... = translated French
"..." = English (occasionally w/ un-translated words from other languages)
/.../ = translated ancient Egyptian
'...' = private thoughts
italics = words/terms/pronunciations NOT in the language being currently spoken or in the English narration
bold = song lyrics
[?] = footnotes
AN = author's note
Chapter 2: Egyptian Roses
"You have grown, Seto."
Seto smirked, "Well, milady, I believe people tend to do that as time passes."
Sophia laughed, her golden locks jiggling. "Darling, what I meant was that you are such a dashing young man now." She poked him playfully, tweaking his hat --something that she knew annoyed him greatly. "Tall, dark, and handsome, they say. Extremely popular with the ladies back in London, I hear. Have you considered marriage?"
Seto snorted, scoffing the very idea. "With all due respect, my dear Sophia, did you make me cross an ocean simply because you wanted to ask me that ridiculous question?"
Sophia fell silent, eyes tender. "No, no..." His voice was mellow, and Seto's irritancy melted a bit under it, "Its just that you seem so... well... lonely."
"I have my fleet," Seto answered quietly and curtly, without a second of hesitation, "I have my ships. That is enough."
The Queen frowned. "You cannot marry the sea, darling."
Seto said nothing.
They glided along the corridors in silence, the Queen's little steps falling in tune of the fluid grace of the Commodore's longer stride, Sophia's arm linked through Seto's. Upon the Queen's insistence, they had been wandering about the corridors ever since Seto and his men had settled into their rooms an hour ago. The pair was followed now by two guards, three of Seto's crew, a few servants and four of the Queen's personal handmaidens, two of which had been oogling Seto nonstop.
Much to the Commodore's annoyance.
"Tell me of your son."
Sophia's eyes lifted, her brow furrowing delicately.
Seto's voice was softer than normal, its harsh biting tone somewhat mellowed by a loved one's presence. He seemed almost... curious. "He is your son, is he not?"
Sophia hesitated. "He is... my husband's son, yes." Her eyes grew distant, a little wistfully. They suddenly darted about cautiously, looking for eaves droppers. "The King had a brief affair in his youth during a trip to Egypt, but it wasn't until recently that he found out that the woman bore him a son. So, naturally, he brought the boy here, being that there isn't and will never be another heir to the throne."
"Indeed." Seto pursed his lips. So the boy was of Egyptian blood. That would explain his most... exotic appearance. "And his name...? It is hardly uttered in England... for I have not heard it."
Sophia sniffled, "Yami, as we call him. It..." she hesitated, "It means 'darkness'."
'Darkness...' The world echoed in Seto's head. 'Strange...'
"Ah, but I am so terribly fond of him though," sighed Sophia, a little wistfully, "He is such a wonderful boy, and so lovely, too, wouldn't you agree? " Her voice was just a bit teasing, she being one of the few that knew of Seto's interest in men. She didn't entirely approve of it, but she tolerated much better than a few selected others.
Seto said nothing, choosing to ignore that last part of the comment. Sophia did this all the time, he recalled, and every time but now he had rejected each one of her proposed matches. "The King does not seem to take too fondly to the Prince," he observed slowly, caring less if the French around him were insulted at all. None of them probably understood English anyhow.
Sophia's lovely face darkened. "No, he doesn't," she whispered, a little sadly. "It is a pity,"
She left it at that.
/I don't like him./
Yami rolled his eyes. /You very rarely like anyone, Mahado,/ he teased gently.
Mahado brushed a stray flower petal out of his hat and waved a gloved hand with great flourish. /No, him in particular. I don't trust him. He was eyeing you, I swear./
Yami fought a deep blush, coughing modestly and eyeing the ground with fake interest. /He was not,/ he muttered, though he wished otherwise. Just thinking about that hunk of a man looking at him... Yami fought the rather ridiculous urge to swoon. /My dear friend, you simply dislike him because he's English,/ he said smoothly.
