Shadow: Apologies for this taking so long. There are a lot of reasons, and I don't want to waste yet more time naming them all.
Some of you – well, most of you – nigh all of you – were confused by the family connections I made, and how so-and-so relates to so-and-so. That, and as what one reviewers wishes me to say, I thoroughly screwed up English history. Just so you know, I meant to screw it up. A lot of my stories work on the governing principle of 'What if..?' I like to think of what would've happened if something had/hadn't happened, and the consequences that would have occurred afterwards. My history teacher's favourite question: "Does one person make a difference?" Well…yes.
Below are a few notes concerning history/plot and stuff. You can skip them if you like and head straight to the story.
Notes:
Henry VIII was married to Catherine of Aragorn. She gave birth to his eldest daughter, Mary. Henry however, wanted a son. Catherine, being too old to bear any more children was useless to him. So he divorced her, and married a one Anne Boleyn. However, the Catholic Church hadn't given Henry permission for the divorce, and the Pope declared the King's marriage to Anne null. Henry, a trifle upset with this, announced himself the supreme head of the Church in England, and validated his own marriage, thereby making the child Anne gave him legitimate, and viable for the English crown. Anne gave Henry another daughter – Elizabeth. Henry eventually tired of Anne – she hadn't given him the son he wanted – and had her beheaded. He then married one of her ladies-in-waiting, Jane Seymour. Jane gave birth to a son, Edward, but died a few days later.
When Henry died (after going through a few more wives), Edward came to the throne. He was only a boy, and received 'help' with his ruling by a few nobles – all of which 'encouraged' England to turn Protestant.
Edward died young – I think from tuberculosis – and his eldest half-sister came to the throne, Mary I. (There was a 'temporary' Queen for about nine days, but she got beheaded.) Mary was Catholic, and set about restoring the Pope as the head of the Church again. She married King Philip II of Spain to try and gain a strong Catholic heir (Spain was the strongest Catholic country in Europe at the time, so any child they had would rule both England and Spain), but they had no children.
Mary died, and her half-sister, Elizabeth I came to the throne. She changed England back to Protestantism, but included a lot of the Catholic ceremonies. It was a good fifty-fifty. Her reign was a 'Golden Age' in England. This story is set during what would have been her rule.
…
That's history. (Very briefly. If I filled in all the details I'd be going on for three pages or so.) This is what I changed…
…
Edward VI never died. Mary and Elizabeth never came to the throne, but remained as princesses. Mary, still hoping for a Catholic England, went and got married to King Philip. She gave birth to a son - Seto. (More details on Mary, Philip and Seto later in the fic.) Mary died.
Edward went abroad for a while, (about the time Mary gave birth) and ended up in Egypt. He fell in love with a woman there, and married her. He had to return to England though, as he still had a country to rule. He promised to return for his wife, and take her to England to be with him. She, expecting his imminent return, didn't tell him she was pregnant (with Atemu).
In England, the King fell ill with his 'old illness' (the tuberculosis). He was 'out' for a while, and 'woke up' with little memory of the last few months of his life. Basically, he forgot he was married. -
Edward went and got himself married again, and his (second) wife became Queen Susan. (Technically, this marriage was invalid, because of Edward's previous marriage. Any children born of an invalid marriage would be illegitimate, and unable to rule.) Susan fell pregnant.
Edward's first wife gave birth, and died. Atemu was born, and brought up by friends.
Susan decided to be 'romantic', and she and her husband remade their vows. Because Edward's first wife was then dead, their (Susan and Edward's) marriage then became legal, and when Bakura was born, he was a legal heir. Then again, so was Atemu…but nobody knew about him.
Atemu and Bakura are half-brothers (they share a father, the King). Seto is the (half-)nephew of Edward, and therefore the (half-)cousin of both Atemu and Bakura.
I use a lot of quotes in my chapters. The chapter titles themselves all come from Shakespeare, and there are excerpts from some of his works and the Egyptian Book of Dead throughout. I claim no ownership of either. (Is there anyone alive capable of claiming ownership of the Book of the Dead anyway?!)
The Tudor Rose
Chapter 2: Beware my fangs
The rumours had spread. He knew they had.
The covert whispers, the sly glances, the obvious silences when he entered a room…The palace knew.
Everyone from the King down to the lowliest pig-boy knew.
There was a third royal child, a third prince, a new heir. A foreign boy, an older boy, the true firstborn of the King's. A mystery child, a forgotten son, a half-brother Bakura had never known he had had.
Nor ever wanted to.
Atemu.
The name was whispered in the kitchens.
Atemu.
The word was murmured in the halls.
Atemu.
The name that was going around and around and around Bakura's mind and was slowly driving him insane.
Atemu.
Three, simple syllables that made the albino's blood boil, hot bitterness rising in his throat, acrid and burning in his mouth. He hated the name, loathed it, detested it with every fibre of his being.
His father was a fool. Three days hadn't been enough to quench the rage Bakura felt for the man – he doubted three lifetimes would be enough. It was Edward's fault, all of it was the king's fault – it was all his stupid, stupid fault!!
Bakura choked back a sob, his fingers digging into his palms as he clenched his hands, small crescent-shaped indentations appearing on pale, smooth skin.
Once, when he had been very little, Bakura had loved his father. The King had smiled at him then, scooped him up in his arms and carried his little son around on his shoulders. Queen Susan had been there too. She had held him, kissed his forehead and called him her little angel…
When the white-haired prince had been three, his mother had fell ill, and stayed in bed for a long, long while. Surprised, the little Prince had visited the Queen, bringing her flowers he had picked from the garden. She had smiled then too, ruffling his hair affectionately…
"You're a good boy, Bakura – aren't you? Bringing your mother such pretty flowers…"
Bakura smiled happily. "Do you like them?"
His mother nodded. "Indeed I do – they're the best present I've ever had…though not as good as the present I've got for you."
Amber eyes widened, the eager toddler scrambling closer to the Queen. "A present? What mammy? What have you got me?"
Queen Susan took the child's hand, placing it lightly over her stomach. "Can you feel anything, sweetheart?"
A childish forehead wrinkled in deep thought. "It feels…strange, mama. Like…like a butterbird or-or somethin'. What is it?"
"Butterfly Bakura, not butterbird," Susan corrected gently, "and it's your present, honey. That 'strange' feeling is your new brother or sister. You're going to be a big brother, angel."
Barely a few weeks later the Queen went into labour, the palace descending into a mad frenzy. Bakura had been shunted to the side, again and again the little boy getting gradually more and more frightened as the hours went by. What were those noises coming from his mother's room? Was mammy hurt? Scared, he had snuck into the Queen's chambers, slipping past midwives and physicians, doctors, seers and sibyls, pushing his way through each room quickly, determined, arriving in the inner chamber just in time to hear his mother scream, and everything fall deathly silent.
Only to split a few seconds later by a wailing midwife rushing from the room, tears falling down her face.
Bakura had simply been too young to understand what all the grave faces around him meant.
