POSTED THIS WEEKEND! Just Like i promised! SO happy! I think you'll all like this one ;)

disclaimer: i own nothing but the plot (and Yugi's "memories")

Dedications: to my wonderful beta and my grammar knight for the extra ideas and the editing and for always halping me make this story the best it can be!

as always read, review, reply, comment, critique, ask questions, post theories go nuts and flames must have reasons (don't hold back, very little offends me ;)

Chapter XXXIX: Memories

They sealed the agreement with another kiss, though it was quicker than the last one and not as intense. But it was more than enough.

When they pulled away, Timaeus' gaze slid to the freed laces spilling around Yugi's neck. "And we'll start with the art of proper attire." He motioned with his forefinger in a circle. Yugi spun around with a small pout and let Timaeus fix the loose laces. "What will people say if I cannot keep my consort properly clothed?" he teased overdramatically.

"I'll need an actual wardrobe if we're going to do that," Yugi teased back, only half-serious. "I don't have many outfits." Then he thought curiously and looked over his shoulder. "Why is that?"

Timaeus froze, his fingers suddenly all thumbs. "Well," he cleared his throat, trying not to stutter, and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "As you were still getting used to the idea of being Magistrate, I didn't want to force Locri's attire on you. However, I also didn't want you clinging to the attire of your old home for too long. I had no doubt it made you more comfortable, but it would help you little in the coming days."

Yugi laughed—Timaeus looked so different, like a child trying to explain a crush.

"Although," he added, his lips curling, "I did not expect you to adapt to the silks so quickly. You look lovely."

Yugi blushed, and added proudly, "Well, if I am to be your Magistrate, I should look like one at least, even though I could barely move in those silks without stumbli—" He paused when something in the wardrobe caught his eye: something black and white, and laced with silver ribbons.

"Timaeus, is that—?" He moved to the wardrobe, overcome by sudden, subconscious curiosity, and pulled the garment free. It was wrinkled and frosted with dust, but it had not lost any of its brilliance.

"I found it on the bed," Timaeus explained, though his face was oddly pink. "I thought you'd want to keep it."

Yugi clutched the garment tightly. "Thank you," he said, then held it up to look it over. The gold neckpiece and long shenti were from the first outfit he'd worn on this ship that wasn't his, but the gold linen belt and bodice top were from the uniform Rhebekka let him borrow. Interlocking gold threads shot through the hems of the skirt brocaded the rest of the garment and belt. The silver ribbons were the only separate contribution. At the time, lovely and styled for a Kemetic Nomarch, he'd seen it as nothing more than a gold gift to buy his forgiveness. The memory shamed him but looking at it now, he couldn't shake the wondering. "Why did you have this specially made? Why not simply have me wear a new costume?"

"Perhaps." Timaeus shrugged. Taking a step forward, he lowered Yugi's hands, removing the obscuring cloth from his view and meeting Yugi's eyes. "But you wouldn't have been happy with something cold and expensive," he stated, reminiscing. "These were the two garments you wore during our happier times together. In your… state, I had hoped they would remind you of those times, and perhaps bring you comfort." His smile was sheepish, like a boy explaining a gift to his beloved.

Touched by the confession, Yugi's fingers went to the shabka bracelet around his wrist. Tracing the intricate gold vines and amethyst lotus flowers identical to the ones on his dowry box, he thought back to the other items he had received—beautiful things, yes, though he'd done nothing to deserve them.

"And my other… wedding gifts…" He couldn't reveal their identities just yet. "Were they crafted with the same purpose?"

"They were." Timaeus nodded, grinning like a young boy. "I believe you yourself said that things should have special meanings or they are but worthless trinkets. Your love of the lotus was unquestionable."

They looked at each other for a long time, saying nothing.

Then Timaeus added, "I knew the moment I first met you. You would never be happy with fancy gifts or pretty things. You like things that are simple and more meaningful." There was something else he'd hoped to accomplish, though he said nothing of it—he did not have to. The look in his eyes when he saw Yugi smile—so loving and so certain of him—spoke volumes. "Now, of course, had I wanted to simply buy you, then yes, I would have saved myself a great deal of grief and had entirely new things made. But somehow I feel that if that had been the case, then I doubt I'd have asked for you in the first place."

