Rishid watched the mysterious Egyptian woman as she bent over Marik again, whispering soothing words and brushing his bangs back from the closed eyes. Her silky black hair cascaded freely over her shoulders and touched upon Marik's as she laid her ear against the boy's chest to listen for the heartbeat. Before long Ishizu straightened up again, smiling softly as she reported that Marik's heart was thumping at a normal speed. She sat on the edge of the bed, taking the youth's hand and holding it close.
Since Rishid had been so distrusting of Colchis, he hadn't thought it would be good for Ishizu to wander outside of his quarters. Therefore, he had made his messenger boy bring all of the woman's belongings from the far wing once the doctor had arrived. (The doctor then had found that Ishizu was doing the best job helping to heal Marik and therefore she should stay while he departed.) Now Ishizu had chosen her favorite garment to wear-a lovely, modest, off-white dress with a wide brass belt and a short cape in back. A bit of jewelry adorned her arms and also her ankles, and several chains hung from the belt. The clothing and accessories were obviously not from this kingdom. Rishid gathered, correctly, that they were from Ishizu's and Marik's homeland. And his as well, if he could only remember.
"Do you remember that boy?" he asked finally, watching as Ishizu fingered one of the gold earrings Marik always wore. "You act as though you do."
Ishizu looked up at him carefully. "Don't you remember him?" she returned smoothly.
Rishid stared at her. What sort of odd question was that? Why would she think he would remember Marik? As far as he knew, he had given no hints that Marik insisted they were brothers. "I am the king of this land," he said coldly, standing up and crossing to the window. "I see no reason why I would have ever known this boy before he was dragged into my throne room, battered and bleeding."
Ishizu gave a half-smile. "Colchis said I am delusional and that I believe I have visions," she replied. "But I know I have them. Marik insisted that you were his adopted brother when he wound up in your throne room." She had only had that vision very recently, during the time when she had been changing into the dress that she wore now. She had witnessed the entire scene: Marik's pleading, Rishid's anger and near-violence toward him, the guards' actual violence toward him, and Rishid's breaking the spear and having Marik taken to his private quarters. And this woman was very willing to believe it all, but not because of gullibility-instead because it just felt right to her. In her heart, she knew it was true-what Marik claimed.
And that meant that she was the sister to both of them. Suddenly she belonged somewhere. She wasn't just a palace priestess needed only for her psychic abilities and who could be easily discarded if another was found who could do the same. Now she had two precious brothers to love and treasure. And though at least one of them didn't remember her very well, nor she him, Ishizu believed that they had all been a happy family at one time. It was not a coincidence that they had all met up again after whatever separations they had gone through. The Supreme Being wanted them to be reunited.
Ishizu became acutely aware of the piercing gaze Rishid was giving her. But she simply smiled. She was testing him now, trying to see what he made of all this. Rishid had had doubts about the truthfulness of Marik's story, and he still may, but for some reason another part of him believed that Marik actually was his brother. Ishizu wanted to see how much he believed it.
"This is true," Rishid said then, "but it is common knowledge across the palace." Again he faced the window, staring at the twinkling lights of the vast world outside.
Ishizu gave a slow nod. "Is it also common knowledge about the tattoos you both have?" she said, picking her words carefully. She was certain speaking of this would make Rishid listen. Ishizu hadn't been allowed to know (or "re-know") everything about the marks that both Rishid and Marik had, but what she had been allowed to know was that the tattoos were part of the special bond the two brothers shared.
And Rishid did turn and fix her with a stare, touching the carvings in his face. "Enough of this," he growled. "If you have visions, tell me about Fafnir." He had never forgotten how Marik had said that Fafnir was the one behind the Red Zealot scheme and the entire disruption of the kingdom. And Rishid supposed that if he was going to believe that he and Marik were brothers-with possibly Ishizu as the sister-he also needed to believe what Marik had said about Fafnir. At least he needed to consider it, no matter how treasonous it sounded.
"Fafnir?" Ishizu looked completely disinterested in the subject as she recited what Colchis had told her. "Those around the kingdom sing his praises. He was the one who delivered the villages from the last catastrophe and put things in order." But there was something that seemed . . . fake about him. At least in Ishizu's eyes. From pictures and statues she had seen of Fafnir around the palace, he reminded her more than anything of Colchis. They seemed to be the same kind of men-outwardly charming when they wanted to be, but inwardly devious and deceiving.
"You don't care for him," Rishid observed, coming over and sitting on the other side of the bed. Perhaps he imagined it, but Marik seemed to relax more now that both siblings were beside him.
