If you've been keeping up with my profile you all know RL has been pure hell so my goal of updating this regularly in February fell through the way side, for those of you who haven't, long boring story short: the combination of work, collage and getting into grad school was murder, and on top of all my projects: my annotated bibliography, three papers, two presentations, my 25-page bibliography, filling out paperwork for graduation i literally had NO time, and any time i did i spent with my friends who i wouldn't get to see much after graduation...
so aside from my spordic reviews: I AM BACK BABY! I got this baby banged out in a few days and my goal is to update FK by next week!
And for all my fans of this story since the wait was like 5 months (I'm so sorry) i made this an extra long chapter for all of you ^-^
Dedications: To Shana-chan, my newest friends who i adore, who betaed this chapter, since my other beta is WAY too busy, I love you girl! And of course to all my loyal fans and friends who've stuck by me despite my poor update record. I love you all!
Disclaimer: Yugioh and all its characters belong to Kazuki Takehashi, my hero and idol, the plot for this movie is of my own adaption based on Viktor Hugo's classic The hunchback of Notre Dame, the musical adaption, and the beloved Disney movie.
As always, read, review, critique, comment, flame if you must but there better be a reason or i will NOT be this polite.
Chapter Eight: Decisions
Malik was stunned his brother hadn't gone mute from all his screaming. The gypsies and vagabonds had wisely fled once the guards started approaching the square. All but the shop keepers, who were already packing up their caravans, remained, leaving the scraps and litter from food and drinks and the remaining decorations that needed to be taken down. Other than that the cobblestone square in front of the church was a vacant as it was every other day of the year.
Malik scowled watching the sun set. An entire Mardi Gras had been wasted.
"Marik!" he called the Bishop who turned his angry scowl toward him. "The courtyard is cleared. My guards are awaiting your orders."
Marik said nothing. His eyes flashed with anger and his black-gloved fists clenched and unclenched at his sides. He turned away from his brother and stomped deeper into the courtyard where he'd witnessed the gypsy whore attempting to seduce his Glory. When he couldn't find the boy after the performance ended, he assumed the boy had rejected the temptations of the gypsies and returned to the church. To his horror, he'd found the boy dancing like a gypsy in the center of a crowd of filthy peasants and corrupted vagabonds. He knew it was unfair to blame Ryou Glory, the boy was too innocent. But to his fury, the gypsy had spirited away his unsuspecting ward before Marik could rescue him and let his ward know he'd forgiven him for his betrayal.
He barely heard his brother's voice calling his name through the anger of his heart pounding in his ears. Just as he turned to leave a glint of green caught his eyes. Following the bright light, his gaze widened with shock when they discovered the source of the glow: a large emerald the size of a walnut on a silver chain.
He bent down carefully, so not to damage his robes, and picked up the lovely object and dangled it from between his fingers. The silver chain coiled about them, allowing the emerald to slip free and glisten in the light. The object was stunning, and the color identical to the silver gypsy boy's eyes, Marik recalled and bit back a growl of disgust when the memory of the boy made him shiver.
But then he paused to think. Why had such a beautiful gift appeared here? Now, where his ward had been…A gasp of realization tore itself from his throat. Was this a sign from the Lord? Was He telling him not to lose faith? To not give up on his young ward just yet? After all, he hadn't checked the church? Ryou could've still returned. After all, the circus was simply doing what Ryou did every day; the bishop had seen him when he performed his daily tasks of ringing the bell towers. There was no sin against enjoying one's work? In fact the Lord encouraged it, did He not?
Maybe…just maybe…what he saw was Ryou Glory's true test? That this was his true brush with temptation, something that he had to overcome? A hopeful smile graced his lips and he said a silent prayer of thanks to the good Lord for reminding him to be faithful. He pocketed the emerald and turned to his brother.
Time had frozen the instant the request left the gypsy boy's mouth. The weight of the declaration crashed up against Ryou's practical thinking, making him momentarily forget to breathe. The air became too still and the cacophony of the Mardi Gras crowd immediately silenced. The pounding of his heart and the roar of silence deafened all other noise.
His blank mind could hardly utter a thought, let alone an opinion. The rational logic of his practical side warred bitterly with the new adventurous side that had always remained dormant with him and only seemed to surface right when he needed it most. Rationality spoke the obvious choice, but his heart and spirit roared with such a cheer that Ryou wanted more than anything to agree with.
The weightlessness he'd felt that day, that he only ever felt when ringing his beloved bells every morning. The freedom to perform whenever he wished, to move his body through suspended air as effortlessly as a fish swam through water; the freedom he'd enjoyed dancing that day, so liberally and effortlessly. It was like he had not a care in the world and no worry for his immortal soul. The rush he'd felt escaping the guards and coercing with normal people in a way he'd never done in all his years at the church, even when he'd helped his master and the sisters with services. He could understand why the gypsies treasured their wild, nomadic lifestyle. He'd give anything to experience that again. The good and the bad; he'd accept the sufferings such a life promised and all the hardships it was married to if it meant he could experience what he'd experienced that single day once again.
And the gypsy boy himself had been wonderful company. He'd made a promise to show Bakura the beauties of the world and how to be less cynical, but in the end it was he who'd been given the time of his life. He couldn't deny the spark he'd felt when Bakura challenged him or the triumph he'd felt whenever he'd defeated him, in dance or acrobatics. It was wonderful having someone who not only shared his talents but could challenge him as well. And Bakura was pleasant to talk to. Despite his bleak outlook on life there was a spark in the man's spirit. One that shined when he performed, Ryou had seen proof of that.
Saying yes would be so easy. He wouldn't even need to think about it.
So then why was he?
He looked heavenward hoping for assistance to his dilemma, but none came. Only the soft cooing of the birds Atem loved to scream as they escaped the tower that housed his precious bells. The bells that sang him to sleep as a child and who he woke every morning and made him smile with their pretty sounds. The Bells he loved. Emmanuel, who was his own precious secret, that shook the tower whenever the enormous bourdon was rung, and the bells that rang consistently every morning to greet the dawn as the sun crested over the horizon. The Three Maries who had given him happiness; who had taught him how to cry and how to laugh. Little Marie rang for children's funerals to comfort the heavy hearts of the living. Big Marie announced the ships sailing from the harbor, igniting the excitement of the town while reminding the sailors to come home. And then there was Great Marie, the grandest of all, who was rung on weddings, a time of hope and happiness and new beginnings. He'd never forget each time one was rung and how the Grigori explained them and their purpose to him as a young boy, for the Maries were the bells the Grigori loved most of all.
The Grigori. Could he really leave them without saying goodbye? They had been so proud of his independence and courage when he decided to join the festival, and as he spoke he knew they'd be loyally waiting to hear all about the time he'd spend. Even if he did say goodbye, what would they do if he never came back? Could he really look into Yugi's devastated face, at Atem's broken fury, or Yami's bewildered shock and leave for a life of complete uncertainty? No matter how gracious the gypsies had been or how kind Bakura was he had only just met them. Could he really trust a perfect stranger that much? It was not like the Grigori who provided him with security and love and who he trusted because he was simply too young to know what trust was. Even if he did trust Bakura, even he couldn't promise Ryou the future. The Bishop had taught him of fate, he knew no promise or preparation could secure the future. Would he really be worth it? Abandoning the family he loved and who loved him, who he may never see again, for a life of freedom and uncertainty that would always promise struggle and no security. When would he next see the church? Or Paris? Would the Bishop even allow this?