Yugi laughed at that—a sweet chime that made his heart flutter. Only then did he realize how much he had missed it.

Yugi didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both, but the tears accompanied a touched smile. How well he knew him. Truly knew him. How many little things he had picked up on in their short time together, Yugi didn't know, but he vowed to do the same.

"Thank you." He smiled again, unsure of what else to say. But it was enough for the other.

Timaeus beamed. "You're welcome." He offered the little one his hand and made a grand gesture towards the door. "Will you join me?"

Yugi wanted nothing more than to take his hand, but shook his head. "You go on without me." The disappointment on Timaeus' face almost made him reconsider. Instead, he stepped up and kissed the man's cheek reassuringly. "I'll follow you shortly. I just have something I want to do myself first."

Pale pink bloomed where Yugi kissed his cheek. Timaeus blinked. Dazed, he rose a tender hand to touch the spot, unsure if he'd imagined it or not.

Yugi giggled and gently shoved his back, the way Timaeus used to do to him. "You go on—I will follow."

Snapped from his daze by the movement, but assured by Yugi's smile, Timaeus nodded. "Alright, meet me by the bow, and we'll start your first lesson."

Yugi nodded and watched him go. He exhaled when the door closed, then returned to the bed. Setting the garment on it, he dropped to his knees and carefully slid something out from under the wood and sheets. It sat so silently but slid with such ease that Yugi was amazed it didn't dart and slide along with the waves. Perhaps Timaeus wouldn't have missed it had he shared their bed, but Yugi didn't complain. Had he found it before, it might have been misunderstood. There would be no such misunderstandings now.

Enclosing his hand around the lotus-cut knob, it surrendered with a soft pull. Its secrets were now exposed.

The first item was an artificial leopard skin his father had bundled him in one cold night, when they decided to look for the Gods amongst the stars. He'd been a toddler then and hadn't noticed that the star-like rosettes were not a simple cluster of spots, but a series of specific, divine constellations.

Folded neatly under it were the simple linen tunics he adored—first for their comfort, then for their statement of his independence.

Then a statue of his mother's sacred Sekhmet carved in the Destroyer's beloved scarlet granite that she'd set by his bedside and chanted all throughout the long nights he was ill.

The senat board Pas had gotten him for his birthday and had sacrificed countless hours teaching him to play was tucked next to it. Yugi had always been a poor student when he was young.

The scribe lettering tools Menkheperre had given him that same birthday were carefully packed away underneath the board. Yugi hadn't been interested in it then, but he remembered learning to read under his brother's patient tutelage and Maatkare's stern discipline when he complained and thought of giving up. He wondered what they'd think now, knowing he'd kept them.

Next to the tools was a bunch of papyrus letters from Mut during his travels with his mother and more recent ones when she'd been called back to Djanet—each one stamped with the golden seal of a four-winged blue goddess crowned in a vulture headdress.

A dried and preserved lotus from the sacred pool of Mut—its long spindly roots spun into a circular bracelet like a coiled snake—was delicately kept in a small package. As a curious child, he'd pulled too harshly on the root during a path in the sacred spring and had cried miserably when he thought he had killed it. His mother had turned it into a bracelet around his tiny wrist and told him that it had not died, but simply been given a new purpose. He'd worn it until the petals started to wilt and his wrist became too big for the brace.

And finally, there lay a daisy chain of exotic flowers he'd made with his sisters in the palace gardens where Ramses III had kept an exotic collection of plants around the world. He'd been roped into the activity of weaving flowery bridal veils while his mother had been sent to care for the current Lady of Two Lands and left him in his sisters' charge. The girls had taken turns dancing and imagining themselves as rich brides on their wedding day, while little Yugi scoffed and—with his nose pointed high—bragged that he would never get married because girls were silly. Oh, how right and wrong that naïve child had been. Yugi laughed.