Ishizu chose her words carefully. "I do not trust him," she said at last. Saying this was actually quite a risk on her part, as saying anything against Fafnir in this kingdom was as bad as cursing the king. But she trusted Rishid.
Rishid made an unintelligible grunt. "Why don't you?" he pressed, his gaze drifting down to the boy between them. Marik shivered vaguely and pulled up the quilt around himself.
"There are several reasons," Ishizu replied. When Rishid continued to want to know, she finally told of how Fafnir reminded her of Colchis. They had the same nasty spark in their eyes and the same thin smile. In fact, she thought, they could almost be brothers. She didn't say that part aloud, though. But she did tell Rishid that she had, indeed, had a vision or two concerning Fafnir-and they hadn't been pleasant. Rishid kept his feelings from her well, and she couldn't decipher whether he believed her or not. But he hadn't said she was guilty of treason, so she supposed that was something.
"What about you?" she asked after a stretch of silence.
Rishid gave her a sideways glance. "I only know what I've been told about Fafnir," he said, determining what she was asking about. "And I never actually stopped to look at any of the statues or paintings of him." The fact was, he hadn't been interested in doing so. With so many things pressing on his mind, how could he possibly have time to stop and look at art, even of the most renowned man in the kingdom?
Ishizu just smiled. "But do you believe what you've been told?" she wanted to know. Carefully she leaned over and adjusted a bandage around Marik's arm.
"I never know what to believe," Rishid retorted. "Not anymore."
"But you believe Marik." Ishizu now looked up into those golden eyes again, her cerulean orbs piercing into his soul.
Rishid met her gaze firmly before breaking it and again looking at the youth who was either still asleep or unconscious. "Yes," he admitted, "I believe Marik. He has an honest soul."
Ishizu took the cloth and the bowl of water by the bed and again rubbed the soft material over Marik's flesh. She was rewarded when his eyes fluttered open and gazed up at her in disbelief. But she was surprised by the hue. Such a deep lavender, just as she'd seen from her vision. Or remembered from elsewhere. . . .
"Hello," she said softly, not able to help smiling at him.
Marik blinked once, then twice. Was it . . . was his sister here! He knew he'd thought he had heard her voice, but he had been certain it had only been in his dream. But no! Here she was, sitting beside him in all her glory! Ishizu was an earth-bound angel to Marik. Her patience was endless and her kindness and love surpassing that of any woman he knew. Marik wanted to speak to her. He wanted to ask her if she remembered him and to hug her tightly. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't seem to speak at first. So instead he reached his arms out, tears glistening in his eyes, and prayed that Ishizu would embrace him.
And she did. While Rishid looked on, Ishizu leaned down and held Marik close to her. The woman smiled when Marik struggled to fold his arms around her waist, desperately wanting to hug his sister, whom he hadn't seen for so very long.
"Marik," Ishizu said softly, the far-off look coming into her eyes again. "My Marik, the younger brother I love. . . ." Her fingers found the tattoo scars on his bare back and she inwardly winced at the thought of such cruelty being unleashed upon one so undeserving of it.
Marik gazed up at her. "Do you . . . remember me, sister?" he managed to ask in a rasping tone, his eyes bright and hopeful.
Ishizu hated to dash that hope. She exchanged a quick look with Rishid, her stomach churning, before she finally decided to kiss Marik's forehead and whisper, "My heart does," as she held him closer.
Marik seemed to accept this answer and settled into her embrace. He looked over at Rishid, wondering what was going through his elder brother's mind. He himself had been enduring many painful and frustrating dreams once again and he was grateful to be conscious now. With everything that was going on, sleep had become a burden. He wanted to stay awake and resolve the calamities that were going on, not revisit falling off the back of a dragon when the creature was attacked by one of Fafnir's own dragons.
Rishid met the youth's gaze, his eyes showing no emotion at first but then softening. "I'm glad you are back among the living," the stern man said with a gentle chuckle. His life had changed so much in just twenty-four hours! Never would he have imagined such a life for himself. He had assumed that he would be living out the rest of his life serving as the ruler of Juno. Now he suddenly had a family to care for. And, while ruling Juno seemed uncomfortable and out of place, being here with these two was natural and calming.
Marik smiled softly. Things may not be exactly as he wished, but he had found both of his siblings, and he could see that they were both willing to trust him. And that was enough to make him content for now.