Yes. Ryou decided. He would, simply because he was a good man, but there would be no hiding the disappointment if he ever saw Ryou again. The Bishop would be devastated if he left and Ryou knew it. Perhaps the man was not the ideal guardian, but he loved Ryou as much as a man of the cloth could. Never had he neglected the boy if he could avoid it. Never had he let his duty to God and the church prevent him from caring for the boy as if he were his own. Even when his duty to the church called him away, he always left strict instructions for the nuns and archdeacon to see to his care. It was coincidence that the Grigori were there first.
The Bishop trusted and raised him. The Grigori were his true family, taught him the value of life and freewill as God's greatest gift and never failed to remind him that he was loved. And the beautiful church that was home.
Ryou bowed his head with a small, sad smile. A single tear slid from his cheek. "I can't."
"You can't?" Bakura repeated, testing the words on his tongue. He blinked for a moment, hoping the action would clear his mind and make sense of what he'd heard. It didn't. "I don't understand?"
It was true. He hadn't understood why he'd asked in the first place, he only knew that if he didn't he'd regret it.
"Not because I don't want to," Ryou continued his voice soft with comfort. Only when he raised his smiling face did Bakura see the pretty tears running down his face, but they did little to mar his serene smile. "I'd love to travel with you and the gypsies and see the world, to perform and be free. I just can't yet." Ryou wiped his tears away and met the gypsy's confusion with kind, dry eyes. "I have people here who I love very much, and they'd be devastated if I left. As much as I want to live my own life some day, I'm just not ready to leave them yet. I'm sorry Bakura."
The declaration was simple but sensitive. The caution in the tone made it clear Ryou sought to guard Bakura's feelings rather than his own. Despite the initial anger and disappointment at the rejection, Bakura couldn't bring himself to truly be angry with the boy. Not when he was trying so hard to be sweet purely for his sake, and at heart, he knew this was the reaction he'd expected. After all could he leave the gypsies if given the same choice? No, He decided. He couldn't.
"Don't apologize for your decision," Bakura said, "It makes it sound like you're choosing the lesser of two evils." He flashed the boy a cocky grin. "If that's your decision who am I to tell you what to do. Besides," he pushed himself off the church wall, and winked. "No one can blame you for choosing your family," he looked like he was about to leave. Ryou opened his mouth to stop him, but Bakura straightened his back and raised a hand, "But," he whirled around and removed a strange necklace on a rope from his pocket. It was simple and oval shaped and woven like a dream catcher with a white cross in the center surrounded by a blue oval and dotted with several other colorful shapes.
He took Ryou's hand, dropped the necklace inside and curled his fingers over it. "If you ever change your mind, that'll help you find us."
"It's lovely," Ryou complimented, running his fingers admiringly over the craftsmanship, "Is is like a badge of some sort?" Ryou asked slipped it over his neck.
Bakura shook his head. "It's a trick my brother taught me. He said all you need to know is that 'when you hold this sacred band you hold the city in your hand' and it will help you to find the Court of Miracles."
Ryou didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. Even when Bakura yelled at him to stop blubbering he just kept laughing until the gypsy became so frustrated that he gave up and laughed as well, until they sat on the ground at the base of the church like tired children.
"Thank you, Bakura," Ryou smiled, when he finally calmed down.
"Uh, you're welcome," he said unsure how else to answer, but threw a hearty chuckle in.
"You should head back," Ryou shook his head and offered the gypsy a hand. He gestured towards the setting sun. "It'll be dark soon."
"Good advice," Bakura snorted. "Lord knows my brothers panic whenever I'm not home." The gypsy chuckled and started down the road.
He waved over his shoulder and turned to the gypsy. "I had fun today, kid."
"I did too," Ryou called back watching him leave.
Bakura smiled then paused and whirled around. "Wait a minute, what's-" the gypsy gaped staring at the spot where the Angel of Notre Dame had been standing not a second ago, but was now vacant.
"What is it?" a voice called from nowhere.
Confused Bakura's vision darted from side to side and all around but found nothing.
"Bakura?"
The gypsy followed the voice. His jaw nearly dropped when he finally found the mysterious boy…hanging from one of the saint statues that circumnavigated the first layer of Notre Dame.
"How did…" Bakura raised a finger; his eyes glued to the sight as if looking away would confirm it was real.
Ryou blinked at him, then swung upwards, grabbing the lower balcony and back-flipped so he landed on the other side. "Are you alright?" Ryou asked.
Bakura shook his head, "Fine!" he grumbled and controlled himself until he lost his train of thought again. "So…" he crossed his arms behind his back. "Do I get to know your name now?" He said with a coy grin.
Ryou laughed. "It's Ryou." The angel answered without hesitation. "My name is Ryou."
"Ryou." Bakura pondered the name, before waving over his shoulder. "Goodbye Ryou?"
The boy smiled, watching the gypsy until his red clothing vanished into the chaos of Paris. "Goodbye Bakura." Ryou smiled with a dreamy expression that made him feel odd, before turning back towards the stone pillars and once more began to climb.
He couldn't wait to tell the Grigori about this.
The circus tent and stage had nearly been taken down by the time Bakura had arrived. Attending to his usual job, he gripped a low-hanging gutter and hoisted himself onto a shallow roof and proceeded to undo the flag wires and tightrope knots. To the shock of his family, he did without complaint. No bragging about his performance, no arrogant swagger as he strutted from roof to roof, no snappy comments or playful banter. Just a silent, flawless movement used only when they man was in deep thought.
"What's gotten into you?" Mana asked, with her hands on her hips when the man jumped down.
"Nothing," Bakura grumbled strutting past her.
It wasn't a lie. He didn't even know what was wrong. After the fun day he had what on Earth could make him feel so…so…he didn't even know the right word. Sad sounded too feminine, depressed sounded too strong, angry was only half right and didn't really fit. Was he, dare he say it, upset? Surely the boy's rejection hadn't wounded his pride that much? It wasn't even like he was rejecting him, he'd just chose to stay with his family, who would probably otherwise be hurt if he left them so suddenly and with no explanation. He certainly couldn't blame the boy for that? Chaos would kill him if he'd done the same thing, right after Mahado and Mana beat him within an inch of his life. In that sense, his pride wasn't even really scratched so what the hell was wrong with him?
In his frustration, Bakura wrenched his hair, shook his head and released a growl that morphed into an exasperated scream. "Dammit, what is wrong with me?" he commanded the sky, desperate for an answer. His only response was the befuddled and slightly amused faces of his family.
Bakura clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms, his gritted teeth formed an angry mutation of a hiss and a growl, and his eyes narrowed, fiercely: all of these were failed attempts to force down the embarrassingly red color that burned across his face.
"I need to think." He turned on his heels and stormed back towards the courtyard.
Mana and Mahado both blinked and exchanged glances. "What was that about?" Mahado inquired.
Mana just shrugged.
A playful smirk graced Chaos face, and he chuckled before continuing his work. "He's in love."
Chaos counted to three and waited for the explosion that followed that statement.
If he were a less controlled man, Bakura would have screamed. But all he had to do was remember his earlier embarrassing episode and his current location, and he could beat down any further thoughts or actions that might further serve to embarrass him. The fact that'd he'd done so even once was humiliating enough. Mana would never let him live this down.
And worse it did little to ease his situation. He still had no idea why he was suddenly so upset or angry or whatever the hell it was he was feeling whenever he realized that M'Ange wasn't with him…no not M'Ange. Ryou. That had been the boy's name. That's what he'd told him when he'd waved to him from the tower, wearing the brightest and sweetest smile that would put Mana's to shame. Just the memory sent a flutter through his chest, and Bakura found it so unfamiliar that he nearly made himself sick from the confusion. The gypsy braced his arm against the wall and ran a hand through his hair. He pressed his back against the rough stone and exhaled a frustrated gasp of air.