"…Mammy…?" His voice was hesitant, bordering on tears. He was scared, he was lonely, and he desperately wanted his mother. "…Mammy…?"
Every eye there turned to him, and, if anything, the silence deepened.
Then the whispers started.
"The Prince…"
"The poor lad…"
"Has someone sent for the King?"
"I sent a guard immediately."
"The poor dear…he'll need his father now more than ever…"
A pretty-faced young woman approached the toddler – she was one of the Queen's ladies-in-waiting, Bakura recognised her as she'd often chatted to him, spoiled him with marchpane when no-one was looking. "Little Prince…" (It was her pet name for the albino.) "…We'd better go. Won't you come with me? There're some dates in your room-"
But Bakura wasn't going to be distracted, pulling sharply away from the hand the lady extended to him. "Where's mama?" His tone was accusatory. "What have you done to her?!" It made sense to the boy. His mother must have heard him before, but she couldn't come to him because these people were stopping her. They were hurting her – hadn't he heard his mother crying out himself? "Where is she?!"
"Little Prince-"
"No! Where's mama?!!" Upset and angry he stamped his foot, craning his head, desperately trying to catch sight of the bed where he knew his mother lay.
Instead, all he saw was a midwife, her face sombre and tears silently coursing down her cheeks, remove a pathetically small object from the bed, wrapping it in black silk, tears plopping on the dark material.
Bakura didn't like that bundle. It brought a nasty feeling inside of him, a deep, unidentifiable fear starting in his toes and slowly curling up over his little body. "…Mammy…?" He was shock still. That couldn't be-
The toddler shoved his ways forwards, dodging outstretched hands and scrambling up onto his mother's bed, staring down at the marvellous woman who he loved with all of his innocent, childish little heart, stared down at his mother, his pretty, kind, wonderful mother, the woman who had called him 'angel' only yesterday. He stared at her, at her pale face, her closed eyes, her still, rapidly cooling body-
And dissolved into tears.
King Edward had withdrawn into his own world after that. The loss of his wife and his baby daughter in one day was a terrible blow.
That day, that cold, cruel, awful day, Bakura lost his mother, his newborn little sister…and his father's joy.
It was hard for King Edward to be happy, hard to explain to his three year-old son that his mother wasn't going to come back, hard to live on without his Queen at his side.
King Edward stopped loving, he stopped even caring. Bakura grew older, and just accepted his father didn't love him anymore. Seto arrived, and the Prince turned his attentions on his older cousin, becoming friends with the other boy.
He stopped loving his father; the man provided for him - that was all. There was no bond, no closeness between the two. At times, Bakura felt bitter about the loss, but he moved on. The only good thing his father had ever done was become King, so Bakura could become King after him. England would be his.
Or at least, it would've been his.
Another wave of bitterness rose up, threatening to engulf Bakura completely.
It would've been his, had it not been for the imminent arrival of Atemu.
"Your Highness…"
Atemu turned from the ship's rail, his crimson eyes aghast. "Mahado, not you too!"
"Not I too what?" A tall, well-built young man approached the Prince, directing a rather quizzical look at the slighter royal.
He was handsome enough, Mahado, and could pass himself easily enough as a European. Although his skin was much darker than the norm, his hair was as golden-blonde as any Englishman's or Northerner's. His eyes were a shifting blue-green, as deep and everlasting as the unending ocean they sailed on. His grasp of languages too, was commendable, and his attitude to life was affable; two traits that eased his younger friend into life at sea and amongst 'foreigners' a lot more smoothly than with another to aide the transit. Still, looks are only ever superficial, and though Mahado's visage could pass him off as else, the teen's birth and upbringing had all occurred in the shadowy continent from whence Atemu came, in the land of the great Kings of old – Egypt.
Atemu's voice was pleading as he looked at his closest friend. "Don't you start calling me 'your Highness.' I can't stand it!"
Mahado hesitated a little before answering. "Your High…Atemu…it would be better for all of us if you were prepared for your new life in England. The English are a proud race, a powerful, ever-growing race; I doubt they will accept any prob…difficulties with their royalty."
"Then what do they want me for?!" The Prince was obviously distressed. "Why must this 'great' country take me as its Crown Prince?! I hate England! I hate its clothes, its style, its food! Mahado, the English scare me. I simply don't understand them…I didn't even understand them back in Egypt."
"Atemu, you need not be afraid-"
"There is everything to be afraid of! You heard the threats that were made to my uncle if he did not hand me over to the soldiers immediately. Look at the English Navy! Is that not something to fear?!"
"Unless you are a pirate or an enemy – no." Mahado smiled gently, placing a hand on his companion's shoulder. "Atemu, you did not fear the English before you were asked for, and I doubt you truly fear them now. What is really wrong?"
His royal friend swallowed hard, taking a step back from the rail and into a comforting embrace. He blinked, eyes suddenly teary. "Mahado…I miss home already. I do not think I will fit in very well in England – that country is just so…different. How will I possibly ever rule a nation I know next to nothing about? They have a different religion – the English -, with but one God, and I-I…I doubt very much they will let me worship mine."
His partner rubbed soothing circles on his back. "At least you will finally meet your father and your half-brother. You will finally possess the true family you always wanted."
"Akunadin was my family. You were my family, all of you; Akunadin, Isis, Shadi, Karimu and you. Teaching me, looking out for me…" Atemu swallowed again. "Mahado…uncle gave me the Rod."
His blonde friend froze. "I-what? Akunadin gave you the Rod? But you already bear the responsibility of the Millennium Puzzle-"
The Prince cut him off, a slender finger pressed firmly against the courtier's lips. "Old friend, keep your voice low. Sound travels far over water; it would not do for our conversation to be overheard."
Mahado obligingly lowered his voice to a hissed whisper. "What in the name of sweet Nut did he give you the Rod for?"
Crimson eyes were troubled. "I am not sure… Akunadin said it possessed no true Bearer in Egypt, and placed it in my care. It is not for me to wield, but to give to one worthy of its strength."
Blue-green eyes stared out over the ship's rail at the ocean, troubled, one tanned hand lightly touching the Millennium Ring their owner wore about his own neck. "So Akunadin thinks there may be a person worthy of the Rod in England? Interesting…"
Atemu looked at his friend, apprehensive. "What are you thinking?"
A short, wry smile.
"I hope he's right."
Westminster was going all out for the newly discovered English heir Seto noted, as he ducked what had to be the fifty-third spray of roses that attempted to take a large clump of hair off the top of his head. They were dangling everywhere, and their smell permeated the entire palace. The ladies of the court had taken to pressing perfumed handkerchiefs over their noses whenever possible, a few of the royal clergy joining the rush and lighting scented candles and incense holders. Between flowers and perfume, incense and smoke, it was a wonder anyone could actually breathe. Or walk, Seto silently added, as he avoided yet another festoon of roses and a few trailing ribbons accompanying them that decided to attempt to wind themselves around the prince's ankles.
Why do we need this many decorations anyway?
