#twre

"Ah! Jounochi!" Relieved, Yugi flagged down his friend in the hallway. Namu, beside him, paused.

"Yugi!" Jounochi trotted over; observed the stranger. "Who's this?"

"Namu," Yugi said. "He says he has some business with Pharaoh. Namu, this is Jounochi."

"Nice t' meetcha!" Jounochi exclaimed, sticking out his hand. Namu shook it obligingly. "Call me Joey, if you'd rather. I'm High Priest Seto's consort."

Namu blinked. "Ah. The High Priest's consort, and the Pharaoh's Husband. You two are good friends, then?"

"The best!" Jounochi said, looping his arm around Yugi's shoulder.

"Jounochi, would you mind keeping Namu company while I go look for Pharaoh?" Yugi asked, gently disentangling himself. Even if this Namu is trouble, Jounochi is one of the best fighters in the palace. It should be safe to leave Namu under his watch while I talk to Pharaoh.

"No problem!" Jounochi said, switching his attention to the newcomer. "Where do you come from, man? I love the pendant! Are you hungry? Thirsty?"

As Namu tried to respond to the barrage of small-talk, Yugi slipped away with a polite farewell. Whether or not Jounochi realized why I did that... everything's under control, for now.

"Pharaoh?"

From the drowsy feel of Atem's mind, the Pharaoh had only just woken. "Partner? What is it?"

"Are you expecting anyone by the name of Namu?"

"?"

Yugi let Atem pursue his recent memories; said, "He doesn't seem like a threat, but I left him with Jounochi for now."

"You shouldn't go up to strangers like that, Yugi. You should call for guards to deal with it."

"And scare some poor kid half to death?" Yugi replied. "Our guards get a bit overzealous sometimes. You know that."

 "Because they care, Yugi."

Yugi sighed; gave up, for the time being. "What do you want to do about this Namu?"

"Bakura is in the audience chamber. Let the boy talk to him, first."

Yugi gave a mental nod, then traipsed back to where Jounochi had kept Namu occupied. Namu looked up immediately when Yugi rounded the corner.

"The Pharaoh?"

Yugi shook his head. "Thief King Bakura hears complaints for him, usually. He'll decide if you need to see Pharaoh in person, or if your troubles can be dealt with a lower level."

Namu looked a bit perturbed, but nodded. "Alright. I'll go about it however the system dictates."

"Come on!" Jounochi called, motioning. "I'll bet Bakura has some good wine with him."

"Wine?" Namu questioned, bewildered, and Yugi shook his head apologetically.

"Do you drink, Namu?" Jounochi asked. "You should have a drink with us, later!"

"I don't... usually..." Namu murmured. "Except in the context of ritual..."

"A priest, then?" Yugi queried.

"Of sorts," was Namu's evasive reply.

"Hey, so the Thief King can be a bit... scary," Jounochi said, as they walked. "Just kinda depends on his mood. But that's just cause he gets off on watching people squirm, so don't be too alarmed, okay? He's actually a pretty good guy."

Yugi watched Namu for any notable reaction, but the newcomer only nodded seriously. "Thank you for the advice, Jounochi."

The room where Bakura fielded complaints was a simple but regal hall; the Thief King himself sat at one end, languidly lapping the juicy innards of a pomegranate off his fingers. The three boys entered from a side-passage, Yugi relieved to find the hall empty of visitors.

"Little Yugi!" Bakura stood to greet them; wiped his hands briskly on his robes. Yugi wondered where Ryou was, to scold him for his messiness. "What've you brought me?" he asked, with a nod to the stranger. "Tribute sacrifice?"

Namu stiffened, but Yugi shook his head. "This is Namu. He came to the palace hoping for an audience with Pharaoh."

