*~*~*~*~*~*
The mood in Bakura's main room wasn't the most pleasant in Egypt. Sadness; anger; injustice and raw hatred all permeated the area, filling every nook and cranny as each of the six in the room reflected on what they'd seen that day. Lateef and Masika sat beside each other on the floor, knees drawn halfway up to their chest and arms draped lightly round their legs. The look on Masika's face was one of concern for Yugi, as well as the underlying sadness for Beketaten, and Lateef seemed to be worlds away, his eyes vacant as he stared absently at the floor in front of him, chewing his lip as he wrestled with whatever thoughts were running through his mind at that moment.
Bakura and Malik were both sat on their favoured stuffed sacks, Malik's head resting lightly against Bakura's shoulder as he shuffled a little closer. Despite his 'strike to kill' fighting style, executions had always sickened him. In battle, you at least had a chance to defend yourself. Executions – especially with the alarming frequency they were being carried out under Set's rule – were a very different matter. It was just so… wrong, the reasons some of those people were being killed for. Beketaten was just another one added to the list, as far as Set was concerned. What did it matter to him if he killed someone simply because he didn't get his way, much like a spoilt child?
Bakura also disapproved of executions, especially since he'd seen how the Pharaoh had reacted to Yugi's death. Until that point, he'd never stopped to consider that, for every person killed, there was always someone left behind to mourn the loss – perhaps even whole families. Until then, executions had just been a way of punishing a criminal. Now he saw them for what they really were – not only a means of punishing the guilty, but also of punishing their family and friends. He couldn't understand it – why did such an advanced race of people have to resort to such brutal measures?
Yugi was sat on Yami's lap, still sobbing quietly, his muffled sniffs and hiccups the only sound in the room. He didn't want to cry, to drag the others down, but he couldn't help it. Not only was Beketaten such a close friend to him, she also symbolised so much about him and Yami. She'd been there from the beginning, and had been the most help either of them had received. She had helped Yugi feel more confident around the Pharaoh, and that in turn had helped bring them closer together. Yugi buried his face more deeply into Yami's chest as another sniffle escaped him, and clung on more tightly.
Yami was the only person in the room not subdued by the execution. Even with Yugi in his arms, the boy hugged protectively close to him, Yami's face was adorned by a fierce scowl, the Pharaoh not caring about hiding his mood. Set… How dare he? How could he do such a thing? How could he abuse his power like that? And why did no-one stop him?
His crimson eyes burning a blood-red fire, his teeth gritted, all Yami could think about was the day he would finally avenge all the wrongful deaths Set had caused.
*~*~*~*~*~*
Yami sneered down at the cowering High Priest. His lip split, his clothes bloodied and ragged and his arm torn open, Set trembled in Yami's awesome presence. The Pharaoh's very spirit burned with bloodlust like never before, and his fists kept clenching and unclenching by his side. His eyes were laced with a murderous fury more feral than even the beasts of the desert, and the snarl across his face drove an ice-cold knot of fear into the pit of Set's stomach. Yami ignored his surroundings; ignored the guards taunting Set; ignored the shrieks of the priesthood to consider his actions. All that existed was him and the villain on the floor before him, begging for his life. Soon, those numbers would be reduced… but first of all the High Priest had to pay. For killing Beketaten; for murdering Yugi; for butchering countless civilians; for each of his crimes, the High Priest would be called to account. With no power to hide behind, no mercenaries to defend him, and no supporters ready to rush to his aid, Set was staring his end right in the eye. Yami's eye.
"Set," the Pharaoh hissed, his words dripping venomous fury. "Do you have any idea what curses you have brought upon yourself?"
The addressed shook his head, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he attempted to think of something – anything – he could say that might spare his life.
"Let me tell you," the Pharaoh growled, taking a step closer to the cringing figure. "You killed my love. You besmirched his name. You defied the Gods. You defied your Pharaoh. You took my throne and used your power to bring this nation to its knees. For all this, you shall be called to explain three times." Yami's pace swiftly picked up, and he closed the gap between him and the High Priest before driving his foot into the side of Set's face. "WHY?" he bellowed, grabbing Set's hair and yanking him off the floor high enough that he might see his own blood dripping there.
The High Priest, gasping and choking, tried to come up with some sort of defence. "I…"
With a disgusted snarl, Yami threw Set back onto the floor, a dull thud resonating as Set's head struck the cobbles beneath him. The High Priest barely had time enough for his vision to return before he felt a sharp blow to his chin, his head snapping back and a trail of blood spraying across the floor as he rolled over.