"Ah, your Highness…"
Blue eyes widened, the prince turning and letting out a weird urk as he spotted his governess halfway up the wall – on stairs – and draping it with the very same flowery garlands he was beginning to hold so much of a grudge against. "Eliza…" He hastily took a step backwards, away from the dotty woman, knowing from much past experience not to be anywhere near her when she got into a zealous mood. Which she appeared to already be in, judging by the way she was depositing roses in healthy amounts about the place. "I really have to be somewhere…"
"Nonsense." The woman smiled brightly, quickly descending the stairs on which she stood and standing before the – taller – youth. "Your lessons are over, Bakura has disappeared on once of his legendary walks yet again, the King is occupied, and you are aimlessly walking about the place while trying to avoid the decorations. What could you possibly have to do?"
"Er-"
"Nothing. That's what." The governess nodded her head firmly, turning around to pick up a distinctly red bunch of roses and dumping them in her charge's hands. "You can help me smarten the place up."
"With flowers?"
Eliza pointed up the ladder. "Lad, it's not my fault the Tudor emblem's a rose. They go there…just to the left of the red crest."
Seto groaned inwardly, but began climbing the steps, garland in hand.
Eliza idly studied the roses she'd already decorated the hall with, eyeing them critically. "Is it too much, do you think?"
The brunette rolled his eyes, thankful the woman below couldn't see his expression. "I'm sure it's fine, Eliza."
"So shall I add more? I've got this and the Hall to finish – I'm really only doing this as a favour for a friend of mine you know, I'm too old to do this the rest of the time. But still…a new Prince! He'll be your cousin…what do you think of that?"
Seto pinned the garland up, wincing slightly when one of his fingers caught on a particularly sharp thorn. What did he think of that? "I couldn't honestly say."
Eliza sniffed, smoothing her dress again as Seto descended the steps to stand beside her. "That's the trouble with you, my boy. You simply don't think about these sort of things. You and Bakura both. Still, you're both such lovely boys…" She glanced up at the roses Seto had fixed on the ceiling. "That's perfect! Just where I wanted it…" She bent down, scooping up some ribbons. "You can help me with these now."
Seto tched, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited in his cousin's chambers.
What's taking Bakura so long?!
Irritably he rose from the low couch he'd been sitting on, pacing the floor with a distinct lack of goodwill towards his absent relative. He'd managed to escape Eliza after decorating three corridors – so much for 'this and the Hall' – and having his doublet scratched to pieces by thorns. He'd begged freedom to go get changed, and then, quite literally, ran for it. His old governess had had that gleam in her eye again; Seto had hastily departed before he could possibly get roped into more work. Oh how he hated the preparations for palace parties.
Before the brunette could internally rant some more Bakura entered the room; Seto halting mid-pace to fix a distinctly aggrieved glare at the albino.
"Where have you been?!"
Arrogant amber eyes met his, Bakura shaking his hair and sweeping it back over his shoulder with a disdainful hand. "I went for a walk."
"Where?!"
The albino shrugged carelessly; slipping off the grey cloak he'd been wearing and depositing it on a nearby hook. "Where I felt like walking. Why do you care?"
"You can't just…wander off!!"
Bakura's lips swept downward in the beginnings of a scowl. "I've done it before."
"I…know." Seto sighed, collapsing in a rush on the couch again, staring at his hands. "I'm sorry; it's just…" he gestured vaguely, "Eliza…and the decorations…I guess it's just been tiring my patience. You not being there just seemed to be the last straw."
Bakura's scowl slid into a grin, dumping his body with less than the usual grace on the seat beside the elder prince. "I take it you're the one responsible for all the oh so…ah…tasteful ornaments that now bedeck the palace?"
A snort was his reply. "Damned things should all burn with Satan."
"Hmm…" The King's son's reply was noncommittal.
His companion turned to him. "'Kura…"
"…What?"
"…'Atemu' will be your half-brother, and my cousin."
"And?" The sudden hostility in the youngest's voice was obvious.
Seto bit his lip, but turned away. "Nothing."
The official proclamation had been sent out, and the royal family were most definetely the most interesting topic of discussion throughout England. And Scotland. And Wales. And Ireland, France and Spain. Oh, to hell with it, the English royal family was all anybody could talk about wherever they came from. Ambassadors arrived from all over Europe daily, eagerly mingling with the court at Westminster to find out the latest gossip, then just as eagerly wrote back home to inform impatiently waiting monarchs there of what was happening. After all, this sort of thing didn't happen often. Not in high society. Not in noble society, and most definetely not in royal. It just went to prove, many occupants of Europe muttered, that the English were conceited upstarts, always had been, and always would be. It was a pleasure to see them come down to earth with such an ungainly bump.
And so, it was into the thirteenth week of this muttering and fluttering frenzy that Bakura descended, pale lips curled in a disgusted sneer. Ambassadors hurriedly shifted out of the teen's way as he approached – six of their gaggle had already met the Prince's wrath beforehand and had no desire to join the disgraced number. Bakura's patience was nearing the end of its already quite diminutive tether, and unless something happened soon to dramatically change the situation, Westminster palace was in no doubt there'd be a few extra bodies suddenly found floating in the Thames.
King Edward was too busy to reprimand his son's temper; news of an approaching fleet had reached his messengers and his intimate court were waiting excitedly for an update. Could it be…the fleet? Home so soon? There had been fair winds and good weather so there was always the chance…
A messenger burst into the King's audience chamber. At once there was silence, fervent eyes following the man as he raced to the throne where the English monarch sat in state, then sinking into a deep bow.
"Your Majesty…"
King Edward couldn't help it. He leant forward slightly on his throne, impatience leaking into his tone. "Do you have news of the fleet?"
"Yes, you Majesty, I do." The messenger's face remained facing the ground.
"Then speak up, man, speak up! Look at me! What do you know?"
A heartbeat's pause, then the herald glanced up at his sovereign. "The fleet are from the British Navy sire; it was as we expected. Its lead is the Princess Mary." Another pause. "They're the fleet from Egypt, your Majesty."
He's here.
"Oh my…" Atemu was staring.
A Navy man grinned at the shock on the Prince's face as he went past. "Haven't you seen London before, your Highness?"
The teen shook his head. "No…" He couldn't resist a tinge of awe creeping into his voice.
"What d'you think of it?"
"It's…it's big."
The sailor laughed, nodding. "Tha' it is, your highness. Tha' it is."
Still, Atemu clung to the stern, wide-eyed with wonder. London was indeed big. The Thames was packed with ships sailing up and down the river, the quarves overflowing with people and goods. Thousands upon thousands of people and ships from all over the British Empire traded in London, foreign traders disappearing in the throngs ruled by the English Crown. Buildings erupted all over the land, churches soaring majestically up into the sky. Atemu had…he had never seen so many people! And what on earth-?
"What's that?"
"'That' would be London Bridge."
Atemu blinked, then smiled at Mahado, from whence his answer had come. "How do you know that?"
"I was curious myself, and asked the Captain." The blonde grinned a little sheepishly, then glanced back up at the bridge. "Ra…how did they build that thing?"
"I haven't the faintest idea…" The Prince pulled himself back together. "Where is the palace?"