These feelings were so strange and foreign. He couldn't decide if they were good or bad. As far as emotions went, Bakura knew plenty of them and made his leaving manipulating them to his will. Seduction was a game after all, and he knew exactly how to make everyone want him, even if they knew they'd never get anything more than his dances. But even then that had been for fun and if anyone actually took him up on those offers, he'd keep them at an arms-length for reasons that were nothing less than obvious.
But not Ryou. The boy had made his innocence quite obvious. He enjoyed his dance, but had denied it and countered him at every turn. Always delighting in a challenge, Bakura met his match blow for blow. But the boy was so incredibly naïve and unicorn innocent, watching him perform his tricks and run around like a child was almost adorable. So much in fact that it left the gypsy thinking about it long after the time had passed and that frustrated him! He was the one who seduced everyone and left them dry, not the other way around! But Ryou was a church child. He was obviously too naïve to know how to tempt and tease and if he did then it would be considered lust and thus something to be ignored and avoided at all costs. If Ryou had secretly been trying to seduce him, Bakura would've broken down laughing. Still, it wasn't lust. Bakura knew that for a fact. It was something different.
Friendship maybe? Mana had always told him he needed to branch away from the caravan once in a while, and it was nice to actually have someone to talk to. Especially since the closest he got to human contact outside of the gypsies was outwitting the guards. Still it seemed to weak a word. At this rate he'd be better off doing the one thing he'd swore he'd never do and ask his siblings.
"Dammit!" Bakura punched the wall, hoping it would ease his busted ego. It didn't.
"Now what would possibly make someone so lovely look so angry?" the charismatic words rolled off the tongue in clipped baritone keys, that made even Bakura spin around to find their origin.
Immediately his guard went up and his hand instinctively reached for the knife he kept contained in his belt. Leaning smugly against the wall, not five feet from him, and with a smile that would make a weakling faint, stood none other than the most hated of all the King's guards: Malik Ishtar, the younger brother of the Bishop.
Malik couldn't believe his luck. One minute he'd been desperate to escape his brother's manhunt for his ward, whom he was not allowed near, and on a quest to relieve himself of his anger and drown in the sorrows of his wasted Mardi Gras, only to find none other than the very gypsy that had delighted him earlier that same morning and seduced him with his dances and tricks at the circus. Just the memory spiked his arousal to life. He licked his lips like a hungry wolf at the mere sight of him.
Luscious quicksilver hair cascaded in disheveled spikes down his back. Even with several wild strands fluttering frustratingly about the locks, it still looked perfect. That lean figured was poised elegantly against the wall, revealing long, slender, naked legs, firm with dancer's muscles and bells jingled about the ankles. The firm chest and lean arms carefully concealed beneath the slim shirt and long coat he wore, sculpting that luxurious torso that betrayed nothing but still enhanced the mystery and desire concealed beneath. And that chiseled face was as perfect as ever. His thin lips were pulled into a growl revealing gritted teeth. His cheeks rose in frustration and his eyelids squinted harshly concealing those glorious eyes. It was a look of frustration and anger. It marred those perfect, delicate features in Malik's eyes and he disliked it. He carefully approached the youth, determined to change it.
Carefully, he swaggered to the courtyard wall the youth occupied, put on his most mesmerizing smile and asked, "Now what could possibly make one so lovely look so angry?" He purposely rolled the words off his tongue with a slight purr.
The sultry rasp in his voice succeeded in making the youth shiver and it was a miracle of Malik's will that he didn't grin like a wolf with a rabbit in its jaws.
The moment the man turned around and saw him his entire demeanor and posture transformed from curiosity to offense. That unwanted expression of distrust returned to his face. His eyes narrowed in a fearsome glare, and his arm flew behind his back, most likely to clench some kind of weapon. His body took on a defensive stance, even as he was poised to attack, like a crouched panther. Before Malik could fathom his dislike for the youth's offensive posture, a sharp sheen echoed in his ears and he was hurled to the ground, embarrassingly. His heavy armor clanging loudly against the ground and his own sword was held at his throat.
"Who are you?" the gypsy demanded, his expression fierce and green eyes wild.
Even with a face contorted with rage and mistrust, the boy was beautiful. But the sword, his sword poised at his neck was not. Thinking quickly, the guard flashed a kind, albeit alarmed smile and started back-peddling away from the blade but the gypsy pursued him relentlessly. Still moving backwards, he held up a hand flat and forward in a wave, a universal sign of defense. "Easy there, I mean you no harm."
He was not convinced. "That's what they all say." Bakura continued to pursue the guard, unwilling to lower his guard or loosen the grip on the blade, even as the guard backed against the wall and used the support to try and rise to his feet. Bakura cut him off, unwilling to give the guard even a chance to regain his control.
Seeing the youth was uncharmed by words, Malik composed himself and decided to change tactics. "I am being honest. I simply saw that you were upset and decided to try and help."
His eyes darted towards the sword then back to the youth. The fierceness in his eyes hadn't faltered and he disliked it. He didn't want that beautiful face scowling at him, he didn't even want it teasing him like he did all those drunken fools at the festival. He wanted to see affection and devotion on his face. Devotion only to him. "Really," he spoke softly, hoping the change of tone would calm him. "I was mistaken. But if you'd calm down and return my sword, I'd be more than happy to apologize for overstepping my grounds."
"Right," Bakura dragged the word, his voice dripping in rhetoric. "And I suppose once I return it to you, you will turn around, bow and leave? That you won't attack me the moment you have it back and hold it to my throat until you have me chains? I think not, I know better than to trust a guard, let alone a Captain, if that broach of yours is any indignation."
If he were not so knowledgeable in the sights and activities of emotions, Malik would've growled at the obvious symbol of his status being the cause for his current situation. The gypsy's hatred for the guards was not uncommon, but his patience was wearing thin and he'd be damned if he lost his magnificent specimen because of a job he didn't want.
"I have no desire of doing that," Malik said sweetly. "I, unfortunately, did not choose this occupation, and if I may be frank, I detest it. I don't care much for rounding up innocents simply because some people dislike them."
His words were honest, there weren't many perks were granted to him as Captain, it was a pointless job that he despised. He had no desire to be a pawn in his brother's extermination, and if that dislike would help him earn a place in the gypsy's bed then why not tell the truth?
Slowly, so not to startle the boy, whose fierceness was already beginning to mellow at the unexpected responses, Malik placed a gauntlet-covered finger on the edge of the blade and carefully pushed it away from his neck. Sensing the weakening grip on the hilt, he clenched the sword's blade in the gauntlet and squeezed. Not expecting the action, the gypsy lost his grip, and Malik seized the opportunity to wrench the sword free. The action knocked the boy off his feet, but he quickly spun onto his back and pulled a pair of knives from his belt. Thick, sharp steel knives; not the dulled, decorative ones he'd used in his performance. He rolled into a half somersault, and then used the momentum to project himself to his feet, just as Malik lifted his heavy, armored body of the ground.
The fierce look in his eyes returned. "You sneaky, son of a-"
"Ah-ah, watch it, we're so close to the church," Malik cut him off, politely. "And to be fair, I did ask nicely."
"I should've known," the gypsy lunged forward, the knives spinning in his hands. Malik raised his sword in defense and blocked the two knives with his blade and gauntlet, allowing Bakura to push him back, but careful not to become cornered.