/Exactly. He's English,/ announced Mahado as if that explained it all. The very word was uttered with much disgust. /But I like him even less than those other English bastards./
Yami sighed but said nothing. Mahado very rarely cursed, and being that the musketeer was under the --wrong-- impression the Prince was a complete and virgin-eared darling, he usually refrained from using harsh words in front of the boy. But when it came down to the English... Mahado always seemed to get very upset. Or 'passionately irritated', so he claimed.
There was a long pause, filled with the soothing sounds of falling water and twittering birds but no human voices.
Frowning, Yami looked up, slightly bewildered by the abrupt silence.
Mahado was looking at him funny, his handsome face dangerously close and scrunched up ridiculously under the brim of his overly-large hat.
Yami felt his heart sink as he went into alert mode. /What?/ he demanded defensively, giving his friend a gentle shove away so that he might breath in his own personal space.
Mahado quirked a thin eyebrow into the brim of his hat. /You fancy him, don't you?/ Both accusation and mirth ran clear in his voice. The Prince could deny it all he wanted, but Mahado will forever be one of the few that knew of his forbidden attraction for other men.
Yami colored deeply, ducking his delicate chin /Mon cher ami, you are gravely mistaken. I do not fancy him./ he managed with his most innocent and wounded expression. /After all, he is English,/ he added quickly, repeating Mahado's earlier words with a near mocking tone.
The feather in his hat bobbling, the blond nodded vigorously, his frown lifting somewhat. /Exactly,/ was all he said, though he sounded less than relieved.
It was late afternoon that Seto finally found some time to himself. He was in one of his more-anti-social-than-normal moods again, and Lord have mercy on anyone that dares to disturb his privacy. The Queen and her handmaidens had returned to the King's side and Seto's men were off duty and running about like idiots, flirting mindlessly with pretty French girls --'God forbid,' noted their commander with both disapproval and disgust. He did care enough to warn them; the French men were clearly non-too-happy about this invasion of their territory and their women, and despite the fact he --though fondly-- thought they were all nitwits, Seto would prefer that none of his men were killed, maimed or beheaded anytime soon. On the bright side, after the whole unpacking mess and he convincing his men --bless their souls-- that he did not need protection of any sort, the Commodore found himself alone.
Not that he minded.
He wandered around a bit, treating passer-byers with terse but ever-present politeness. He noted with amusement that most gave him a wide berth anyway, either fearing him personally or the wrath of the Queen. The cocky musketeers that managed to scowl back at him were greeted with a dangerously raised eyebrow and narrowed blue eyes capable of melting metal itself. Needless to say, most of the cavaliers skirted around him after that, which was perfectly fine with him since he despised them anyhow.
Not that it was obvious, oh no.
Given that he currently had nothing to do but intimidate the French, Seto faked interest in the architecture of the Palace. It was all rather beautiful and intricate, he noted, though he was not terribly impressed. As if he was ever impressed.
Without breaking his smooth stride, he mechanically tipped his hat at a bunch of slim-waisted, fan-wielding girls. "Mademoiselles."
The girls burst into giggles and eye-flutterings.
Seto fought the urge to roll his eyes, forcing a thin smile that disappeared promptly the moment it wasn't needed.
What was he doing here anyhow? Sophia called him here, yes, perhaps foolishly so. Now he was more of an ambassador than anything else, and though he loathed the mere thought, he had no choice but to represent his country on the unofficial basis of the much-hated peace treaty.
Seto's eyes twitched. He didn't belong here. He hardly belonged in England, let alone in France. Though Englishmen were generally as civil and uptight as they were rumored to be, he was even more so than most, believe it or not. When off-duty and forced to stay at his home resort, he often chose hunting and boating over courting women, preferring to spend his time alone or in the presence of one of his crew, whom he hand-picked and trained himself. And though he was always forced to go to pointless social engagements, he politely declined as many as he could, usually only attending to prove that he hadn't yet died in battle. He usually ended up wasting his time anyhow, spending most of his time outmaneuvering single girls and their persistent mothers and usually saved only by the well-planned 'sudden' appearance of –bless them-- one of his men 'claiming' that 'pirates' were attacking and the fleet desperately needed his presence. Out on the military field, on the other hand, he was anything but awkward. In fact, he was ruthless, sharp, and experienced, far surpassing the trainees of his age and effortlessly rising to title after title until finally, he reached the much-coveted role of a full English Commodore, now second only to the Admiral himself.