"Which one?"
Atemu frowned. "Old friend…what do you mean, 'which one'?"
"There are several, your – Atemu. The royal family often move between them. The King is nearly always at Westminster or Greenwich though."
"Which one are we heading for?"
"Westminster. The whole royal family are there at the moment."
"Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?"
"How should I know?" Mahado gave an elegant shrug. "I haven't met them yet."
Seto skidded around the corner, narrowly avoiding a servant laden with a pile of bedding, yelled an apology over his shoulder and continued full pelt for – yet again – Bakura's chambers. The albino wasn't in the Hall, he most definetely wasn't in his study, wasn't in the gardens nor was he in his greeting rooms. Bakura preferred to keep his distance from the Kitchens, and nobody had spotted the Prince heading off for one of his legendary 'walks'. Surely he had to be in his room?
People automatically moved out of Seto's way when he approached, the many palaces used to life with the princes around. The brunette's lungs were burning, but he was getting odd enough looks already without deciding to collapse in the middle of the corridor. Some of the younger ladies of the court giggled and hid their faces beneath beautifully pearled hoods as he ran past, a few of the braver ones daring to flash him a winning smile, an elegant toss of carefully preened curls.
The Prince ignored them. He had more pressing things to concentrate on (for the moment anyways), and he had little time to report it. The King had issued remarkably little notice of his plans, and the whole palace – excepting the fluttering fangirls (ladies, whatever) of course – was busy.
And Bakura had officially gone AWOL.
Snatches of conversation reached Seto's ears as he ran past.
"Today? Are you sure? I at least thought…"
"…the Princess Mary, you say? Already?"
"I heard it wasn't due back for at least another week…"
"…and what will His Majesty do? It's really…"
"Shocking. To do that to a woman…"
"…and they say he's really handsome."
The brunette's nose wrinkled in distaste at the last comment. He'd had too much experience with that sort of statement, especially when uttered in that distinctly breathless, girly voice. But, there was no time to dwell on that…
"Bakura!" The Prince's chamber doors flew open at the slightest pressure from Seto – really, they'd have to see about getting that fixed. It was all fine for the dramatic entrances but honestly…
"Bakura! Where in God's name are you?!"
"…Seto, what the hell is the matter?" The albino himself entered the room from his sleeping chamber, amber eyes vaguely annoyed.
"Where have you been?"
"I was sleeping." The annoyance in the King's son's voice was much more obvious now. "What did I miss? It better be the world ending or worse; it was a good dream."
His cousin sighed. "Bakura, your father wants us both in the Hall in less than an hour."
"Why?"
"The Princess Mary. She's home."
"The Princess…? But that means…"
Seto nodded. "Your brother will be arriving at Westminster this afternoon."
King Edward VI was antsy. It was quite something to discover you have a long lost son, but quite another thing entirely if you were royalty… And then, if that son was older than the son you already had… The monarch shot a glance at his (now) youngest.
Bakura's face was a stone mask, amber eyes blank and expressionless. What could he possibly be thinking…?
Bakura had taken the news of a brother rather badly, furious with him and, as his father strongly suspected, livid with Atemu. But there was no sign of anger on the albino's face, in fact, there wasn't anything – and with Bakura, that could be just as, possibly even more so, worse. Oh, the amber-eyed teen could be sly, his father knew that. He could also be mean, cruel and harsh. Bakura's temper was legendary within the court, and his rages could be quite frequent…or they might never happen at all. No, with the prince there was no possible way to tell, and the safest course of action was to be prepared for anything. No telling how Bakura would greet his new brother.
The royal carriage drew up in front of the palace steps, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd.
The King swallowed nervously.
Seto couldn't resist leaning forwards slightly, curious, many others following his example.
Bakura merely arched an eyebrow, his face adopting a bored expression.
The carriage door opened, and the crown prince stepped out.
As one, everyone watching gave a collective gasp.
The Crown Prince was, quite possibly, the most lovely creature to have ever walked the earth. Atemu was slender, and delicately built, with elegant limbs tanned a shimmering golden-bronze. The teen wore a black velvet doublet and shorts, coming to just above his knees. Below that he wore fine white tights, and golden-buckled shoes made of the finest black leather. He wore no cloak, but a gold dagger hung from a belt around his slim waist. Around the youth's neck hung a strange ornament, the likes of which England had never seen before. It was pure gold, shaped like an upside-down pyramid and was carved with a strange looking eye. Atemu's hair jutted out in gorgeous spikes of ruby, ebony and gold, some gleaming bangs falling to frame a strikingly beautiful, and all too exquisite, face. The new Prince's visage was flawless; as if carved by angels; with high cheekbones and large, slanting eyes outlined by sweeping lashes the colour of night. What hit you most about the youth's eyes though, was their colour. Atemu's orbs were a colour not seen on England's native shores, not in any eyes this side of the water. For, as the crowds noted in shocked and amazed awe, the new Crown Prince's eyes were a deep exotic crimson.
Hesitantly, Atemu glanced at the crowds about him as he stood at the foot of the palace steps, a second teen stepping out of the carriage to stand protectively beside the newest royal. He was taller than his companion, well-built, his appearance seeming much more…European than his charge's. Blonde hair was tied back off the youth's face, and sharp eyes of a shifting blue-green fixed defiantly on the gawping crowds, almost daring them to speak.
Atemu tugged lightly on the sleeve of his friend's doublet, attracting the elder's attention away from its staring match with the English populace and back to him. Then, shyly; the Prince raised his pretty eyes to those of his father's.
King Edward smiled warmly at him.
The Crown Prince relaxed slightly, his whole stance shifting. At once he began to ascend the stairs, his blonde companion firmly planted at his side, coming to a halt before the King. The two bowed deeply, but it was to Atemu the people looked, and, momentarily, his face was hidden by his golden bangs.
"Your majesty…" The half-Egyptian's voice was soft, almost musical, a light tenor floating on the breeze.
Gently, the King reached out and took hold of the teen's shoulders, pulling him out of his bow. "Son."
Crimson eyes looked up, and Edward looked straight back into them. Faint hope stirred in scarlet depths. "Father…?"
King Edward nodded, and suddenly Atemu flung himself into the monarch's arms. "Father! Oh…father!"
The crowds 'oohed' and 'ahhed' at the family reunion.
The blonde who had accompanied the royal bit his lip, smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
Seto stared in blatant curiosity at his new cousin, blue eyes resting for a few moments on the Prince's friend in thought.
Bakura waited, his face still set like stone.
The King finally came to his sense, reluctantly detaching himself from Atemu's hug. "And who is this?" he turned to his now-eldest son's comrade.
"Oh, I-" A delicate blush stained the Crown Prince's cheeks, suddenly embarrassed at his lack of manners. "Uh, sire, this is Master Mahado. He is a great friend of mine, and left Egypt to come here with me."
Mahado hastily bowed again.
Edward laughed. "Rise lad, so I may see the one my son calls friend."
Blue-green eyes glanced up, a hesitant smile gracing the blonde's lips as the King smiled at him. "It is a honour to meet you, your Majesty."