The boy fought fiercely, and more than once Malik found himself using his full strength just to defend. He could easily disarm the boy, but it would do little in his quest to earn the gypsy's trust, and he didn't want that lovely body riddled with scars.
"Easy there," Malik jumped away, throwing his hands up in a universal sign of defense. When the gypsy refused to drop his guard he continued, "I said I mean you no harm, and I meant it." He sheathed his sword and bowed graciously to leave. "If I may, I shall take my leave."
Bakura blinked. That wasn't how the guards spoke, or how they acted. Most of the time they flaunted authority, grabbed and arrested but never asked questions or showed anyone any concern. They held swords and knives and struck without warning until their victims surrendered. Even their higher-ups were treated and regarded with fear and respect only through force. They never cared if a simple person was upset or in need of assistance unless it affected them directly or the issue was brought to the higher ranks of authority. So why was this one being so polite? He didn't even fight back?
"You're not arresting me?" He asked the man's back. Bakura wasn't naïve enough to believe seeing someone in frustration was the only reason the man came over. Still this guard intrigued him.
Malik's smirk curled at the corners, the wolf had snared its prey. An introduction was all that was needed, once inside it was simply a matter of what was needed to craft a persona necessary to earn the boy's trust. Pulling his lips into a friendly smile and with kind eyes and a civilian's voice, he answered "Not unless defending one's self is a crime. I personally do not believe so."
Bakura shrugged. "You're not at all like the other soldiers." He remarked, sheathing his knives, but approached the guard cautiously. Polite or not, he was still a guard. This could easily be a trick.
"Thank you, I take that as a compliment," Malik accepted the compliment graciously. "Who are you?" Bakura asked, intrigued.
"My name is Malik Ishtar." He boasted proudly. "Malik means King, Ishtar is the name of a goddess of war."
Bakura raised an unimpressed eyebrow as if the display of arrogance was meant to arouse his approval. Unsure of the man's intentions Bakura countered his bravado with a tactic of his own. "Ishtar, as in the brother of the Bishop Ishtar?" he mocked, curiously.
He'd recognize the younger brother of the bishop even if the man had kept silent about his name. The bishop's face was well known among the gypsies, as was his brother's. The man's mysterious departure from the city has been the talk of the town for months. His sudden return, and on Mardi Gras no less, ignited an uproar. Bakura had fortunately never met the Bishop or his brother but their unusual bronze skin, rare for the area, pale corn-silk hair and lavender eyes made them easy to recognize. Nonetheless, he was not naïve. He knew to never trust a guard, especially not a Captain. No matter how polite he was being, it could still be a trick.
Malik resisted the urge to growl when the boy crossed his arms and stood rigid, but he caught the curiosity the boy kept well masked within his eyes. Perfect.
"Unfortunately," he answered in a voice full of dread. "He's the reason behind my current occupation you see. He's determined to save my 'damned soul' as he calls it. As I am sure you can tell, he and I are not exactly on friendly terms. He's quite obnoxious in his opinions, you know?"
"Too well," Bakura gave a small grin.
"Now, if I may be bold," Malik cautiously stepped forward. The viper has the bird in its gaze but it wasn't spellbound just yet. It could still fly away. "May I ask your name?"
Bakura hesitated than answered "Esmeralda." Only stage names were used outside the Court and the presence of gypsies. It was too dangerous to give out one's true name.
"Esmeralda," Malik replied, loving how the name rolled off his tongue with a purr. "That suits you, a beautiful name for a beautiful young man." Malik flashed an amorous grin and resisted the urge to pounce when the gypsy's face suffused with color, and oh what a delectable color it was. That lovely tint of scarlet against his lightly tanned skin dyed it a soft pinkish auburn. Those brilliant, bright eyes and soft, silver hair only made the color more palpable.
Bakura didn't know whether to be appreciative or offended by the remark. He recognized that smile. Was the guard…flirting with him? He was used to be the object of desire but affection was another thing entirely, and no one had ever acted on it before? Part of him wanted to punch the man for being so forward, and another part wanted to accept the compliment and hear more, and another part wanted him to turn around and run before the situation could spin any more out of his control. Too many thoughts, too may complications, too many at once. Damn it, what is happening to me!
"You really are nothing like the other guards," Bakura shook his head, desperate to maintain control, finding the charming man, harder and harder to tolerate, but not for any negative reason.
"I am glad," Malik smiled, adding a sultry purr to his words. "I should hope I continue to prove to you I am not, but I would like to know more about you…Esmeralda."
That way his name rolled off the man's tongue sent a shiver down Bakura's spine. Whether it was from pleasure or dread he wasn't sure. But that polite speech, gentle demeanor, and kind smile, it was almost like…
"Perhaps you would like to schedule a rendezvous point?" Malik took a step closer, his voice dripping with charm.
"Ryou," Bakura suddenly breathed, realization dawning on him so suddenly. He covered his mouth in shock, remembering where he was and more importantly whom he was with.
"Is that a place?" Malik asked curiously, confused by the sudden outburst. It didn't sounds like a place but arrogance forbade him from believing the object of his desires would dare think of another while in his presence.
Bakura shook his head and regained himself. "Apologizes, I was lost in my thoughts," the gypsy countered, seeming nervous. "I'm afraid I must decline your offer. My family will come looking for me soon; they just get so nervous when I'm late." He explained already taking small steps backwards. Before the guard could protest, the gypsy turned on his heels and broke into a run.
"Wait!" Malik commanded, charging after him but the moment he turned the corner he found the alleyway vacant of life. Above him the chime of bells echoed in his ears. He searched the roofs just in time to catch a flash of red and silver racing across the terrace before vanishing into another alleyway.
Gauntleted hands curled into fists, and shook violently. He whirled around and slammed his fists into the stone wall with a fierce punch. The second soon followed. Powerful blows beat the unprotected stone mercilessly until it chipped and clattered beneath the forced of the man's fury. A violent scream tore itself from his mouth. When he pulled away, heavy rasps replaced his voice and hot liquid pooled over his fingers, dripping dots of red through the cracks of his gauntlets. Drops littered the cobblestone at his sides like scattered rubies.
He pulled off one of the gauntlets and stared at the cracked skin of his knuckles and the black bruises and rust colored blood smearing across his fingers. The color reminded him of the coat the gypsy wore, old and withered and the color faded like dried blood. Remembering the way it molded that perfect form, hugged those firm limbs, and the way it teased him to the curiosity of what lay beneath it, and the thought of that gorgeous specimen writhing beneath him, filled him with fury. With a ferocious growl he slammed his naked fist into the wall, hard enough that a sickening crack echoed from the impact. Whether it was the stone or his own bones breaking he wasn't sure.
Fire burned the skin, blood painted the walls where the skin of his knuckles cracked, the tiny fragments of broken stone dug into the exposed flesh like knives, and the bones of his fingers screamed when he removed them and flexed the aching appendages.
Pain was good. It relaxed him.
Bakura's heart was still pounding when he made it back to the clearing. The caravans were already packed and loaded, ready to leave, and the gypsies had already donned less suspicious costumes to hide their appearances from the night watch. He was shivering but he couldn't figure out why. His hammering heart and deep breathing alerted him that something was off, and it frustrated him that he didn't know what.
Part of him knew it was disgust. He was practically flirting with a guard for God's sake? A Guard that was also a Captain, who hated his job, and unlike the other guards who would've attacked and arrested him or pinned him to the ground and possibly rape him before handing him over to the palace of justice to either be burned or hanged or tortured in jail for the rest of his life.