This was the dowry he'd brought from Kemet—the night before his wedding when the most logical part of himself knew there was no escaping his fate. There were no gold trinkets or heirloom pieces encrusted with jewels, no fancy documents boasting his fancy titles or other things most brides brought with them to boast their honor. No, these were moments captured in objects and the stories they told preserved until he needed them. His secret Heart, memories of youth: bright and happy ones, others of his adolescent struggles, his isolations and sufferings and lonely nights that had become less lonely, and memories both happy in their origin but sad in their remembrance. Days and times that started off full of excitement and wonder, but then turned broken and devastating, only to end in laughter and smiles. He touched each one and let the joy and sadness wash over him like a child's beloved blanket.

Then he gingerly placed them back inside and pulled his wedding dress from the bed. Just as Timaeus promised, it filled his heart with memories. It was a reminder of everything Timaeus has hoped for; it started as a terrible omen but was now a beautiful symbol of hope and endurance. Gingerly, he folded it up and placed it inside. He redid the lid. Now it was another precious treasure. Another piece of his secret Heart. Perhaps one day it wouldn't be so secret, he thought tantalizingly. He slid the box back into its place and left to meet his husband.

His husband. When had he started calling him that? Yugi wondered. Once, it might've left him feeling bitter and confused, but now it filled him with a mixture of excitement and perhaps a little fear—a good fear. His husband. Yugi repeated again with a giggle. His Husband, Timaeus. Yugi like the way it sounded.

X X X

"You know… when you told me I'd have my first lesson today, this is not what I thought you meant."

"Perhaps." Timaeus put all his weight behind the loud grunt. The iron grate sank into the stubborn wood and with a heavy lurch, it snapped free. He tossed the rotten board over the edge and wiped the sweat from his brow with a smile. "But the duty of a Trierarch is never complete, whether it's operating his ship or leading his men into battle." He chuckled and set to work hacking out the old oakum with gauntleted hands. Once he was finished, he grabbed a fresh board from the pile of planking between them.

Yugi shuddered, watching him switch the iron grate for a wooden hammer and a fresh plank in place of the old one—dreading his own task once the man was done. Timaeus winkled another board loose and began digging out the rotten materials. When he reached for another board, Yugi could no longer hold back.

"But…" Yugi tasted the weak protest on his lips, but a glance at the thick, slimy, black sludge—steaming and bubbling in his hands—and the iron ladle lying innocently inside it could no longer silence his voice. "Spreading pitch?"

Timaeus paused and spun to him. With an amused smile, he arched his back and raised a finger in a dramatic mimic of a formal speaker. "A Trierarch is only as good as his ship, and a poorly-kept ship makes for a poor Trierarch." He finished and returned to himself. "First and foremost, that includes the upkeep and care of the ship, for if she fails then we all go down with her. 'Twas the first thing my master taught me, and that is also your first lesson."

From a bucket of spliced ropes, he grabbed a handful of thick, oakum fibers and caulked them tight between the thatching. The last step before it was his turn, and Yugi dreaded it. His fingers tightened around the bucket until the metal of the gauntlets pinched his fingers. He'd been given his own pair—Timaeus' extra set to protect his fingers from the hot liquid in case any of it spilled. On leather ones, the pitch would solidify and ruin them once it cooled. Yugi shuddered again.

"You cannot ask one of the shipmates to do this?" He hated how weak and childish he sounded, but the alternative made his stomach lurch.

Timaeus frowned, unimpressed. "I could," he paused, and Yugi dreaded what came next. "But it would earn me no favors. Nor will it you. A Trierarch is only as strong as his crew, and a leader made by the people who follow him. They will not follow arrogance or stupidity. They will serve a kakistocracy purely out of fear or self-preservation, but they will not follow him into battle or rise to his defense in times of crises. They choose a leader who they trust to not only protect them, care for them, and aid them, but who will also never forget what they do for him."