No one could understand it; he was related to royalty, fabulously rich, and one of the youngest high-commanding officers of the most powerful navy in the known world, and yet, despite being the most eligible bachelor in all of England, he has shown absolutely no interest in women, simple pleasures or any act of socialization, however civil and courteous he was.
It was almost unnerving.
Still, it was hardly difficult to see that Seto yearned for more. What necessarily, not even he knew, but whatever it was, it wasn't in rendez-vous's or small talk about how delightful croissants could be. Call it youth, arrogance, restlessness, or whatever you want, but he was simply not willing to be in any way related to those young English noblemen that sipped tea like a girl and did nothing but sit around and talk all day about politics or simply how wonderful the weather was.
Not that he hated England, oh no. If anything, he was fiercely loyal to the Crown and patriotic to the point of obsessiveness. Which is why he found this a totally ridiculous situation for him to be in, considering he was both antisocial by nature and far too "English" to do any good here in France. Besides, he was a seasoned navy officer. A military man, if you will; he wasn't happy unless he had orders to give or something –preferably someone-- to shoot at.
And now, in this strange land with these strange people, he couldn't help but miss the ocean. He missed the open horizon and the endless expanse of blue that was the closest to freedom he would ever know. He missed the smell of the salty air and the cold spray of water that would sting his face until it was pale and raw. He missed the blast of bitterly freezing wind that would blow off his hat at the most inopportune times and the tipping and dipping of a sailing ship under his feet. Oh, he could almost hear the calls of his crew rushing about on deck and the shrieks of sea gulls among the billowing sails high above.
In a sense, Sophia was hopelessly wrong.
Seto was married. To his ships, of course, especially the elegant H.M.S. Dragon, a slender, blue-white brig of superb design and speed. He had trained and risen in the ranks on her since the beginning, and there were many fond memories related to her gleaming deck, though some were none-too-pleasant. And above it all, the Dragon had engaged nearly every type of vessel imaginable in the seas and had taken nothing but a few small cannonballs in the side, none of which did any damage that Seto's men could not repair in a few days. There were other ships, too, in his personal fleet, all of which he loved though none as dearly as the H. M. S. Dragon; there was the H. M. S. Falcon, a small but extremely agile brig, along with the brunt force of the fighter-ships H. M. S. Atlantica and H. M. S. Queen Susan and the slow but steady presence of the schooner H. M. S. Lady Eva, who was rarely used in battle but brought a nice, aristocratic touch to the fleet.
But what good is a fleet with no sea to sail? God be damned, the ocean was Seto's life. His battlefield, his home, his world. Heck, he ruled the ocean, and if he wasn't on it, he wasn't happy. And an unhappy Commodore was not a pleasant sight. After all, it goes to say that a sailor on land was like a dolphin on the beach.
"Commodore!"
Seto stiffened and turned, hands clasped behind his back, glaring from under the brim of his hat.
A young, rosy-cheeked Englishboy --Edward of Wales, Seto recalled, a newer addition to his crew-- rushed briskly up to him as fast as his heeled shoes would allow. The boy took off his hat with a large sweep and gave a short salute. "Sir, dinner begins in an hour."
Seto eyed him coolly, raising a delicate eyebrow. "I am well aware of that."
Edward flustered a bit, bowing his wigged head and refitting his hat. "I apologize, sir, I merely worr--"
"Your concern is appreciated but unnecessary." Seto gave him a polite nod, though his frown ruined it. "You're dismissed, Edward," he then said pointedly, turning to leave without another word.
Edward gulped and saluted quickly before he rushed away.
Seto shook his head. "Blast," he muttered under his breath, resuming his aimless walk, "Only one more bloody hour."
He was hoping he would be able to avoid all human contact for at least a bit more.
Eventually, after aimlessly walking about with no destination in mind, he found himself out in one of the courtyards. Granted that they had far more land than the British island nation, the French took great delight in sculpting their surroundings. They seemed extremely passionate about this hobby, erecting elaborate palaces and grand gardens to the point of being overwhelmingly obsessive. At least in Seto's view.