The next few hours passed by with some semblance of peace. Marik rested while Ishizu and Rishid talked to each other and to him, and every now and then the boy supplied comments of his own when the topic turned to what was going on in Juno.
"I know Fafnir is involved," the boy said grimly, leaning into the soft pillows of the bed. He didn't feel dizzy nor as weak as he had before. The herbs Ishizu had given him, as well as just having her and Rishid there beside him, had given him strength. Carefully he changed his position, trying to see if his wounds were being any more lenient about letting him. He smiled weakly to himself when he succeeded in shifting more onto his left side and then winced upon jarring his injured leg. "Ow." He hissed in pain, irritation spreading across his features.
"Don't move around so much," Rishid growled. "Even if Fafnir is involved, there isn't much you can do about it right now."
Marik glowered at the floor, knowing Rishid was right.
"Why do you believe he is part of this, Marik?" Ishizu asked quietly. Her cerulean eyes gazed into Marik's soft lavender orbs when he looked up once more. She could see that Marik believed this with all his heart, and she wanted to know if he had proof.
Marik's eyes hardened. "Because his minions were the ones who detained me," he replied, remembering of the first one he had encountered. Also what came to mind was the memory of when he had actually met Fafnir himself, and he decided to tell that story first, as it was very important in this mess. "The people here are blind. When I first arrived in the land . . ." The boy paused, clenching his fists. "I saw Fafnir riding through Moghur in a carriage. He purposely tried to have me run down and then called me something that I won't even repeat." The boy's weak form shook with obvious anger and it was all he could do to keep his temper in check. Marik had a notorious way of exploding with a sometimes almost uncontrollable rage, but usually his reasons were understandable. The racial slur Fafnir had uttered only to Marik's ears after forcing the boy to stand and face him still burned in the youth's heart, but he forced himself to continue his tale. "Then he sneered in the same way someone does when he is close to obtaining an unrighteous goal and told me to get out of his sight . . . and that he would be seeing me again soon enough anyway." And the people, of course, were certain that Fafnir was always right in whatever he did. They may not have heard his words to Marik, but they had all seen him try to run the boy over. And all of them seemed to just completely ignore it.
"This is pointless," Rishid growled in interruption. "I see nothing that indicates that his slaves were the ones who came after you." He had gleaned of Marik's impulsive behavior and was inclined to believe that the boy was making judgements rashly without actually stopping to consider how they sounded.
"Listen to me, Rishid!" Marik pleaded in reply, his voice coming out louder than he would have liked. The strain of it all was baring down on him greatly and he didn't know how much longer he could take it. Perhaps he was fooling himself. The old Rishid, the true Rishid, would have listened patiently to Marik, knowing that the boy wouldn't say anything with a reason, and a good one at that. But this new Rishid was so foreign to him. Only rarely did he ever show signs of being at all like the one Marik proudly called his brother.
But then Marik swallowed hard, concentrating on the fact that Rishid was here, no matter his current personality, and that there was still a chance Marik could help him remember the full truth of what once was. He clung to this thought as he pushed Rishid's hurtful words back in his mind, only to immediately deal with more.
Rishid narrowed his eyes. "I have been listening," he retorted, "and so far I have heard nothing other than an anger built upon curses and foul oaths against you."
Marik gripped at the bedspread, struggling for control of his emotions, and then blinked in surprise when Ishizu laid her soft hand over his. She squeezed gently, telling him to go on. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, Marik resolved to do so.
"Fafnir did let me go," he said aloud as he appeared to ignore what Rishid had said, "and my quest continued. The first adversary I encountered was a ninja dressed in the darkest of clothing. On his mask he bore the same emblem I had seen around Fafnir's neck when he had yanked me to my feet."
Marik crossed his arms over his bare chest, only now remembering that he had never gotten his shirt on. But at this point he could care less. He was just with his siblings anyway. And he really didn't care if they saw him without a shirt. It wasn't the first time.
"I drew the Rod and demanded to know if he was working for Fafnir, which, I was certain, was the case. He merely laughed, neither agreeing to or denying anything." Marik had forgotten for the moment that Rishid and Ishizu wouldn't know what the Rod was, and that was, he feared later, a near-fatal error. Of course Rishid would have asked about it at some point anyway, though, so Marik had only speeded up the inevitable.
"That is another thing," Rishid said, interrupting once more. "What does this rod actually do?" He raised the Millennium Rod up from where he had been keeping it in the nightstand drawer, turning it over and over. Somehow, he remembered it. It had significance. But he didn't know why. And he couldn't imagine why Marik had been carrying it around. It was certainly the strangest sort of weapon he had ever laid eyes on.