Yugi looked away. He knew he was right. Still…

"Besides…" Timaeus continued, and pointed down, hammer still in hand. A loud creaky groan of oars rotating in their sockets and the loud, wet swish of wood colliding with water that followed confirmed the assertion. "My whole army is busy rowing, Ryou is at the helm, and Rhebekka is still abed. There is simply no one else to do it. And these holes need fixing." He hammered another wooden nail into place. "Or we will all plummet to the abyss if another storm hits. Best not to test the Great Sea."

Yugi's eyes fixated on the massive wooden structure below him, churning the ocean like soup spoons—but their motions were repetitive, vertical loops. Wood screeched against wood in a loud moan—like a monster's rumbling stomach—and below, the sea protested the disturbance with a wet blow to the sides, sending water and brine crashing against the ship. Each wave of turbulence rocked the rickety plank suspended only a few feet below the rail and even less above the decks, but each time it moved, Yugi felt his stomach drop and his heart scramble for his throat.

"Perhaps then, we need less oars," Yugi grumbled under his breath.

"Be grateful for them," Timaeus snapped. "With how fickle these zephyrs have been, we'd still be battling along Kemet's coasts instead of halfway through the Great Sea."

When Yugi didn't answer, Timaeus turned to him and found him staring down at the sea—his lips tight, his eyes wide and swirling with scenarios none pleasant, and his brows twitching nervously. Instead of pale pink, his cheeks seemed flushed green and he gripped the pitch bucket and brush with desperate fingers.

His annoyance softened. "Would you rather hammer the wood and I ladle the pitch?"

Yugi turned about. His eyes fell to the iron tool in his hand, then at Timaeus' smiling face. He looked away with timid embarrassment. "I was never good with tools. I'd probably miss and break my fingers."

Timaeus sighed. "Pitch it is, then." He spun with ease and returned his work. The plank shook with the action and Yugi's gasp morphed into a squeak before he could stop himself. Timaeus froze in mid-strike.

"Yugi…" He blinked, understanding finally piecing the clues together. "Are you… frightened by heights?"

"W-W-What?" Yugi choked, ears reddening. "N-N-No—I—" He stumbled for words, face turning redder. In all honesty, he had never been higher than the Window of Viewing, but that was on solid stone and in his father's arms, not an unstable wooden plank floating increasingly higher above crashing oars and uncertain depths, and balancing a bucket of hot pitch. Before he could fathom a possible excuse, Timaeus slid next to him and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"Fret not, my love," he whispered, words smoky and earnest. "For I will catch you if you fall."

"Please…" Yugi blushed redder. "No teasing…"

Timaeus pulled away, frowning. "You think I am insincere?"

Yugi shook his head. "No, just… that the idea of falling is what bothers me."

Timaeus chuckled. "It is an understandable concern—that is why I did not wear my armor," he explained. "Handsome as it makes me, I'd sink like a stone."

"Don't jest," Yugi snapped, unamused.

Timaeus blinked, then smirked and kissed his nose. "Do not mistake me, love—I am a man, grown and far from those impetuous boys you are accustomed to." He tugged at the rope, looped firmly around his waist, to demonstrate its security. "I've not yet lost a man at sea and I don't aim to start now."

Yugi studied him without his armor: it should've made him look less magnificent but instead, the absence of bulky metal and sheer fabric only made his face sharper, his skin darker, his eyes brighter, and his toned body more defined in a sort of stripped-down elegance that somehow made him look more human and yet even more unreachable.

Timaeus' arms still wrapped around him, Yugi felt him tug on the loops around his own waist—his wide smile wicked and playful. "Perhaps you'd feel better if I tied our lifelines together?"

Yugi shoved him away fearlessly. The movement rocked him back and shook the plank, but he gripped the ropes to keep steady.

"You may not be a boy, but you sure act like one," he scolded.

Timaeus shook his head and recovered. "And here I thought you liked my roguish charm," he snorted then composed himself, his voice earnest and grave. "On a more serious note, you need not fear for your safety with me. You are mine to protect and I will never let anything happen to you. Do you know that?"