He walked along the edge of the Palace in the shadow of one of its lesser wings, the rusty colored wood left unpainted and covered with vines. This particular courtyard was small but elegant, with circles within circles of tall hedges surrounding the outside edge, all covered with masses of hanging and blossoming flower vines. In their shadows grew tulips, roses, lilacs and lilies of all colors and scents, their petals scattering on the ground to form a wind-blown carpet. Paths of marble twisted through the hedges and cut through their ranks, overhung by intricate gold archways covered in creeping blossoms and tall enough to allow even Seto to meander about under them with comfortable room to spare.
The Commodore looked around warily as he passed under the first archway. Judging by the state of the building and the clear lack of people, this courtyard should be abandoned or at last overgrown.
But it clearly wasn't. The hedges had been purposely placed and trimmed, the vines had been neatly cut when they reached too far, the flowers had obviously been tended to with care, and there wasn't a single weed in sight.
Still, the aura of the place was strange. The flora here was not delicately-hued and perfectly arranged like they were in the other courtyards; in fact, if it hadn't been for the clear-cut paths, it seemed to grow nearly... wild. Traditional, gentle European blossoms mingled quite happily with fiery, exotic flowers Seto didn't quite recognize, and the air was filled with the sweet and pungent scent of foreign spices.
The tall Englishman leaned down slightly to examine a rose. It was blood-red with orange tips, far larger and with far more petals than the soft-toned and delicate European roses that grew near it. The Commodore stood tall, frowning down at the flower with distain usually reserved for lowly humans.
It was then that laughter, clear and twinkling, drifted toward him through the mess of vines. It was faint but rather close, consisting of two voices; both male, one a melodious tenor, the other slightly lower but just as clear.
Seto looked up just in time to see the blond musketeer and the Prince come down his path, giggling with their heads together like a pair of young girls. The Prince --Yami-- held on to the musketeer's arm as comfortably and as tightly as lover might, currently trying to stuff the blonde's hat down on the taller man's head. The musketeer was mock-fighting him back, laughing as he tried desperately to dislodge his hat from his head. He stumbled blindly about like a drunk, the only thing preventing him from crashing into the flowers was the Prince's grip.
Seto felt a hot jolt of envy flash through him. If he didn't know better...
The two seemed almost like lovers. Could be lovers. The thought made his stomach clench violently.
Both Frenchmen stopped instantly the moment they saw him, still a good dozen feet away. Through the hanging vines and the blowing petals, a pair of green eyes narrowed in distain and a pair of scarlet ones widened in surprise.
"Commodore!" twin voices rang out, one in clear surprise, the other in clear detestation. The prince and his guardian sprang apart like children caught making trouble, smoothing their clothes and making a rather large fuss in cleaning themselves up, putting some clear distance between each other.
Seto's expression was emotionless. He bowed a little, lifting his hat. "Crown Prince Yami..." He nodded briskly at the musketeer, noting that the movement was not echoed back.
Yami blushed slightly and nodded back.
"With all due respect, sir," murmured the musketeer quietly between gritted teeth, one hand visibly on the golden hilt of his sword, "may I inquire the reason to your presence here?"
"My apologies. I was..." Seto hesitated, but very briefly. "...merely heading to dinner and got a little lost."
The look in the musketeer's eyes revealed that the shorter man believed differently.
"Dinner!" The Prince jerked upright, horror filling his fair face. "Oh, dinner at sundown!" He looked up with wide eyes, tugging at the cavalier's over-flap. "Mahado, we'll be late!"
The musketeer --Mahado-- sent Seto one last glare before turning to Yami, offering his hand. "We should go then. Your father will--"
"If I may say so," broke in Seto smoothly, hands clasped casually behind his lower back, "we still have more than half an hour. Plenty of time, by my word. No need to hurry." The words came out more of a command than a statement.
The Prince hesitated, as did Mahado.
Awkward silence filled the air. The two Frenchmen shared a meaningful glance. The Commodore watched them both with icy calmness, raising a thin eyebrow.
