it or not."
Seth gently stroked his cousin's hair before slowly saying, "Atemu… it rains because you cry."
Yami turned away, so that his rival wouldn't see the silent tears streaming down his face. "Many people cry when it rains."
"… Yami, it rains when you cry."
The Game King did not retort, nor did he face his companion. He merely stood in the rain, staring at the ripples the droplets created as they hit the surface of the pond.
Seto Kaiba sighed, took off his trench coat, and put it over Yami's shoulders. Then he left.
Yami Motou stared at the pond, wrapped in his rival's coat, deep in contemplation.
It was many hours before he finally left the spot, murmuring, "Dulce et decorum est..."
"…Pro patria mori," whispered Atemu.
There! I hope you liked it. I know the ending was kind of random, but it fit. Also, that whole bit with the rain and the crying was inspired by MIB II. Hope you liked it!! (Don't forget to check out the SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME new fic Shadow and I are writing, on her site.) Ta!