"You are welcome here, master Mahado. Any friend of my family's is my friend also. Now," the English monarch turned back to the wild-haired teen still standing beside him, "Atemu…I would like you to meet some people." The ruby-eyed prince nodded obediently, and was drawn carefully around to see Seto and Bakura. "Atemu, this is Prince Seto…" Edward paused, and the two teens stared at each other. Sapphire and ruby met, and locked. A faint smile twisted on the brunette's face. "He's your cousin."
Seto bowed, chocolate bangs hanging low over his face. "A pleasure to meet you, your Highness."
"Likewise…" The Crown Prince was drawn away before he could say more.
This time his father's smile was nervous. "And Atemu, this is Prince Bakura – your half-brother."
Atemu found he was staring. The half-Egyptian had known he was going to have a new half-brother, but Bakura was so, so…so…unexpected. The youth's hair was icy white, his skin pale, and his eyes a bright and glowing amber. His attire was much like the elder prince's, but his was made of satin, in silver and the deepest midnight blue. The albino wore a cloak thrown over his shoulders, and a fine silver crown upon his head, sapphires set in the metal.
Bakura smiled faintly, much like Seto had done, but his smile was cold, and his amber eyes were like the stones they resembled – sharp, and hard. "Welcome to England, Atemu." He emphasised every syllable separately in his half-brother's name, giving the word a distinctly alien and strange ring to it – and most definetely foreign
Crimson eyes sharpened slightly. "I believe I shall like it here, Bakura. Judging by your warm greeting I'm sure my life here will be very…eventful, to say the least."
"Then I hope you have a nice time." Frost laced Bakura's reply.
"I am sure I shall." Atemu smiled, the warm expression not reaching his eyes.
Their father's eye twitched at the sudden tension in the air. "Atemu, I trust your voyage was not unpleasant?"
"No your majesty, my trip here was quite delightful. Your ships are a great tribute to this noble country." A small tinge of sadness crept into crimson orbs, unnoticed by any of the royals. "Never before have I ever felt so comfortable on water."
"I am glad to hear it." Edward managed to pull off a hearty, though entirely unconvincing, smile. "Now, come, all of you, we must show Atemu around his new home. It would not do for him to get lost, would it?"
Bakura smiled at his father, but his amber eyes were fixed firmly on Atemu's ruby. "No father, it simply wouldn't do. We must make my dear half-brother feel right at home."
"I am the Child!" – The Book of the Dead, spell 42
Atemu was silent, quiet as he was led around the palace by his…family. His companion of earlier – Mahado, if Seto recalled correctly – had been escorted elsewhere, though the blonde had been clearly unwilling to leave his royal charge alone in the company of strangers. Still, what could the man have said? The King had decreed the royal persons were not to be disturbed, and, under this roof, the King's word was law.
So Atemu was silent.
It was beginning to irritate Seto. Was the boy dumb? Oh…Bakura would cause hell if the new crown Prince was a simpleton. Then again, the albino would probably cause trouble anyway…but still. Why wasn't Atemu speaking? Surely he wasn't an idiot?
Seto watched his new cousin carefully, not really paying attention to the King's 'tour'. The half-Egyptian really was a pretty boy, his looks enough to charm both genders with ease. To the brunette's surprise, his new cousin was actually smaller than Bakura, the difference showing clearly when they passed each other, even though the former was the elder of them. He was also slimmer, the English dress did much to accentuate his slender frame, and the fashion suited him, his golden skin bringing a touch of the exotic to his clothes. The Crown Prince was lovely, there was no denying the fact, but, again, it was to no avail if the boy was dumb.
Almost as if he could hear his cousin's thoughts, Atemu tilted his head slightly, ruby orbs gazing across at Seto.
And the Prince found himself falling.
Atemu's eyes were so very, very…they were amazing. They were darkest ruby, almost purple, their shade varying with the changing light and his mood. Inside those deep depths fires blazed, alight with intelligence and life. Humour shone there, combined with a faint twist of the Crown Prince's lips,, a knowing smile, secretive, an almost infinitesimal curve of the lips that suggested a wry astuteness, a self-mocking friendly ease…
"Prince Seto?"
The soft voice jolted the brunette out of his reverie, and Seto suddenly found himself blushing, ruby eyes glittering with traces of amusement.
Atemu's voice was gentle, almost teasing. "You were staring. Did I do something…?"
"I-no, your highness. I was-uh-a little…distracted…"
"By what, may I ask?"
His cousin's blush grew. "I…er…the…ceiling." Seto gave an entirely fake, and dreadfully unconvincing smile. "Isn't it wonderful?"
"The ceiling?" Crimson eyes stared at him like he was mad.
Another unconvincing smile from the eldest prince. "That shade of grey, so hard to imitate…"
"Er…"
"Seto?" Bakura suddenly appeared at the brunette's side, amber eyes suspicious and hand resting rather possessively on the youth's arm. "Cousin, what's wrong? His Majesty is waiting." He nodded ahead, where King Edward was indeed waiting, seemingly studying a tapestry that hung opposite him.
"I-er-" Princess Mary's only child stood, quite literally, in the middle of Bakura and Atemu. The poisonous look the albino was shooting the latter was not lost on the brunette, nor was the narrowing of ruby eyes.
How many 'Our Fathers' must one say to avoid this sort of confrontation?
"I'm going." Seto carefully detached Bakura's hand from his arm, ignored the startled look in both amber and crimson eyes, and left his two cousins behind him to go make his excuses to the King.
It took a few seconds, but Bakura managed to hide his astonishment beneath his usual veneer. Atemu required no façade; he had been less surprised than his half-brother because he had known Seto for such a short while.
"Atemu! Bakura!" Their father called to them from further along, his nephew having already seen him and quickly left. "Won't you come here?"
The two princes remaining hurried to the sovereign's side, the two smaller frames standing quite noticeably on either side of the King.
Mahado couldn't have helped himself if he'd tried. He'd always been the more level-headed one out of he and Atemu as a small child, but the same innate curiosity could possess them both at any given time. As soon as the King had given him leave he'd been escorted to his room – and it was quite a lavish one at that. Still, nice as it was he wanted out. Here he was, after weeks' worth of travelling on a tiny ship – a remarkably beautiful and fast ship yes, but it was still tiny compared to the huge continent of Africa. Even compared to this little island he was on now. But going back to his point. He'd been travelling for Ra knows how many weeks, and he was sick of staying put. Atemu had been carted off by his father, brother and cousin, and he wanted to explore.
So here he was.
And there Atemu was. With his father. And his half-brother. The King stood in between the two boys, Bakura a pale splash on his left, Atemu a vibrant rainbow on the monarch's right. As Mahado observed from his hiding place around the corner – he'd been told Atemu's tour was a 'family only' affair - they were being shown out over a large balcony, and the sunlight shone on the three royals' faces.
But where was the lanky brunette? Surely he-
"You do realise it's rude to snoop?"
Mahado jumped, spinning away from the voice that had sounded so Ra-damned close to his ear.