"WHY?" Yami screamed again. "WHY DID YOU DO IT, SET?"
The High Priest moaned, weakly trying to climb to his feet. He was no longer coherent of his surroundings. All he knew was that he hurt badly, and that a deep instinct was telling him he'd be in danger if he didn't get up now.
"WELL?" Again Yami lashed out, his foot driving into Set's midsection, and the Priest weakly exhaled what little air he had in him. Curling into the foetal position, winded, Set choked, and a small trail of blood came from the corner of his mouth.
"Don't you see Set?" Yami snarled at the broken figure. "There was no reason. You cannot justify your actions. You never will be able to." Again, the High Priest, reacting purely on natural intuition, tried to get up, that he might defend himself. "I…"
Yami's eyes flashed angrily, the blood-red fire becoming an all-enveloping sea of crimson fury as Set tried to talk. "DON'T!" he roared, bringing his fist down into the back of Set's head, the force of the punch making Set's head crack off the stone floor once again. "DO YOU REALLY THINK ANYTHING YOU SAY WILL JUSTIFY YOUR ACTIONS?"
Yami's tone calmed suddenly, and his voice became low. Somehow, this was even more threatening than his yelling. It showed he was in complete control. It promised Set's demise. "Never, Set," he whispered. "Never will the people of this land forgive you. You will be scorned and hated for all eternity." A soft hiss of wood running across fabric was heard in the now-silent room as Yami pulled his axe from his cloak. "This…" he stated. "Was the axe I tried to rescue Yugi with. I failed that time… but now, it will taste your blood." He shifted the axe in his hand to a more suitable grip. "I shan't allow you any last words, Set. Your tongue has already hurt my land enough."
With that, the blade of the axe rose high, and swept down in a glittering arc.
*~*~*~*~*~*
"Pharaoh?"
Slowly, Yami slipped out of his daydream as an insistent voice crept in and disturbed him.
"Pharaoh?"
Blinking a couple of times, coming back to reality, Yami's eyes focussed on the room again. Glancing round, he tried to work out who was calling him.
"Oi, Pharaoh!"
Bakura. No doubting that.
"Finally decided to join us, have you?"
Yami managed a weak smile. "Sorry, I was just thinking…"
Bakura didn't need to ask what he was thinking about. The look in his eye – the atmosphere he'd been giving off – had been more than enough to guess. "When do you think you'll do it?"
"Hmm?"
Masika continued, explaining on Bakura's behalf. "What he means, Pharaoh Yamises, is that he was wondering when you were planning on returning to the throne, now that you've got Yugi back?"
Yami bowed his head slightly. "I really don't know," he whispered. And he really meant it too. "I'm happy here," he murmured. "Outside of the palace, life is so much easier. I have friends here, I have no pressure from others around me. I can be what I want; who I want, and no one cares. No one cares if I love Yugi. No one cares if I pass comment on a rival nation. No one cares if I decide I don't want to do anything that day. All that power means nothing to me," he stated, staring at the floor. "Ruling a kingdom is far from the life of luxury it's made out to be. Having known both worlds, I want this one. I want to be here, with Yugi and everyone else…"
Masika softly spoke again. "But… Pharaoh… what about Set?"
Yami remained silent for a while, brooding on this thought. As much as he didn't care about being Pharaoh, he still loved his land and all the people in it. And he was the only one who could do anything to Set – the only one who could claim to have any right to. "He's slowly destroying this nation from the inside, isn't he?" Yami slowly murmured, not expecting or getting an answer from anyone. "He's so bent on his own power that he can't see what he's doing to everyone else."
"Or doesn't care," Bakura added darkly.
Yami nodded silently. He'd have to take the throne back, he realised. He owed at least that much to the people of this land – the people who accepted his ruling over them without so much as a question, never condemning his mistakes or asking whether he really deserved that power. The people of the land loved him as much as he did them.
"I don't know," he repeated – but this time, there was a definite aggressive edge to his voice, an edge that betrayed the fact that he was going to do it at some point. It was beyond a doubt.
Yami would be Pharaoh once more.
*~*~*~*~*~*
For a while, everyone sat in silence, brooding on their own personal thoughts. Even Yugi was now quiet, his tears having faded as he sat snuggled up to Yami. Eventually – much to the later surprise of the others – Lateef was the one who broke the tranquillity.