Marik lowered his gaze, feeling a lump rising in his throat. He had prayed Rishid would not ask about the Rod. What he feared more than his brother not remembering anything was him recalling only some of the past-the worst parts. Rishid would then either want him executed or be terrified of him, the youth was certain, and he let his bangs conceal his eyes while he tried to hold back the tears of self-hatred that were starting to be made manifest. "It's my weapon," he choked out at last.
Rishid wasn't satisfied with this and continued to look it over, soon finding the dagger and unsheathing it. The blade gleamed in the light and Rishid felt an urgency to cover it over again, which he did. Why did he feel as though this blade had nearly pierced his heart, though perhaps not by this boy's hands?
Ishizu kept a comforting hand on Marik's shoulder. Though she didn't know exactly why this rod had the boy so distraught, she knew that it must be for a good reason. "Leave it be for now," she said calmly to Rishid. "The Rod is not of importance right now. We must concentrate on Fafnir."
Rishid was only too happy to set it aside. There was such a sense of insecurity he got from just looking at it. Anger suddenly rose within him that Marik would be carrying such a thing. "Why!" he snarled, moving forward to glare at the teenager. As before, he seemed ignorant of the fact that Marik's heart was about to break. "Why is it your weapon? Why do you have such a foul thing in your possession!" For he knew it was foul. There was no doubt in his mind.
Marik couldn't stand it. Shaking all over, he met Rishid's gaze and suddenly didn't care if the tears were visible. "I didn't want it!" he screamed. "I didn't want the blasted thing! I don't want it now!" Immediately he rose from the bed, grabbing up the Rod and pitching it violently across the room, where it landed with a harsh thunk against the wall. Overcome by his feelings, Marik slowly sunk to his knees, cursing the day the Rod had entered their family and became destined to be his. He hated the Rod. He hated it with every fiber of his being. And yet he had to remain its holder. Though he had given it to Yugi at the close of Battle City so long ago, Shadi had returned it to him later, and the Tauk to Ishizu. They were the ones destined to hold those items once again, despite the fact that Yugi had held them for a season.
Rishid gazed at the tormented youth, so many different feelings swirling within him. A flash of memory had occurred to him at that moment-one of him standing atop a strange platform, protesting the usage of something called an Egyptian God Card. And below him, communicating mentally and insisting that he do as he was told, was Marik. The images were so brief Rishid was almost inclined to think that none of them were true . . . but something else told him they were. If it had happened, though . . . if Marik had been forcing him to do something against his will, why would he feel such a need to protect the boy now and to trust him! It didn't make sense to him. Nothing made sense to him. Was Marik faking it all? No! He couldn't be! He seemed so sincere . . . and he had come all this way just for Rishid and Ishizu. . . . The boy was half-dead because of it. Was that agony what one who was only trying to deceive would allow to happen? Rishid pushed back the doubts. He felt that if Marik was lying to him now, that he would never be able to trust another soul.
Ishizu knelt next to Marik, whispering comfort to his tormented mind. When she looked up at Rishid, a bit angry at his outburst, she was taken aback by the look in his eyes. The man looked so completely confused and saddened. He didn't look as though he had been trying to make Marik feel terrible . . . he looked as though he was feeling terrible himself. Something had just happened in his mind.
"Get the boy into bed," Rishid growled suddenly, turning away as he strode toward the balcony. He needed time to think. Now his emotions were racing rampantly. There were so many things he could believe if he chose. But he had just been warming to the idea of Marik being his brother when this had entered his mind. Everytime he was about to decide who he was, something else came up to make him rethink it all!
Ishizu didn't question his order. Marik shouldn't be up. So she gently placed one hand around the youth's waist and the other under his arm, lifting him carefully while Marik tried to steady himself. She could feel the boy shaking in her grasp. He was upset. So very highly upset and distraught.
"Rishid," Marik whispered, allowing Ishizu to help him stand. He knew Rishid had remembered something horrible. He had seen it in his brother's eyes. His worst fears were being realized and brought to pass. Rishid would despise him. If that happened, he wouldn't even try to remember the entire truth and he likely never would. Then Marik's brother would be lost to him forever.
But no . . . he had to have the faith that Rishid would be stronger than that. Marik had to believe that Rishid's heart would never let his mind think such things. It was so hard . . . so very hard. . . . And as Marik gritted his teeth, trying desperately to hold back the oncoming flow of tears, he wondered if this entire experience was supposed to be a test of strength for them all. A test of their devotion. Would it withstand anything? Could they as a family withstand anything? How could they be a family when they were so divided?