The Prince Seto smirked at him, dark chocolate locks spilling into bright blue eyes. "…Tha'rt like a startled hen, Master…Mahado, wasn't it?"
"Yes." The Egyptian couldn't hide the unmistakable growl in his voice.
His companion merely smiled irritatingly. "As I was saying…you do realise it's rude to snoop on other people?"
"I wasn't snooping."
"Then, pray tell, what were you doing?"
"I was exploring, and happened to chance upon their royal Highnesses."
Seto snorted. "Since when does 'exploring' entail spying on my family?"
Mahado scowled. "Weren't thee meant to be with that 'family' of thine?"
To the blonde's surprise, his companion blushed. "I…I left early. I felt…it wasn't…" He glanced rather helplessly at the figures of Bakura and Atemu on the balcony. "You saw them this morning. I was…"
"…Stuck in the middle?"
Blue eyes met blue-green, and understanding was shared. Then:
Seto's lip curled. "Don't be ridiculous."
This time it was Mahado's turn to snort, and his companion's to bristle.
The brunette scowled. "I'm leaving…and you better too." He turned on his heel, stalking away with a distinctly stormy air. Mahado rolled his eyes…but he left, heading off in a different direction.
Behind them, a servant hastily ran down the corridor towards the King, guards hurriedly trailing in his wake.
"Your Majesty! Your Majesty!"
Surprised, Atemu turned around from the balcony's railing, ruby eyes widening when he saw a man nearly tripping over himself to get to the King…and a large group of guards doing almost exactly the same behind him.
"What the-?"
"What is it?" King Edward spoke to the servant.
"Sire, it's-" (here the man drew in a great lungful of air) "-the Portuguese Ambassador, sire. He's-er-ill, and he's blaming you, your Majesty. He claims he will send for his Majesty's assistance in obliterating what he is now terming 'this medioacre scrap of a waste heap in the fine seas of the North'." The servant coughed, rubbing his hands together nervously. "He's a trifle upset, your Grace."
The King frowned. "This is the second time this week! Where is the fool?"
"The Hall, sire."
Edward sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I will be along presently." He turned to his two children. "Would you mind postponing this till tomorrow?"
"Not at all, your Majesty." Atemu shook his head, a slight smile touching his lips as he stared over the balcony's railings to the many flowers in the garden below. "It does not affect me."
Bakura too, shook his head. "No, father. Deal with the Ambassador."
The King nodded, smile tightly and hurried off, the guards and servant at his side.
It was the first time Atemu and Bakura had been left alone together.
Narrowed amber eyes fixed on the half-Egyptian. "I suppose you're proud of yourself?"
"What?" Startled, Atemu looked at the other.
Bakura repeated his question. "I suppose you're proud of yourself? You and you god-damned mother both near making me a bastard?"
"Don't insult my mother!" The new Prince flared up, suddenly angry. "You know nothing about her!"
"I know she was my father's whore! What kind of woman is that?! Dirty, disgusting – not fit for decent company! What kind of son would a whore like that produce?"
"My mother was not a whore!" Crimson eyes glared into amber, furious.
Amber glared just as furiously back. "How do you know? She died giving birth to her baby bastard…"
"I am not a bastard!"
Bakura's fists clenched. "No, but your slut of a mother bloody damn well tried to make me one!"
There was a tense, heavy silence. Both brothers were breathing raggedy, heat and hate radiating off their bodies.
Atemu's voice was softer when he spoke again, though his tone was still cool. "Bakura, I cannot help being born. My mother could not have helped our father leaving her and marrying your mother. Neither of us could have helped prevent the actions that led to where we stand today. If we cannot help it, we must simply accept it. We are half-brothers, you and I; my father is your father."
"No."
Darkened, rage-filled amber orbs were defiant, cold and cruel as sharp ice as their owner's head shook softly, snow-white locks falling to frame a demon's face that denied the elder Prince's words. "Atemu, I refuse to accept what I can change. My father…he is your father, as sick as it may make me. But you…you, Atemu…you are no brother of mine." And Bakura turned, not bothering with a goodbye, walking calmly away from the intrusion in his life.
"How was your tour?"
Atemu smiled slightly as he looked up at the form of Mahado leaning against his door. "Come in, and I'll tell you."
"Oooo, a bribe."
The Crown Prince's smile turned wicked. "Nahmen." (Assuredly.)
Mahado grinned, sauntering into the royal's chambers and over to his Prince's side. Crouching down beside the – seated – other, blue-green eyes met ruby seriously. "How was your first day?"
"You make it sound like training!" Atemu laughed, smiling fondly at his friend before gesturing to the space on his seat beside him. "…As weird as the English furniture is, old friend, the seats are still infinitely more comfortable than the floor."
His blonde companion snorted, but obliged his wishes. "Don't evade the question. How was your first day?"
His words sobered the wild-haired youth beside him. "It's not over yet. There is a feast tonight, in my honour; the whole court is invited. His Majesty informed me of it during his 'tour'."
Again, Mahado snorted, casually wrapping an arm around his friend's waist and pulling the slender teen into a loose hug. "Abet." (Family.) The Egyptian pulled back slightly, studying Atemu shrewdly. "Did your brother behave himself?"
Ruby eyes dulled, the prince averting his face from keen scrutiny. Atemu's voice echoed with hesitation and uncertainty. "…We spoke together."
"In your father's hearing?"
"…No, he had left to speak with a foreign ambassador. Prince Seto had left also."
"What did he say?"
The English heir was silent.
"Atemu! What did he say?"
"He refuses to acknowledge me as his brother." The words were toneless, lifeless and dead as they fled barely moving lips. A swallow, hands tightening on a cushion-
"Sa…khenmas…" Slender fingers, gently untwisting smaller hands and holding them tightly, "Atemu, somakh-ef. Iaret iaw-ef; wekha iaw-ef. Somakh-ef." (There…friend…Atemu, forget him. He is a snake; he is a fool. Forget him.)
"I-" Atemu drew in a short, sharp breath, "I am fine, Mahado; do not cluck over me." He drew back from the blonde's embrace, shaking his head slightly and setting his shoulders back with his usual vigour. "Why should I care if my half-brother wishes to deny what is in front of his face? I need have nothing to do with him."
"…And what of his Royal Highness, the Prince Seto?"
"He was perfectly courteous to me. I shall treat him the same."
"He seemed rather cavalier to me."
"I can do nothing about that for the present." The Crown Prince stood, brushing the creases out of his doublet with an idle hand. "I have yet to have a conversation with him longer than a few seconds. Now," he turned back to Mahado again, "would you mind very much helping me choose what I should wear tonight? I have deplorable taste when it comes to English fashion I am sure-"
"Not if half of the ladies of the court have anything to say about it."
Atemu shot his friend a mock-stern glare. "Will you still help me? It generally takes me a few hours to actually find something that's wearable never mind something that suits me."
A barely muffled snicker. "You cannot blame the English for being slightly…taller than you, old friend. Most Europeans are."
"No, but I can blame them for manufacturing outfits of a ridiculous length. I nearly tripped over that last stupid cloak."