"Well then," started Yami slowly, quietly, "I should... head to my room for some rest before dinner." The way he said it sounded like a troublesome child trying to flee from the scene of the crime.
Seto's eyebrows rose higher, filing away that observation for later. "In that case, your majesty, I shall escort you," he stated with flourish, stepping toward them.
The Prince blushed furiously as he approached, taking a few steps back. "Commodore, I don't believe that's really necess--"
"Oh no, I insist," said Seto with a delicate scoff, waving his hand dismissively. His voice held no room for protest.
Mahado stiffened. "Truly, there must be more important things for a man of your stature to do," he said softly, with a bit of a mocking tone in his accented English.
"Not as of the moment," interrupted Seto, ignoring him and stepping forward, bending as he offered one of his hands toward Yami. "Your highness, shall we?" he purred.
The boy blinked owlishly at his hand, his cheeks flushing an adorable rose. Sharing a quick, hesitant look with Mahado --who seemed a bit red around the ears-- he very hesitantly set his hand upon Seto's, shivering at the contact.
Without another word, Seto turned back the way he came and led the way down the path, his free hand still resting in the bend of his back while his other gently led the Prince along. On his larger own, Yami's hand was warm and soft, as smooth and delicate as a prince's hand should be. The slender fingers rested rather nervously on the Commodore's larger ones, and to still their fidgeting, Seto rested his thumb gently on the dancing digits.
He felt Yami blush beside him while at the same time, he felt Mahado's fiery, piercing glare boring a hole in the back of his head. The cavalier crossed his arms and shifted angrily behind them, following closely like a protective watch-dog.
'Well, well, well...' the Commodore thought to himself, amused, 'Indeed musketeers are not normally this protective...' Somehow, the thought wasn't so much entertaining as it was troubling.
Seto felt the prince stop and cursed himself for letting his mind wander. He looked down curiously at the Prince's wild-colored head.
Startling the taller man, Yami slipped out of his grip and bent to the side of the walkway, brushing aside a few strands of hanging vines to reveal a bush of blossoming roses, the same as the large, fiery ones Seto had studied earlier.
They seemed to be wilting.
Yami radiated sadness and pity as he gently brushed his slender digits over them with care, lest they suddenly shatter and blow away with the wind. He murmured something in a language Seto could not understand, touching the crinkled petals with small, gentle strokes.
Seto was not an easily startled man. He had survived pirates, hysterical women, foreign prostitutes and equally foreign rulers in the same night without so much one hair on his wig out of place.
But now he felt a violent shiver run up his spine as a sudden gale howled around them, swirling loose petals around their feet and nearly blowing off Mahado and Seto's hats. Vines and leaves rustled madly in the breeze, flying about with acrobatic skill. Before the Commodore's very eyes, flower buds bloomed into magnificence and open blossoms flushed with color, their surrounding leaves growing taunt with emerald life.
It was all over in a second.
The wind died down and the flora around them settled, leaves and vines hanging limply once more.
Seto blinked once. Then again. 'That did NOT just happen.'
Mahado calmly refitted his hat, sending a sharp, near disapproving glare to Yami. The boy ignored him and stood with a pleased sparkled in his eyes, though his cheeks looked suddenly a bit paler than before. Suddenly, large eyes widening as his gaze fixed on Seto, fear and something like horror filled his expression. He seemed to be holding his breath, a wince forming as he waited for some scolding or some shriek of horror.
Again, like a child caught doing something wrong.
Seto noted this --again. He coughed a little, feeling thoroughly confused. Perhaps he had... simply imagined it all. Yes, perhaps all the sights of France was getting to him. He shook his head, eyes flashing like cold steel. He cocked his head and felt Yami flinch sharply at the movement, the boy's chin ducking like a scolded child. "Shall we go?" the Commodore asked smoothly, taking the boy's reaction in without so much of a blink. He offered his hand.
Yami looked up at him with wide eyes, hope and relief sparkling in their scarlet depths. He glanced at Mahado with bewilderment though the other man was too busy narrowing his eyes in suspicion at Seto to notice. "I--" The Prince shook his head, letting out a shaky breath and hiding his own confusion, "Yes...We should."