There was no lie or hesitation in his voice, but it wasn't what Yugi needed. "I know that, but can you promise the same for yourself?"

Timaeus' face dropped from severity to utter bewilderment in a single moment. Yugi's eyes hardened, demanding but trembling. "I want to protect you, too, you know."

Timaeus blinked, then smiled. Setting down the hammer, he leaned over the pile of boards carefully and kissed Yugi's cheek. "You need never worry about that, love," he promised, rubbing Yugi's cheek. "You will never lose me."

"How can you promise that?" Yugi asked, rubbing his shoulders.

"Because I have you to come back to." He kissed him again. It was a short kiss—chaste and sweet—but in it burned the promise of all the world and its hopes. It was tender and comforting, and though it changed nothing, it confirmed everything. To Yugi, it was the sweetest kiss he could've ever received.

"Now," Timaeus continued, smiling. He slid over further, allowing Yugi better access, then patted the seat next to him. "Come here and I'll show you how to ladle pitch."

Yugi obeyed. Despite the churning in his stomach, Yugi knew what must be done and sighed with gracious defeat. Following Timaeus' instruction, he sat on his knees and lifted the ladle an arm's length away from him before carefully dumping it over the cracks in the caulking. With the same careful precision he'd used when he poured soup, he poured then spread it thickly by dragging the end of the ladle over it.

"Very good," Timaeus nodded approvingly. His eyes beamed with pride.

Yugi beamed brightly, then turned his head to the rest of the hull where oakum had come loose and many of the boards sported weather-worn holes. "Still many to go, it seems…"

"Indeed," Timaeus nodded with a sigh, and pulled on the ropes. After rigging the pulleys and settling into a fresh spot, he smiled. "But enough about ship repairs. There are many other things to discuss while we work." He left the metaphorical door open and inviting, and placed in Yugi's palm a handful of wooden nails.

Yugi grinned. "Alright." He surreptitiously pocketed one of the nails for his memory box, placed the pitch bucket in front of him, and crossed his legs over the plank. "Since this doubles as my lesson, tell me everything about Locri, then. I want to know everything."

Timaeus did.

I think this chapter is one of my favorites :) I had Yugi's memory scene written for about a year, i think: yeah a year, I wrote it just after finishing part one at my grandmother's christmas party when reminiscing with my family made me think of all the things yugi would keep to take with him,and why they're precious. it was fun to write!

The second scene was actually Val's idea (to add since she felt the chapter needed a little more spice) no idea why i had them spreading pitch but I knew i wanted them to fix the ship as the main thing seamen do IS make repair and fixes to the ship, but it did end up being a fun bonding experience for them and i got a kick out of making yugi afraid of heights, the scene just flowed! The end the same during the rewrite!

I also did a LOT of research on ancient ship building, repair and life and let me tell you it was NOT easy but the research definitely made the chap feel more authentic and i loved it :)

Glossary

A few nautical terms…

Planking — fresh planks or boards used to repair holes and replace rotting woods in hulls, especially after heavy storms that can cause water damage.

Oakum — loose fiber obtained by untwisting and picking apart old ropes, used to caulking the seams of ships

Caulk — to fill or close seams/crevices in ships in order to make them watertight. In ships, it is to make a vessel watertight by filling the seams between the planks with oakum or other materials.

Pitch — a dark, tenacious, and viscous substance, possible tar, used for caulking or sealing the holes in ships and the cracks between boards. Also used to prevent flooding and water damage.

Ladle — in verb form, it is to dip or cover as if with a ladle tool. Ladling wood with hot pitch was the best way to seal any remaining holes in the ship after the rotten wood and oakum was removed.

Grammar Knight's Note/s:

winkling – to extract or obtain something with difficulty.

kakistocracy – the government of a state by its most unprincipled citizens; a government under the control of a nation's worst or least-qualified citizens.

NEXT UPDATE: JANUARY 30th

NEXT TIME: The winds of change are blowing and as one relationship processes another sours, and when things take a turn for the worst, Yugi makes a split second decision that will change everything!