This guard had been well mannered and gracious without even an attempt to harm him. Even after Bakura had disarmed him, but that was all, and he spoke so graciously, Bakura was surprised by how courteous he was given the fact he had disarmed him, threw him to the ground, and held him at sword point.
But it wasn't the guard himself he'd been intrigued by, he'd realized that. It was that all he could hear, see, and remember was sweet-tempered and courteous personality Ryou possessed. He'd been flirting with a guard because the guard reminded him of Ryou? Even on a subconscious level the mysterious boy consumed his thoughts.
Again Bakura found himself burying his frustrated hands into his hair, but this time he pressed his forehead against the nearby wall. How the hell could one person he'd only known half a day affect him so much? Hell he'd been a nuisance at best their first meeting, that dialect of his was so proper and pronounced that it frustrated him. And he was naïve, dreadfully so.
He was like a curious child in constant need of supervision. More than once he had to keep his eyes glued to him in fear that Ryou would get too curious and innocently run into danger if he didn't. He wasn't a damned nursemaid!
But at the same time, he was so sickeningly sweet that it was impossible to be mad at him. He was the last person Bakura should've been curious about, yet the boy haunted his thoughts like a cheerful ghost who wanted to play games all day. Or a child that needed constant watch, or an angel who saw the good in everyone and wanted to make everyone happy.
"Damn it, I did it again!" Bakura shot up and nearly slammed his head against the wall, but vanity prevented him from doing anything that would damage his face. Not even Mana frustrated him this much, so what was going on?"
He rolled around and leaned back against the wall. Frustration and confusion taking its toll on his body, he slid to the ground.
"Are you alright?" He looked up to see Mana leaning over and staring at him, her hands on her hips and her large blue eyes blinking curiously.
"Oh yes," Bakura retorted, "I'm just curled up on the ground 'cause it's fun!"
The snap earned him a whack on the head. "Don't be mean, you jerk!" Mana snapped.
Bakura glared at her and growled "You asked!" He shoved past her and stormed off.
"That's why I asked," she continued, yelling at his back. "You were fine until this afternoon and then you started acting all mopey and weird. So suck it up and tell me what's wrong. Does it have something to do with that boy?"
Bakura hesitated for a second.
He recovered quickly but the pause didn't go unnoticed by Mana. "Ah, so it does," A devious smirk curled across her face. "I thought you looked unusually happy after the show."
"Shut up!" Bakura whirled around and snapped. "It has nothing to do with that!"
"So where is your friend?" Mahado strolled over and into the conversation.
Bakura snorted. "I took him home, and why are you all so quick to call him my 'friend'. I only met him this afternoon."
"Well, you normally don't invite someone you don't like to publically join your performances." Mahado smirked. "You're much too vain to share the spotlight."
Bakura stayed still. His expression stoic. It was true: his performances were so strict and precise, just the thought of someone freelancing his practiced, perfected masterpiece was unthinkable. But Ryou bragged so much about his own talents, the acrobat was curious. "You know that I love a good challenge," Bakura countered. "He offered one."
"Perhaps, but I don't recall you ever spending the entire day with one of your challenges either," Mana said coyly. "Is that something you're not telling us?"
"No," Bakura said quickly and harshly. "Why the sudden interest in my social connections?"
"Because you don't have any social connections."
The three whirled around. Their eldest sibling and Master stood behind him grinning. "At least, none you remember so well after leaving them."
"And how, exactly, would you know that?" Bakura asked rhetorically.
Chaos caught the sarcasm in his voice all too well. The boy always used it when he wanted to hide his inner turmoil and confusion, but he answered anyway. "I know because, you cannot stop thinking about him, yet you don't know why." Bakura paused for a second. "You keep seeing him no matter how hard you try not to, but again you don't know why." Another pause. "And when you think about him, he makes you feel things you don't normally feel, which again you don't know what they are, and all of that frustrates you because you want to know what it is so that you can make it go away." That time he stopped. "But no matter how hard you try…you can't."
Chaos resisted a victorious smirk when Bakura turned to look over his shoulder, his barricade weakening.
Finally, he watched the boy – internally - swallow his pride, put on a brave face and ask, "Huh? Well then, if you're so confident, then what do you think is wrong with me?" Bakura crossed his arms and smirked, thinking he had his guardian cornered.
Chaos shook his head at the bravado and replied. "You're in love."
Chaos would've given anything to capture the reaction that resulted from that simple statement. Bakura's entire expression dropped. Stunned mystification and disbelief caused his eyes to bulge. His face contorted with befuddlement, unable to fathom or even process the words being said to him or even consider the possibility that they might be true.
Mana's eyes shrunk and her mouth opened and split into an expression torn between humor, shock, and confusion.
Mahado's jaw hit the ground and his eyebrows rose so high his eyes bulged, an impossible expression on one known for his iron control and seriousness save for his moments of mischievous.
Chaos' grin remained on Bakura unsure if the man would laugh or lunged at him, for such an insulting statement. Fortunately, the boy's shocked expression twisted with disbelief and humor until he finally burst into a laugher so violent Bakura had to hold his sides to keep himself upright.
"What is this?" He chocked between laughs. "The show is over Chaos, surely there is no need for jesting."
Chaos expected the response, but his eyebrows narrowed in solemnity nonetheless. "What makes you think I'm jesting?" He commanded.
Bakura's stopped his laughing but he kept the expression of humor evident on his face. "Oh come now, you can't possibly be serious. Me, in love? We'd sooner have better luck finding a place that doesn't want to prosecute us outside the Court of Miracles?"
"I have to agree, Chaos," Mahado chimed in. "Bakura is that last person to know what love is."
Despite the truth in the word, Bakura glared at him nonetheless.
"I never said he did," Chaos chuckled and smiled at Bakura, "But as for you, don't be so quick to dismiss it. You're an adult, Bakura. You're at the age where you're going to discover love," he gave the boy a proud smile.
Bakura blinked, his eyes were filled with confusion and gravity, grasping the situation but unable to handle it.
"My only advice is to be careful who you give your heart to. You're a special boy, Bakura, thus you should only ever give your heart to a special person, and not everyone is trustworthy. You must be extremely careful. The glib words brought the severity of the warning into reality, and even Bakura dared not defy them.
Instead he nodded. "I think you're concerns are too optimistic but thank you for the advice." Bakura paused for a minute. "Chaos?" he asked "What does Ryou mean?"
"Ryou?" Chaos asked confused. "Is…that a name?"
"It's a pretty word," Bakura replied. "Why? What does it mean?"
"It means 'complete' or 'fulfillment'. It's not a name is it?"
Bakura shook his head. "No it's nothing."
Chaos smiled. With the matter cleared he spun around, returning to the grand persona of King of Gypsies. "Now then, everyone do one last sweep and make sure you have everything. We won't be coming back so anything that's not retrieved is lost forever, good?" The tone was unripe but held no room for argument. "Now get moving."
The King of Gypsies disappeared among the caravan, once alone the weight of the card in his pocket burned so heavily it nearly collapsed him. He retrieved it from his coat, his Mistress' final warning screaming hauntingly in his head as he gazed at the object: a simple card decorated with nine positioned swords. "The Martyr," he whispered to himself. "Be careful, Bakura."
The trio made their way up the caravan, confident they had everything. Bakura lead the way with a hop.
His mind still boggled about what Chaos had said. Him, in love? The prospect was ridiculous. And even more was the thought of being in love with Ryou. His hand moved subconsciously towards this neck where his mother's pendant, the symbols of his parent's love dangled. Except…Bakura didn't feel that familiar weight. No heavy oval. Not even the chain against the cloth of his neck.