"Personally, I almost wish you had of. It would have been interesting to see the nation's reaction if you turned up looking like a drowned rat…"
Atemu smacked him in the arm.
"There he goes, dressed in his pretty clothes, flanked by his idiotic guards." Bakura's voice was bitter. "Who does he think he is?"
The albino leant slightly around the inside of the landing balcony, his position allowing him to observe the throngs below going in for the evening feast and remain undetected, a pillar and an unusually large sprig of flowers and ribbons obscuring him from the crowd's view. His cousin stood beside him, blue eyes glowing in the semi-darkness, one hand irritably brushing away an undeterred sparay of leaves that insisted on smacking him in the head and, when he moved them, his face.
Seto's voice was quiet – though laced with a tad irritation due to the foliage's ministrations. "He is Prince Atemu, half Egyptian by his mother's side, your elder and half-brother, and the future King of fair England."
The younger prince scowled. "He is but a few months my elder."
"But your elder he is – though in appearance he seems much younger. As English Law stands, the Crown is rightfully his."
"He should have stayed in Egypt."
Eyes of the deepest lapis lazuli glanced at Bakura. "Such words could be thought treasonous."
Amber orbs darkened. "And that would not do – would it? I went to see my father today, but I was barred. Only the fair Atemu is allowed to enter his chambers. The precious, darling, half-Egyptian Crown Prince."
Seto's face was blank. "'Twould be best for you to keep silent on such matters, cousin. Atemu is to be King, so why should we make our own lives difficult by scorning him?"
A queer smile tugged on the corner's of Bakura's lips. "Ah, Seto. You always did know which side your bread was buttered on…"
"And it would be all the better for you if you learnt too."
Bakura smirked. "Don't worry your head over me, cousin. I shall be sure to be most welcoming to my dear new half-brother."
It was a large hall, brightly-lit and comfortable, and Eliza's careful decorating earlier was obvious by the copious swathing of roses dangling from beams in the ceiling, vines of creeping ivy and other such clinging plants twining around just-cleaned tapestries. The fire was lit, the floor freshly scrubbed, and the windows were letting in the delicious breeze from the English night outside.
Food was piled upon the table, the King sitting in state at its head; Bakura and Seto sitting close enough to the sovereign, yet far enough away for their conversation to not offend the greater Highness. The rest of the table was packed with the eagerly chattering members of the King's court.
"The Crown Prince!"
The call sounded through the chamber, and with practised grace many of the courtiers rose to their feet, excluding the King, Bakura and Seto. After a moment's pause, Seto stood also, casting a glance at Bakura, who sat, stubbornly, by his side.
"You should rise."
Slowly, his fists clenching at his side, the albino rose, his amber eyes flashing ire.
The doors to the Hall had been opened, and, flushing slightly under the scrutiny of so many Atemu entered, his friend Mahado firmly entrenched at his side. Both had changed for the evening – as was appropriate -, and many present were once again surprised at the Crown Prince's appearance.
Atemu's black attire of earlier had been discarded, Mahado claiming the colour the English's tone for mourning, instead changing his friend's shade to the one from their native country – pure, snowy white. Gold roses had been embroidered into the glowing material, and the blood red of the sleeves and shorts that accompanied the fine doublet heightened the exotic hue of the boy's hair and eyes. Mahado too had changed, and his clothes were a startling aquamarine, seemingly the same shade as the blonde's eyes for the evening.
Side by side, they were rather a startling pair.
The Prince and his escort seated themselves, and the rest of the court followed, reluctantly returning to their earlier conversations or, in the case of some, happily starting fresh ones with the intent of discussing the new arrivals.
There was a mountain of food for the feast. Frumenty with venison; salted hart; roast egret, swan and crane; lamprey; pike; heron; carp; kid; perch; rabbit; mutton pasties and baked quinces…and that was only the first course! Just as many appeared for the second, among them crayfish; prawns; oysters; conger eels; plover; redshanks; snipe; larks baked in a pie; boiled custard and marchpane.
There was music, there was dancing, and all were merry – save one.
Anyone with half an eye could see Crown Prince Atemu was miserable; from the way he picked at his food to the way he sat, hopeless and dispirited.
The court just couldn't understand it. Why was the boy sad? Men would kill to be in his position! Didn't the lad realise he had been rescued fro Egypt and brought to this wonderful country? Whatever was wrong with him?
Bakura sipped his wine, his amber eyes fixed solely on his new half-brother. Seto, who sat beside the albino, was following his example.
"He looks thoroughly miserable."
"He does, doesn't he?" Bakura finished his cup, calling for a refill. "Your point?"
"Don't be heartless." His cousin picked up a piece of marchpane, eating it in an idle bite. "Don't you care that he's upset?"
"No, should I?"
Seto frowned, not really listening. "Even his friend can't cheer him up."
It was true. Mahado sat at the Crown Prince's side, coaxing the teen to eat. Barely a few scraps had passed the half-Egyptian's lips all evening, however much his old friend pleaded. Atemu's face was strained, and he looked as if he'd rather be anywhere else in the world than where he actually was.
"Hmm…" A shrewd smile wormed its way onto Bakura's features. "I do believe my dear half-brother's homesick."
"Homesick?"
"He misses Egypt." Bakura laughed softly. "Oh, I can't wait to see his face when they bring out the dessert."
He didn't have to wait long.
Barely a few seconds later the trumpeters announced dessert, which was carried out on the shoulders of four men. It was a giant sphinx – a tribute to the other half of Atemu's line -, nearly three feet tall and made entirely of sugar, covered with almond paste.
Atemu's face went palest white – a rare sight with his golden tan – and his goblet hit the ground with a loud clatter, spilling wine everywhere. There was a tremendous screech as the Crown Prince pushed his chair back sharply and ran out of the Hall, his crimson eyes blurring with tears, muttering a quick "Forgive me" to the stunned King Edward. A few seconds of shocked silence followed then Mahado jumped to his feet also, racing after his royal charge.
Nobody spoke till the echoes of his footfalls had long since faded.
Someone let out a strangled, uneasy laugh, hastily smothered with wine. It was a signal for the chatter to begin.
Bakura smirked. "Well…that was interesting."
Atemu sobbed into Mahado's shoulder. Sad, the Prince's friend could do little but try to comfort him in his grief, for there was nothing he could do to truly cure the lad's heartache.
"Mahado, let me go back home; please, let me go home! I hate it here – I hate it -; please let me go home!" Ruby eyes were pleading as they looked at the older Egyptian. "I-I'll sneak onto a ship, I'll do anything! Just please, please Mahado, let me go back home to Egypt!"
"Oh, Atemu…" Mahado's voice was full of pity. "England is your home now."
"It's not! It's not!" The Crown Prince was defiant. "How can this be home? I – I hate it, how can I hate somewhere that is truly home?"
"Hate it or not, this is our home. Egypt is barred to you – and I also, for I refuse to leave you alone in this strange land."