With secret delight, he timidly took the Commodore's hand once more, feeling a bit light-headed. Mahado scowled at them both.
They walked in silence until the edge of the courtyard before Seto quietly broke the silence. "If I may be so bold to say, you have... a very strange flower collection, your highness. The roses were unlike anything I have ever seen."
They turned slightly and walked along the edge of the building toward the growing sounds of the rest of the bustling palace. Sunset burned the sky a fiery purple and rose, the lasting remnants of its fading light basking the three men in a comfortable glow. A breeze blew past them, carrying a whiff of honey-buns from the kitchen far beyond.
Yami stiffened a little, fighting another blush. The Commodore's comment made him feel very... well... degraded. "They were... um... imported from Egypt," he explained slowly, feeling a bit silly and warily gauging Seto's reaction. "Sophia gave me permission to ask for them."
The Commodore didn't have much of a reaction at all. He did note, however, that Yami called Sophia by her name, not her title nor as 'mother'. "I see." Seto looked ahead with his chin high, exhaling thoughtfully. "And your fondness for flowers? As far as I am aware, only women have such a fondness for flora."
The words stung, intentional or not.
Yami frowned and looked down, hurt and ashamed. His hand tightened reflexively on the Commodore's own. "I-- I am from Egypt," he admitted quietly, trying to give as little information as possible. "I was raised in her ways, and I have learned to love all that is green and growing."
One could almost hear the gears in Seto's head turning with this new information. 'Yes, that would explain a lot...'
Yami frowned under Seto's silence. He studied the man out of the corner of his eyes and found no sort of emotion on the man's handsome face, which had stubbornly not turned toward him at all in the length of their conversation. Yami felt even more embarrassed. Of all people, this stolid English Commodore seemed the least bit interested in his hobbies. The man was obviously just making small talk, and here he had to go off and rant about Egypt, as if it didn't hurt enough to be looked down by the other Frenchmen because of his love for the country. Now most certainly the English thought him mad as well.
"Are you feeling well?" asked Seto suddenly, looking down at him with a visible frown. "You're rather pale... and you seem to be swaying. Are you ill, your majesty?"
Yami flushed with embarrassment, surprised the Commodore noticed. He himself almost hadn't. Immediately, he straightened a little as if to prove his weakness wrong. "No I-- Just... tired," he lied quickly, beginning to feel the toll of his magic-use.
He felt Mahado look at him sharply, with worry. Oh, this was bad, they both knew. The Prince still had dinner to survive.
"Ah, here are my men," broke in Mahado suddenly, openly scowling at both of them as he stepped up.
Indeed, as they approached an entrance into one of the minor wings, a group of curly-mustached, red-adorned musketeers came ambling down the steps, stiffing when they saw the three men. They hesitated, then bowed deeply, sweeping off their hats with classic French flourish. "Monsieurs..." (Sirs...)
"Come, my Prince," stated Mahado, taking Yami's other hand and nearly snatching him out of Seto's hold, the startled Prince yelping with the action, "Commodore, you needn't waste your time busying yourself with us. My men and I will gladly escort the Prince to his chambers."
Seto's eyes narrowed dangerously at the mocking tone in the other man's voice. He didn't like his possessions being taken away from him. He was, however, stuck. Since Mahado's words were... well... 'nice' superficially, he couldn't simply reject them and snatch Yami back, which would have been rude and suspicious anyhow. He inwardly growled but forced a thin smile. "Yes, well then, good day, gentlemen." He nodded at the musketeers, then bowed at Yami, taking and kissing the boy's. He couldn't help but brush his thumb over those soft fingers one last time, smirking when he felt Yami shudder with the action. "I shall see you at dinner then, your majesty."
"Yes..." the Prince seemed a bit flattered, if not still too pale, "...Until dinner," he replied softly.
Nodding one last farewell, Seto turned and glided away, chin high and hands clasped behind him as if nothing had happened.
Mahado watched him go with burning eyes. Then, turning, he glared at his fellow musketeers. "Allez--vous-en!" he hissed, shooing them furiously. (Go away!)