"Yugi," he murmured thoughtfully, his eyes still maintaining that distant expression. When you were in the Hall of Judgement… did they not say anything about your father at all?"
The addressed boy shook his head, Yami jerking his head back to avoid getting slapped by one of the spikes. "No… all they said was that I'd find out when the time was right." Yugi sighed softly, leaning down onto Yami's chest again, snuggling up comfortably. "I guess it has something to do with that divine purpose I have, whatever that may be… maybe I'll find out whenever that is…" Yugi's face slowly grew more contemplative as he spoke, until the boy was nearly frowning. What he actually finished up with was something somewhere between a scowl, a pout and a baby-face, which looked absolutely adorable on him.
Lateef sighed and nodded. "At least they said you'll find out, I guess…" The distant look slipped from him eyes, which instead took on a pained, saddened tint before he allowed them to slowly close. "I never really knew my father…"
Yami, Bakura and Malik already knew this. The boy had – briefly – spoken about it before. The other two, however, had absolutely no idea, and the curiosity ate at them. Eventually, Masika spoke up, her voice gentle but enquiring. "Did he… leave your mother, when you were young?"
"They both died."
Masika and Yugi's faces both fell, saddened to hear this. There had also been a hint to Lateef's voice that suggested that wasn't the whole story.
"They were murdered when I was five."
A shocked gasp came from Yugi and Masika, and the girl scooted a little closer to Lateef, ready to comfort him if he started crying. Yami and Bakura sat solemnly, and Malik had turned away, his eyes closed.
"So… what happened after that?" Masika asked. She knew it was rude to pry, but somehow she just wanted – no, needed – to know. She also got the feeling that Lateef wanted to talk about it, to share his burden with someone else, and she was ready to listen.
"I lived on the streets for a while, and got captured by a slave trader. A man bought me, and made me work for him. When I got older, he rented me out to rich nobles to… perform for them…"
Yugi looked positively sick as he heard this revelation, and buried his face against Yami's chest, determined to stifle any tears that should fall for the boy. Gods, the boy had already had it bad… and Yugi didn't think that he really wanted to see anyone getting upset on his account. He was too gentle, too good-natured for that.
Lateef's eyes squeezed more tightly shut, and a single tear escaped him. Masika – her own eyes shimmering – shifted even closer and gently cupped the boy's farthest cheek with her hand, lightly resting her head against his in a comforting gesture. "You poor thing," she whispered. She felt the boy lean gently into her, and slipped an arm round him, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "Gran'mother always told me others had things worse than we did… but I never realised it could get that bad…" Masika was being honest. In the palace, she was given a relatively sheltered life, and when she'd still lived with her Grandmother she'd been to young to really know what was going on around her. Without thought, she hugged the boy closer. "Gods," she whispered. "I don't know how you can still go on… you're so brave…"
Lateef, despite his tears, felt a slight blush appear. He'd never been paid any real compliments before… and yet here was an almost stranger, acting like she'd known him for years, calling him one of the words he'd never begun to imagine could be applied to him.
"Oh no!" Masika suddenly cried. "Gran'mother! I have to go check on her!" Hugging Lateef tightly, impulsively kissing him on the cheek, Masika jumped to her feet. "I'm so sorry! I have to go! But I'll come back later if it's okay with you, Mr Bakura?"
As the thief nodded, Masika bowed gracefully before turning and running for the door. "I'll see you guys soon!" she called over her shoulder. With that, she was gone.
Before an awkward silence had a chance to settle, Malik slowly spoke. He'd looked subdued all afternoon, and had barely said a word until now. "Lateef…" he murmured. "I've never told anyone this before, but I can appreciate how you feel. I lost my father when I was younger too."
Four heads turned to face Malik as he spoke, surprise shining in their eyes. The boy had never mentioned his parentage before, but then the conversation had never really come up until today. "My father was a royal tomb guard… he was employed to look after the body of Pharaoh Tuthmises." Malik glanced pointedly at Yami. "Your father, as we all know."
The Pharaoh nodded, and Malik continued. "I'm sure you all remember the night it got desecrated… the guards were gutted, their bodies defiled, their blood splashed across the walls…" Malik's voice had a bitter, pained bite to it. The memory still hurt. "He was working there that night."
Suddenly, Bakura found for the first time that he could regret his actions after all…
*~*~*~*~*~*
Any better? Please review!