Panic and horror struck him. "No," he looked down at himself his palm slammed against his chest and smoothed all over his neck seeking any sign of the heavy emerald or the silver chain it dangled on. "No!" His heart nearly burst from his chest with horror. His eyes darted to the ground, painstakingly scanning each floorboard, each pale cobblestone for the large bright emerald. It should've appeared immediately. He found nothing.
"NO!" He screamed and darted all across the courtyard, scanning every inch, more than once he dove to the ground, searching the gutters or under the caravans. "No, no, no, no. NO!" He screamed at the top of his lungs. The commotion alerted his family to his distress.
"What's wrong, Bakura?" Mana called.
"It's gone!" the boy screeched in terror, his nails and knees caked with dirt from his search and his eyes wide. "My emerald! I can't find it!"
Three sets of eyes widened. "Are you sure…it's not…just… misplaced?"
Bakura wasn't sure who said it, but it made him furious. "DON'T JEST!" Bakura screamed. "You all know how important my mother's emerald is to me!"
"Calm down, Bakura," Chaos soothed. "We'll find it."
"It's not here, I checked." Bakura yanked at his hair. "It must be in the plaza, it has to be I had it during the circus and when Ryou and I were dancing, it has to be there." He moved to dash, but Mahado and Mana moved to grab him.
"Bakura wait! It's too dangerous!"
"She's right, the night watch will be swarming the streets!"
"I don't care! I'm not leaving until I find that emerald."
"Then wait until we get to the Court of Miracles first," Chaos ordered, "It'll be safer."
"No!" Bakura wrenched himself free from his siblings. "It's an emerald! Someone would have stolen it by then if they haven't already," his voice was nothing but growls of rage and terror. That emerald was more than just a necklace. It was his mother's. The only thing he had left of her. Her memories. Her face. Her smiles. Everything about her, lost forever. No, he couldn't risk it. He couldn't. "Go without me, I'll meet you there, I know the way!"
Before any of them could protest, Bakura bolted from sight. The flash of his red coat was the last thing they saw before he disappeared among the alleys of Paris.
Dusk had fallen faster than Ryou has expected, but he'd arrived just in time to ring the bells for the evening mass. Unfortunately, he was forced to perform the task in his costume, much to the amusement of the Grigori, who laughed the entire time. Yami teased him about looking like a fairy; Yugi even said he flew like one. Atem just laughed watching him fly around.
Once completed, the trio bombarded him with questions about his day and Ryou delighted in telling them, while they helped him remove the difficult costume. The wings alone were a pain.
"It was fantastic!" Ryou said with dreamy eyes, while Yugi undid the ties on the corset. "I'd never had so much fun. It was like when I rung the bells, but more fun! And Bakura was such wonderful company; I couldn't believe it when he asked me."
"That's the tenth time you mentioned that boy," Atem pointed out, from his position sitting cross-legged on Ryou's bed. His eyebrow twitched each time he spoke. "I'm pretty sure you mentioned this young man's entire routine down to the step."
Ryou giggled. "It was a wonderful routine," Ryou commented, gathering up his night clothes to change into. "And he's a wonderful dancer. I loved the gypsy music! It was so riveting!"
"Thank god, you came home," Yami laughed. "I don't think Atem would've lasted."
"Don't joke, Yami!" Atem snapped. "Our little M'Ange running off with some boy he just met: the idea!"
"I would never run away," Ryou peeked his head from behind the changing wall. "As much as I would've loved to see the Court of Miracles, I could never leave you three, or the church. This is home."
"And like Yami said, it would be Atem's worst nightmare." Yugi added.
"Still, Ryou, you're an adult. You shouldn't restrict your own wishes simply because of your Master, or us. You have your own life to live." Yami explained.
"I know," Ryou answered, emerging in a simply cotton shirt and pants he normally slept in.
"I mean it," Yami said more firmly. "You're not a priest, Ryou, or a monk. Yes, the Bishop adores you, and the church is your home, but if you lived here forever, you'd never be happy." Yami got up and wrapped his arms and wings around the young man. "You need to be free to spread your wings, outside this church."
Ryou returned the hug, and let Yami guide him towards his bed, where Yugi and Atem also had hugs waiting for him. "I know," Ryou breathed. "I really do, I'm just not ready to go anywhere just yet." He looked up: from his room he could see many of the bells. The Maries, the regular bells, enormous Emmanuel and silver chimes. He loved those bells.
"I love the church, I love the bells, and I love all of you so much. I don't want to leave just yet. Besides, I never really had a reason to want to spread my wings."
"Well you might now," Yugi smiled so brightly his cheeks turned pink. "This new friend of yours sounds like he'd want to see you more often." There was a mischievous in his voice that made Ryou blush.
"Over my dead-" Atem began to protest only to be shoved backwards by the two remaining Grigori, causing all three of them to laugh until a knock at the door halted their play.
"One moment!" Ryou jumped to his feet and fluttered his arms for the Grigori to hide. "I'm indecent." It wasn't a lie, only the Bishop ever saw him in his night clothes.
He grabbed his heavy robe, a gift from the Bishop for the winter nights, while the Grigori jumped into the air and soared into their cradle.
"Take your time," Ryou recognized the voice as Ishizu's.
He opened the door, hastily, with a pant. The Abbess stood dressed in the long, black shrouds of a mourning nun. Even the headdress she wore covering her hair was black. In her gloved hands she held a tray of bread, a goblet of water, a plate of grapes, a steaming bowl of lumpy, tan portage decorated with cinnamon, and a small plate of cooked fish, shiny with butter and begging to be eaten. The smells made Ryou's mouth water. He offered to take the tray and set it on his side table.
"Oh Sister Ishizu!" he bowed respectfully. "Forgive me; I didn't know you were coming." The Abbess rarely left her cell in the heart of the church, preferring to live in her seclusion mourning and praying for the sins of others as well as herself. It was rare she left her room, but occasionally he saw her helping the Archdeacon with masses and giving penance to sinners who attended confessions.
"The mass ran late, he asked us to bring you dinner if he was unable to, but he did say he wanted to speak to you later." She replied. Her voice was kind but there was a slight distain in her voice.
"Of course," Ryou bowed surprised the woman would do the Bishop a favor but pretended not to notice. "Would you like some?" he offered.
"You are too generous, little one, but no, I am in mourning, I am fasting until dawn." She said sadly, her deep eyes darkened with sadness and regret.
Ryou nodded. "Of course, forgive me. Despite the circumstances; I hope you have a pleasant evening."
"Thank you, Ryou," she nodded then met his black eyes with grave blue ones. "Did the Bishop warn you about…his brother?"
"Yes," Ryou nodded. "He's returning to Paris, he's to be the new Captain of the Guards."
The Abbess snorted. "That position suits him," she snapped bitterly. "Never trust a guard, Ryou. Lord forgive me, but they are all cruel, sadistic and heartless: they know nothing of mercy and are nothing but murders and thieves!" Her words were harsh and wrenched with pain and hatred, but Ryou stayed silent. He knew her anger and distrust was well-earned.
"Sister," The dark voice of the Bishop halted the distraught woman's rant. Ryou looked up, and bowed respectfully. The Bishop strolled into the room, donned in his traditional attire for mass, a grave frown on his face. "I'd strongly appreciate it, if you didn't corrupt my ward with your unwarranted hatred."