"Rishid, wait!" Marik cried, finding his voice again and running forward to his brother. "RISHID!" Desperately he grabbed the man's robe and Rishid was forced to stop and turn. His eyes were frightfully cold once more, as they had been when Marik had found himself on the throne room floor. Marik couldn't even stand to look into them. He had prayed so fervently that Rishid would never look at him like that again. Things had just been starting to get better between them, and now this?
"Unhand me," Rishid said frigidly. "Treacherous boy!" In his golden eyes could be seen the memories churned up anew from Battle City. Rishid had remembered more of the argument over the Egyptian God Card, whatever that was. Marik's cruel words burned in his ears. He couldn't forget them now. He could never forget. Why had he fallen prey to the trap that he could trust him?
"No," Marik choked out. "Rishid, no. . . . The past is over and done with!" he cried, his grip on the fabric only tightening. If he could go back and rewrite Battle City, oh! he would in an instant! But he could not. Battle City had come to pass, with all of its treacheries and abominations. Marik couldn't pretend it hadn't happened. But . . . how could Rishid believe that what had existed then was still true now? Why couldn't he see that Marik was sincere!
Marik had remembered how much Rishid meant to him during that horrible duel on Seto Kaiba's blimp. When the man had been struck by lightning, something had happened within Marik's soul. He had known then what he was doing. He had realized how he had been treating the ones he loved. And all during the ensuing struggle with his Yami, who had been trying to emerge, Marik had begged, he had pleaded, and he had prayed that the lightning would be taken back and strike him down instead of poor, undeserving Rishid. But it had not, and Rishid had remained there, laying so still. . . . Marik had been afraid at first that his brother had died. It was so agonizing, those moments before he was able to see Rishid stir. . . .
Tears slipped down his cheeks anew. How Rishid must have emotionally ached throughout that whole time of Battle City! And now he himself was suffering the same pain as Rishid treated him like a stranger. Perhaps, he thought bitterly, it is justice being done. But no-Kasumi had told him that wasn't how it worked. Even so, that didn't stop Marik from fearing it was every now and then.
Rishid stared at the boy coldly. He recalled none of this. He recalled none of what was going over and over in Marik's mind now. All he recalled was being treated thoughtlessly. Screamed at. Ordered to do what was commanded of him. And . . . and. . . .
Lightning flashing outside caught his attention and the man turned his eyes to it, transfixed as it struck someplace in the distance. The lightning . . . so painful. . . . He remembered lightning. . . . He remembered being struck. . . . The searing pain. . . . No . . . he couldn't bear the memories! And this boy was responsible for it! He was responsible for it all!
Suddenly Rishid was fearful, enraged, and sad all at once. He thrust the boy from him, causing Marik to fall back onto the large bed. "Get away from me!" he roared, his earrings jangling faintly as he moved. "Just stay back!" His mind was tortured. He realized later that he wasn't thinking straight. But now he was afraid of this boy and his Rod. Time seemed to pass away as Marik had gripped the cloth, and in his eyes Rishid had seen the cold, cruel Battle City Marik instead. And all he wanted was to distance himself as far as possible.
For what seemed an eternity, no one dared to move. Rishid remained near the balcony doors, fury and anger sweeping over him. Marik lay on the bed, his eyes wild and stunned. Ishizu stood to the side, watching the entire transaction and looking back and forth between her two brothers. Her heart raced as she tried to decide what to do. She had not been allowed to see what had happened in the past that had made Rishid so angry suddenly, but her eyes narrowed when she saw Marik just laying there, watching him, tears silently coursing down his face. His heart was breaking. Whatever had happened before, Ishizu felt that he had repented for it with every fiber of his being. He didn't deserve the treatment he was receiving now! But then, neither did Rishid deserve to have all of these memories piled upon him when he was so confused. Ishizu's heart broke for them both.
"You should listen to what he has to say!" the woman said then, stepping forward and beseeching of Rishid. "You owe that to him, at least! He has only been good to you now!" Her voice was soft and not condemning. She didn't wish to condemn either Rishid or Marik. "He does love you, Rishid."
"I owe him nothing!" Rishid retorted, changing his mind about where he was going. He wanted to get away from them both as fast as he could. And so he walked brusquely to the door leading into the wide hallways, yanking it open. He couldn't stay here. He had to go elsewhere to puzzle this all out. Perhaps then he would be able to calm down and see things from all angles.