"Thankyou." Atemu brushed away some of his tears, his voice husky. "Mahado, I can never thank you enough for what you have done. You gave up everything to come with me…"
The courtier smiled, brushing a blonde bang off his charge's face. "…and I would not easily leave you now. Do you think me so heartless? Khenmas…this is a strange land true, but it is also a land full of new thoughts and potential. This…this England…it will be at the heart of something so much greater than itself, you can see it in the way these people hold themselves, the way they dress. Their trade…their Navy…their pride, you have the very same blood that is in their veins running through yours. Egypt was wonderful Atemu, and I will sorely miss it; I will never deny that. Yet too, what I also cannot deny is that I wish to be here right now…this is where everything is happening! This is where the world is created, this Europe, with these…Europeans. They're strange, and odd, and probably as vain and conceited as they can possibly get, but they definetely know how to make things happen."
Slowly, hesitantly, a small smile edged its way onto the crown Prince's face. "…You should be a merchant, old friend. You could charm the hind leg of a donkey…"
"I would willingly do anything Atemu, if only it would make you happy."
"You make me happy by being here…" The Prince laid his head on the other's shoulder, burying himself in the other's embrace.
Mahado smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the smaller youth's forehead. "Then I am happy also."
They sat together for a little while longer the two, no words passing between friends who had known each other since childhood. Eventually though they had to admit defeat, propriety calling them away once more, both returning to the celebratory feast.
Nobody could tell the Crown Prince had been crying.
'A friend should bear his friend's infirmities.' – Julius Caesar, IV, ii
Atemu found out later that it had been Bakura's idea for the after-dinner bear-baiting.
The Crown prince found himself seated around the bear ring, Bakura on his left, his father on his right. Mahado and Seto were out of sight, and he was alone.
The bear was led in.
He was enormous, a great beast by the name of Roland, completely blind. The royal bearward let loose a pack of dogs, and Roland struck out sightlessly, managing to kill two mastiffs with a single swipe of his powerful paw. Several more dogs were released into the ring, and soon bear and dogs were bloody and dazed.
Roland staggered around the ring, his fur matted with blood, stumbling over dead and dying dogs. The noise of howling dogs, roaring bear and cheering spectators was deafening, the stench of blood enough to make you sick even without the gruesome sights.
The bearward looked up at King Edward, waiting for a signal.
The sovereign smiled, turning to Atemu. "What shall it be, my son? Is it life or death for poor old Roland? You must say!"
Atemu felt sick, dazed from the gory sights. What country is this, that they pit animals against ach other for sport? He couldn't have the bear killed, it had suffered enough.
"Father, I-"
Out of the corner of his eye, the crown Prince saw Bakura smirk.
Ra…he knows what I was going to say! And…ruby eyes quickly scanned the crowd, their bloody faces gleaming with bloodlust, and he knows it will upset the crowd…He has set me up!
Atemu swallowed, suddenly declaring, "I say let him be killed!" It was what the crowd wanted to hear and an almighty cheer went up – but not from Bakura.
"Well said!" King Edward beamed, signing to the bearward. One last dog was sent in to lunge at the wounded bear's throat.
The huge animal fell and expired, taking with it any remaining hopes of Atemu's friendship with his half-brother. Bakura shot the Crown Prince a look of pure loathing, a low hiss escaping his lips.
"You think because you killed a bear the English will love you? Think again! England is a difficult country to impress – no matter how pretty your eyes are."
There were exactly twenty beams in his ceiling, Seto noted, with exactly four painted panels between each piece of wood and its neighbour. And that panel there, with the image of the crown in the thorn bush, was the oldest panel in the room.
But…why did he care again?
Oh. ThatOr rather that. There was a lot of that. Quite distracting really. Pretty much summed up everything his life was at the moment. Wait a minute…life? It seemed more like living hell at the present.
The brown-haired prince rolled over onto his side, staring broodingly at the velvet drapes that ensconced his four-poster bed.
There was a pretty new prince in the country, and he'd brought a friend with him to bonny ol' England. To be blunt, Bakura loathed him. And he'd been blatantly obvious about it. How could the King have missed it? Had he missed it? It was hard to tell with His Majesty… Then there was the question asked of him a few months ago. Would he marry Princess Kisara of France? It would be an alliance between the two constantly warring countries, though the marriage was no true way of securing peace. Many, many years of treaties and pacts had made little difference.
Another roll in his bed, blue gaze directed at the ceiling once more. Could he really afford to say no? King Edward had sworn the decision was his, he would not meddle in Seto's business, but surely to refuse King Francis' offer would be disastrous to political affairs? It was bad enough as of late; Spain was still fuming over the constant battering their ships received at the hands of the English's' – not that the English Crown could ever be directly linked with the plundering of the Spanish silver route but still…
And Spain and France were both Catholic. Catholic countries, ruled by Catholic Kings. Oh yes…just watch Seto – the nephew of the Protestant King of England – turn down the Catholic King of France's offer of matrimony to his youngest daughter. Wouldn't that be fun?
'Yes sir, no sir, oops I accidentally started a war sir. With France? Oh, that's nothing new.'
What about betrothal? He could propose a betrothal – it was customary after all. He could ask for a longer engagement, claim it was a test to see if he was worthy enough of the princess' hand. There. Would that work? It was flattering to France, and it offered him a chance to escape from the marriage if he really decided he couldn't go through with it.
But…why shouldn't he wish to go through with it? He didn't know, only that every time he thought of marrying Kisara his stomach twisted uncomfortably and he felt like he was going to be sick. And he felt so dreadfully, dreadfully cold. It didn't honestly bear to think about. Not now, not yet, it was too soon. Rather dwell on the intriguing Crown Prince Atemu, with his strange, exotic looks, and his friend, the Egyptian Master Mahado who looked European. Because Atemu, unlike Kisara, wasn't likely to start a war – was he?
Shadow: As per the new policy, I can't reply to reviews in my chapters (though I've yet to actually find where it says that…) Still, I'll answer most signed reviews, and/or burning questions/problems/general rants in the pieces before and after the update. Like I'm doing now. -
The genre of this story is wavering at the moment between (and quote) general adventureness and shonen-ai romance…Even if there was shonen-ai this fic isn't 'focused' on the romance…if people understand that? There's a story, the shonen-ai would just…be part of it. …But I'm not sure. (Hence the wavering.) Is anyone out there strongly opposed to shonen-ai? I don't know…
…
I've heard of the PS2 game, Duelists of the Roses. This fic isn't based in any way off it, but mentions of the War of the Roses (the real 'war' the game is based off) appear every so often, as that leads to a lot of discussions about Atemu's heritage, and the English Crown in general. The 'Tudor Rose' (my title!) is symbolic of many things, which will be revealed throughout the course of this story.
Hugs to Darkrose Dragonkin, JewelValentine, Skittles the Sugar Fairy, Kayono, Heavenly Days, MyAgent'llSendYouAGiftBasket, Hedwig the MillenniumOwl, Nefertiri Riddle, Hikari Daeron, Aritoki-ato-Chitose and Isis the Sphinx. You were my first reviewers for this fic! (hugs)