"My hatred is not unwarranted," The Abbess said darkly. "The guards robbed me of my children! The children God gave me as redemption for life of shame. They called me a gypsy whore, and robbed me of my children and killed them! They didn't even have the decency to leave their bodies behind and I will mourn them until the day I die. Do not call my hatred unwarranted." Her voice was harsh, but the Abbess' voice was civil. Dark blue eyes locked with the deep lavender eyes of the Bishop. They dueled in a silent battle of wills. Their distrust of the other was evident.
Though the Abbess had earned a respectable reputation among the church, her life was, according to the Bishop, conceived of sin. The daughter of a woman impregnated by a man who promised to marry her, only to be scorned and abandoned. Her life was one of shame and poverty after her mother abandoned her. She had admitted to be a prostitute in another city, living a life of loneliness and regret. Her children, twins had been the only source of hope and light in her life and she'd devoted all of her love and care towards them. Even her neighbors were willing to forgive her for her past misdeeds seeing how strong her love was for her children, determined not to let her children suffer the same fate as she
Her mourning began fifteen years before the Bishop had adopted Ryou. When she'd come to the church in the wake of the tragedy, she confessed all of her sins to the Archdeacon, her life, the truth of her children, and her devastation after her children had been captured and killed. She had become a nun and spent her days mourning her children and repenting her sins. But regardless, the Bishop saw her as no better than the other women he hated: sinners. His own mother had left him and his twin for dead on the Notre Dame foundling where he had found Ryou. But she likewise distrusted him. She distrusted his blindness to corruption, his harsh methods of addressing sinners and his scorn for women.
Only their mutual respect for the Lord and the Church kept them controlled and civil.
"I'd like to speak to Ryou Glory alone if you don't mind, Sister," the Bishop said politely.
The Abbess turned to Ryou and smiled. "Good night, little one." She bowed and left.
"Good night sister," Ryou called to her back. "Thank you for the food."
The Bishop sighed harshly, before turning to his ward. "So how was your day, Ryou Glory?" He pulled up a chair for himself. "Please eat; I've already had my fill."
Ryou did so, never one to disobey his master. "My day went well. It was wonderful to see the Festival." He said truthfully, and cut into the fish with his eyes downcast. It wasn't a lie after all, but he didn't want the Bishop to see the nervousness he knew was in his eyes.
"I can imagine," The Bishop smiled and placed his chin on his folded gloved hands. His eyes locked on Ryou's. Even without looking at them Ryou could feel the command behind the gaze, almost willing him to look at him, but he kept his head down and continued eating. "I know how much you enjoy the festival, despite the obvious debauchery. I think you would've enjoyed it this year. It was quite a show."
"Oh but, I did enjoy it," Ryou's head shot up; too late he realized the mistake of his words. The Bishop gave him a stoic expression, but the commandment in his eyes never faltered. "I mean, I did see it. Notre Dame has the best view of Paris after all. You can see the square quite clearly." He chose his words carefully. He knew lying was a sin and he didn't want to lie, least of all to his master, but surely telling the truth and leaving out some information was not the same as lying, was it? It was a miracle of Ryou's will that his hands didn't start shaking.
"Indeed." The Bishop smiled and placed his hands in his lap. His perfect, relaxed posture, straight back, and confident demeanor strengthened by the unrivaled conviction in his eyes made him the perfect image of truth and justice. The exact opposite, of Ryou's hutched, rigid, meek, nearly trembling form: eyes downcast, fingers stressed, and back hutched over the table to keep himself from looking up as much as possible.
"Are you nervous, Ryou Glory?" he asked, directly.
"A little," Ryou's heart skipped a nervous beat that lasted for so long he thought it stopped. Time crept by eerily slow, and he felt the weight of his master's judgmental eyes on him.
"Why are you so nervous?" The Bishop interrogated.
"I…" Ryou tried to speak but found he couldn't. Nothing he said would sound like the truth and he could never lie to his master. The man would know it and then he could confront him about it. He'd already disappointed his Master once he didn't want to do so again.
"Is there something you want to tell me, Ryou Glory?"
Ryou couldn't see the Bishop's face. He kept his eyes downcast, but the Bishop's voice was softer, less commanding. It was a tone he used when speaking to those who confessed their sins, and assuring them should they respect their penance they would be forgiven. But he didn't want to confess. He had disobeyed his master's command, yes, he'd given into temptation, yes, but he didn't regret it. He'd loved that wonderful Mardi Gras he'd spent and would give anything to have another day like it. He didn't want to confess to it being a sin. Wisely, Ryou said nothing.
"I see," the Bishop sighed in defeat. The words sounded so broken and so sad that Ryou's eyes flew open. The remorse cut into his heart like a blade and it ached to the core of his being that he had caused his master such pain.
The Bishop got up to leave; his cape whirled mournfully about him like fallen wings. "Before I leave, I wanted to tell you, Ryou Glory, some of the priests and I shall be attending La Sainte-Chapelle. There are several prisoners there about to be executed and some have decided to make their peace with the Lord before death. I will be gone for several days, and I've told the nuns to oversee your care in my absence." He said robotically. His eyes closed and his posture straight and forward, not bothering to look at his ward. "I should be back in no later than a week."
Ryou watched him walk away, towards the door. Away from him. He'd be free once he left. His master need never know about his act of betrayal. Never know how close he came to leaving him forever, even if he suspected something, surely it would pass. The Bishop always forgave him. This time would be no different. He could go back to tell the Grigori all about his wonderful time, maybe even think of a way to visit Bakura, he had the key he'd given him after all. All he had to do was decipher it. And all he had to do was stay silent.
"Master!" Ryou called back to him. The Bishop paused and turned to look over his shoulder. A faint gasp was quickly smothered above him and a small breeze through his hair alerted him to the Grigori's panic. "I do have something I want to tell you, but it is not a confession. Regardless if its origin was sinful, I don't regret it." He said firmly, his voice laced with terror and passion. The Bishop turned around to face him, his posture sharp and his eyes, parentally stern. It made Ryou feel like a child again. Like he had felt all those years ago when he'd last betrayed his Master and had been forced to admit to the crime. But he was a child no longer. He was nearly an adult, and he'd made his choice. He didn't regret his choice.
"I wasn't lying to you before, but I didn't tell you…I…" He kept his bravado but once the time came to speak the actual words, they died in his throat. Determination chocked them from him. "I went to the Mardi Gras today. I'd been planning on going for a while, and I couldn't bear the thought of missing it. I know you told me not to, and I'm sorry, but I stayed far away from your brother as I promised, and I didn't plan on staying long but I befriended someone, and they asked me to stay longer, but I decided to come home, so I did." He said finally, his throat cracked and dried once he finally finished speaking. He exhaled a breath and with it an unbearable heaviness that had been building upon him lifted from his body. Suddenly he felt weightless; completely free of his burden that even the fear of punishment did not stress him. Still he straightened his posture, neutralized his expression and remained firm in his master's presence. "As I said, I'm sorry is disobeyed you, but I don't regret my decision. However, I'm willing to accept the consequences of my actions."
He waited for his Master's anger, his betrayal, his penance, everything but what his master did do. He laughed. A strong, true, hearty laugh, so sweet Ryou's heart nearly stopped that his strong and perfect master could even make such a frivolous sound. Even when happy his amusement was never above a chuckle, not like this. It ended quickly, but the sounded imbedded itself in Ryou's mind and rung in his ears, louder than all of the bells of Notre Dame.
"May the Lord forgive me, for ever doubting you, my Ryou Glory." The Bishop smiled and patted the stunned boy's head.
"Ma-Ma-Master," Ryou stuttered, and shivered at the touch, more scared than before. The reaction was so unexpected and so uncharacteristic he had no idea how to handle it.