Thoroughly confused and a bit startled from the rude order of their normally sweet-tempered Captain, the men bowed quickly at Yami and all but fled in the opposite direction.
Once they were alone, Mahado cornered Yami against the doorway and crossed his arms, eyeing Yami with the critical, disapproving eye of a mother. He seemed displeased, to say the least.
/What?/ demanded Yami in the Egyptian tongue, frowning and crossing his own arms defensively.
Mahado's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips, saying nothing for a long time. Finally, he sighed, motioning Yami into the shadow of the doorway. /You used magic. In front of someone./ he accused. /And you shouldn't have. If your father or anyone else found out.../ he trailed off with alarm.
Yami knew the man had been itching to comment on something else and was rather curious as to why nothing of it came out. Still, when Mahado's words sank in, he winced under the stinging rebuke. /I know. I'll be more careful next time./ He hesitated. /I just... forgot the Commodore was there./ The excuse sounded weak, even in his ears. The Prince hurried on, /But he didn't seem to notic--/
Mahado leaned close, worriedly. /But you used too much energy,/ he continued anxiously, looking about warily, /I've told you before, Yami, you haven't learned how to control how much to--/
/--use, I know./ sighed Yami, pouting and a little hurt. /You needn't remind me every day, Mahado. Its not my fault you're a horrible teacher./
Mahado sighed as well. /I apologize, little one. But I don't know much more than you do; you know that./
Yami sighed. /I know./ He sagged tiredly against the doorway.
Mahado's hands were on his shoulders in an instant, his green eyes warm and worried. /You're weak. Too weak./
/Its nothing,/ muttered Yami, shrugging him off. /You said it yourself. I used too much energy./
Mahado pulled Yami into a loose embrace, feeling the boy cuddled limply against him, sighing as he rested his tired head on the taller man's shoulder. /You should rest,/ stated the musketeer with alarm. /I'll tell your father that you've taken ill and have some food brought to your--/
/No...!/ Yami struggled in his friend's grip, looking up with glazed, half-mast eyes. /No, you c-can't./ Feeling light-headed and a bit lost, he panted for breath, mind spinning in dizzying circles. /I told... I told the Commodore I'd be there for dinner./
Mahado's eyes flashed a brilliant green, in anger and in frustration. /So WHAT? That man is a total scoundrel! Nothing less than a bastard with an attitude problem!/
Yami blinked, feeling a bit lightheaded but managing to remember glimpses of his conversation with the blue-eyed Commodore. /Right,/ he agree half-heartedly, /He's rude and arrogant./
/Exactly,/ commented Mahado, narrowing his eyes. /So why were you not acting like yourself around him?/
There. The question was out in the open.
Yami feigned innocence, hiding his blush in his friend's shoulder. /Well, he's um... a bit intimidating, you have to admit,/ he stammered.
Mahado pulled him away at arm's length, looking into his eyes. Frowning, he struggled for the right words, though he could form nothing from the jumble of rage, worry, and confusion on his mind. /Yami...you don't have to go to dinner,/ he managed finally, as if talking to a little child. /Not for him./
Indeed, Yami barely comprehended him, breathing heavy and slow as he slumped against the wall. Words echoed in a confusing mess in his head. Yes, the Commodore was rude. Yes, he was arrogant. Yes, he was a stuck-up bastard.
But Ra, he had the most beautiful blue eyes.
In the end, four simple words slipped out of the Prince's mouth. /But I want to.../ he whispered.
AN: Hm. Confusing ending, I admit, but I couldn't think of another way to end it. I had planned to write into the dinner scene, but in the end, the chapter got too long and I decided to break it into two parts, with the next chapter being the dinner and another, slightly more romantic garden scene.
First off, I'm saying right now that Mahado is NOT the antagonist (really) of the story. For those of you that are curious, he's merely over-protective, not in a jealous-lover kind of way. If he screws up the Seto-Yami relationship in any way --which you all know he will-- its mainly because he's worried about Seto hurting Yami. I like thinking of Mahado as Yami's big brother, though Yami obviously doesn't want or need one. :-p But okay, fine. Mahado is a little jealous...
PLEASE REVIEW!! I LIVE ON REVIEWS!!