But then he remembered his feelings from only moments before. He had thought he had found a family to treasure, people who cared about him. And Marik's tortured words echoed around him: "The past is over and done with!"
Over and done with. It was a nice thought. He wanted to believe that Marik truly wasn't the way he had seen in his memories. He wanted to know that Marik would never hurt him. The boy certainly didn't seem to be any other way. And again Rishid thought of Marik in the throne room, so terribly injured and ill. Blood had fairly poured from some of his wounds. That was not the body of one who cared nothing for his brother. The heartwrenching words and tears were not those of one who was selfish and cold. All of this kept Rishid from leaving the room, as he has intended to do. He had realized that something within him made him not want to leave at all. His heart.
And Marik made one last, desperate plea to get him to stay. Carefully he rose up, leaning forward on shaking arms, and made no move to go after him. He knew that would only make Rishid angrier at this point. The philosophy "If you love something, let it go," echoed through his mind. He would say his piece and then let Rishid leave if he chose. And maybe . . . he would come back. If part of him still remembered the full truth.
Marik gazed at the man sadly and began to slowly speak from his heart. "I love my brother," he said quietly, his voice cracking. "I always have, though I sometimes may have forgotten how much." He swallowed, moving his tongue over his lips before continuing. "I don't deny that treachery happened, Rishid. I don't deny that I was a terrible person. But . . . you don't remember everything. I never meant for you to be hurt. I . . . I never thought it would happen. When . . . when it did, I . . ." Marik shook his head. This was so painful to talk about. "I wanted to die myself!" he finally just screamed out. Sobs racked his body. "I just wanted to die!"
Marik closed his eyes tightly, struggling to get himself under control. At last he opened them again, and they were shining and bright with the knowledge of the rest of the story. "But . . . I didn't die. And neither did you, Rishid. You forgave me. You knew I hadn't wanted anything to happen to you. Your and Ishizu's love brought me back to the light. We've been close . . . always so close throughout all the painful years. . . . And . . . I would rather die a thousand deaths than see you be hurt anymore." Rishid was looking at him intently. Marik couldn't tell whether the man believed him or not. But if he didn't . . . Marik knew sadly that there wasn't anything he could do about it. He was putting his entire heart and soul into this, and if Rishid couldn't see that, then he didn't know what to do to regain the brother he treasured. "I love you, Rishid!" he wailed then, sounding and feeling more than a lost six-year-old than a teenager. "I love you . . . so much. . . ." Then his voice gave out on him and he could say no more. Breathlessly he waited for a response, looking at Rishid with eyes of pleading. Rishid couldn't turn him away . . . he wouldn't turn him away!
Nigh unto five minutes passed in which no one said a word. And again no one moved from their positions. At last, completely disheartened, Marik lowered his gaze, studying the quilt he was sitting upon. Rishid didn't believe him. It had been too much to hope for.
Before he even realized what was happening, strong arms were wrapping around his frail form. He felt himself being pulled close to a rich, wine-colored material. And then tears were splashing into his hair. Rishid! It was Rishid! Marik didn't have to look up to know it was he. Again hope poured into his bosom. His brother wasn't going to desert him, not even after remembering part of Battle City and nothing else! Rishid was going to stay!
Rishid rocked back and forth slowly, refusing to let go of Marik. "I am so sorry," he whispered. "I am treacherous myself. So treacherous. . . . I have no right to behave this way. There is no reason you should continue to care for me." He didn't understand why he was having such drastic mood swings. He didn't understand any of this. But he was hating himself for what he had been doing. People could change, and it seemed obvious that Marik had. It wasn't fair to hurt him for the past. Rishid could see from the boy's eyes that it was truly just the past.
Instantly Marik looked up, an earnest light now in his lavender eyes. "But there is a reason, Rishid! Of course there is!" His voice lowered. "You're my brother. Nothing can change that. Not Battle City, not Juno, and not this blasted amnesia. You're not yourself right now, Rishid." Marik didn't know how, but the right words came to him and they flowed from his lips. "You once told me that . . . that my Battle City self was not the true me. You knew that because you could see that I was trapped inside myself. And the same is true of you right now, my brother. I forgive you of all this."
And Rishid held him closer, vowing that never again would he doubt the youth. His heart was full. Marik's love was undying, no matter what happened. All Rishid could manage to get out was, "My brother. My precious, dear brother. I love you." And it was true.