"Oh Ryou Glory, you must think me a fool."
"Of course not!" Ryou protested immediately, insulted his Master would even ask. "You are the wisest man I know."
"Not the wisest," the Bishop said modestly, "But even smart men can make foolish decisions. Ryou Glory, I knew you could never resist attending the festival, I told you not to go because I wanted to test you."
Ryou blinked, "I don't understand?" he replied, hurt in his voice.
"Do not think I don't trust you, Ryou Glory." The Bishop placed his hands on Ryou's shoulders and knelt down to his eye level. "For I do, but as the Lord tests us every day, I had to test you. You are so pure, Ryou Glory, you love your work and you love your life and you love our Lord and you love all those around you and you love this church but you never leave it. I needed to see that you could find something else you love, be tempted by something else, but have the wisdom to make the right choice, and you did. Now I must ask that you forgive me."
Ryou's eyes widened in shock. "Forgive you? Master, no, I'm the one who-" The bishop cut him off.
"Perhaps, you did disobey, but you confessed to that sin, already, and I forgave you before you even committed it. But I admit when I saw you today at the circus I feared you would make the wrong choice."
Mortification colored Ryou's cheeks. "You saw that?" he looked away, shamefully.
"Do not feel guilty, you hid yourself well." The Bishop turned the boy's chin to face him again. "I did not even recognize you at first, but I saw no difference from your usual job of ringing the bells, and the Lord does not punish one who loves his work. But I admit I feared for you. I feared you would choose wrong. I feared you would give into the temptation presented to you."
I almost did. Ryou thought, bitterly to himself. Even if he didn't the idea Bakura presented to him still rang clear in his mind and his heart back-flipped into song at the very thought.
"But you didn't." The Bishop completed his thought. "You came home. You made the right choice and didn't give in to your selfish desires, but for a moment I believed you would, and for that, I hope you shall forgive me."
"Of course, I do!" Ryou said instantly. "I could never be angry at you for that."
The Bishop patted his head again, only this time Ryou found it comforting.
"Yes, the Lord reminded me such, when he sent me this," The Bishop added, removing something from his pocket. Ryou didn't see what it was but he felt the Bishop's arms move about his neck. Something heavy pressed against his clothed chest and a chill of metal settled on his neck, followed by a low click. Ryou looked down at himself, and his eyes widened with awe. Carefully, almost not daring to believe the object was real; his fingers brushed gently over the smooth surface of a walnut-sized emerald, and traced its ends to the links of silver chain holding it in place.
"Oh, it's beautiful?" Ryou couldn't take his eyes off of it. His palm moved to cup and it settled perfectly. His eyes suddenly felt wet a frowned set on his face. It was beautiful. Beautiful and perfect; too much so for him. "Oh Master, I can't accept this?"
"It was meant for you," the Bishop explained. "When I thought to doubt you, the Lord sent this to me, it was sign to me to not lose my faith you, as you've never lost your faith in me. It became clear to me when you confessed the truth to me this was meant to be your reward. Keep it, if you feel you have not earned it yet, you will in time." The Bishop rubbed the tears from his eyes and kissed the boy's forehead.
"Thank you," Ryou nodded, whipping his eyes. "It's perfect."
Bishop Marik smiled at his charge and with an elegant turn, his cloak floating to his sides like a black-winged angel retracting its wings. "Good night, Ryou Glory, I shall see you in a few days." He left with those words turning one last time to smile at his charge. "Do not forget, I love you, Ryou Glory."
Ryou nodded and watched him leave. Once the door closed behind him he sank to his knees. The weight of what had happened and what his master said collapsing and releasing from him making his entire body feel numb and weightless at once. The Grigori were immediately by his side, questioning him on his state and frantically demanding answers. Once he could speak again Ryou mollified their fears and leaned back into Yugi's lap.
"My God, I never thought this would ever happen." He breathed, still in slight surprise at his Master's reaction to his truth. His hand still hadn't let go of the pendant he was holding.
"You had us scared there," Yugi admitted. "We were afraid he'd hurt you."
"He wouldn't do that," Ryou said, sitting up. "You know the Bishop is strict but he is just at heart. He would never harm me if I didn't deserve it."
"Still," Atemu turned away, glaring where the Bishop once stood. Ryou didn't bother to attempt to mollify his anger. Atem would never trust Bishop Marik. He knew that. It was useless to convince him otherwise.
"Still, it's a good thing you told him. From the sound of it, he'd already suspected. Keeping the truth contained would've only made things worse for you," Yami explained leaning against the bed.
"It already was," Ryou confessed, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning against the soft shelter of Yugi and Yami's combined wings. "Just the weight of it made me numb, like I couldn't move. Now I know, why the Lord says to not lie. The stress is too painful to bear." His thumb rubbed over the emerald, and he looked down at it. "I still don't think I deserve this though."
"You're too humble," Atem laughed, his eyes locked on the shiny, green object. "I wonder where he found this. Emeralds are uncommon in France."
"Well, he said the Lord sent it to him," Yugi reminded. "Maybe someone lost it and he mistook it as a sign?"
"He doesn't make mistakes like that," Ryou protested, but in his heart the thought of such a lovely object belonging to someone else filled him with jealousy, but he forced it aside.
"I doubt someone would be careless enough to lose something like this," Yami added. "That emerald is solid, it hasn't been cut, and it was literally been found and crafted in this shape. It's too expensive to belong to someone who isn't lower-class."
"Well, wherever it came from, I will take care of it now." Ryou smiled and got to his feet, with a loud yawn. "We should head to sleep, it's getting late." He gestured to the darkness outside, and the fading lights of his candles. "Good night."
"Night," The three Grigori smiled before disappearing into their cradle above his room. Ryou smiled and carefully unclipped the emerald from his neck and slid it under his pillow. It really was beautiful, and so familiar. The color alone wasn't something one forgot easily. The green shade was so perfect and smooth. Not too much tiny but not so much a shade either, but a perfectly balanced color in between. The large size reminded him of an eye and if not for the ridges it was almost as smooth but the crevices in the stone was like a walnut shell. Careful to not let the object fill him with greed, he covered it with a pillow and slipped off the necklace Bakura had given him. A small pain pinched his heart as he cupped the necklace, wishing so much he could decipher its hidden meaning.
He slipped it under the pillow, carefully, right next to the lovely emerald, the color mirroring Bakura's eyes.
Ryou shot up. "Bakura!" He breathed, memory flooded his mind so clearly, it ashamed him he could not recall it before. The emerald sitting innocently on his mattress, so beautiful and perfect, just like the eyes of the gypsy boy. "He had the pendant!"
Not one of my evil cliffhangers but still enough to make you think. I'm personally very proud of this chapter, specifically the Characterization.
I SWEAR, writing Bakura in any type of emotional turmoil (in this case his confusion and disbelief that he could like someone, especially Ryou) was THE hardest thiing to write in the history of my career! I'm personally proud of the scene with him and Malik, which was actually rewritten after I watched the scene with Phoebus and Esmerelda from the Disney version, cept I didn't want Bakura to instantly fall for the guy, he's way too cautious for that, but of course Malik's dealt with people like him before and they always fall for his charm, so yeah i'm very proud of the character development in that scene.
The section with Ryou and the Bishop was equally hard to do: not joke it look like 3 hours to type! But it came out nicely. I wasn't sure whether to introduce Ishizu in this chapter or not but I found a spot for her and went with it, she'll be important later on. So pay attention to this chapter, cause it sets everything up for the rest of the story!