"And the Pharaoh needs me to do his job again, eh?" Bakura asked, with a grin, then sat back down; he picked up the other half of his pomegranate and bit into it with a crunch. Yugi grimaced, wondering if he knew the rind wasn't usually eaten; knowing him, he might be fully aware or be oblivious. "Fine. Let's do this right, though—kid's gotta come 'round to this side and present himself properly, even if he was escorted here by the great Lord Yugi."

Jounochi nudged Namu with an encouraging murmur; the stranger edged forward. Yugi caught a curious, hostile flashing in his eyes as he looked at the Thief King; one glance at Bakura told Yugi that he had sensed something, too. But people were usually on edge around Thief King, so Yugi hardly considered that alone to be damnable.

Namu lowered himself slowly to his knees. "I present my troubles to the representative of the almighty Pharaoh Atem, with the utmost hope and faith."

Bakura nodded; gestured, with the hand that held the pomegranate. "Speak." His voice rumbled in his chest—not quite threatening, but powerful, certainly—the playfulness of a moment before gone.

Namu raised his head; said, "The Pharaoh has wronged my family."

Yugi stiffened, and Jounochi—trying to sneak the bottle of wine from behind Bakura's seat—came to attention.

Bakura's eyes widened fractionally. "Our Pharaoh? Or are you referring to the Pharaoh's line?"

It was a shrewd question. Egypt had been a deeply troubled place during the reign of Atem's father, and many of the lingering problems could be traced definitively to not Atem, but to Aknamkanon and his brother, Akhenaden. The idea that Thief King Bakura would draw such a distinction in this public forum surprised and pleased the Great Husband, and he felt himself smile.

A grimace flickered across Namu's face; was gone. "Both. What does that matter?"

Bakura shrugged. "All of Egypt was wronged by Pharaoh Aknamkanon. If that's the case, you're nothing special."

Namu stood abruptly, then faltered and took a step back. "Nothing special?"

The King of Thieves remained unimpressed. "Everyone in Egypt—myself for one, and even the current Pharaoh—suffered because of how the previous pharaoh handled things. If you're here to complain about a dead man's mistreatment of your family, I won't hear it. We have other, relevant things to deal with."

"Relevant?!" Namu demanded breathlessly, and Yugi came up beside the chair.

"Aren't you being a bit harsh?" he asked Bakura quietly, and the Thief King glanced over at him.

"I'm not. If I wanted to be harsh, little pharaoh-ling, you know it'd be worse than this." Then he turned, leaning back, and brought one foot up to rest on his opposite knee before addressing Namu. "Our current Pharaoh's fixed a lot of his father's mistakes, by now. There's prosperity—opportunity—everywhere. Again, if your complaint is with the current Pharaoh, I'll hear it. But if it's with his father or his uncle, reparations have already been made."

"My complaint is with the current Pharaoh," Namu said darkly, and Bakura held his gaze; the pomegranate, forgotten and slightly crushed in his grip, drizzled sticky scarlet down the length of his forearm.

"Then speak it. The Great Royal Husband brought you here personally, remember. Don't insult him by wasting all our time."

"I need to see the Pharaoh—Pharaoh Atem!" Namu snapped. "This is a waste of my time, this 'round in circles with you!"

"I represent Pharaoh Horus, in this hall," Bakura growled, and again Namu faltered. "If I judge it's worth his time, I'll summon the Pharaoh here myself. But if not, this is as far as you go."

Namu shifted, then reached for the rod that hung at his hip. He held it out. "Do you know what this is?"

"If it's a concealed blade, you won't make it out of here alive," Bakura said, and Namu shook his head.

"It's an artifact—an artifact my family has been tasked with protecting." The eye at the center of the rod's head began to glow, and Bakura stood. "You will call the Pharaoh here."

"Pharaoh!" Yugi reached out with his mind—found Atem, still groggy, and dragged their minds together. "Look at this!"

"What in Ma'at is that?" the Pharaoh breathed, even as he gathered context from Yugi's memories. "Artifact? Tasked with protecting? I don't know what any of that means!"

 "You don't know who this Namu is, then?"

"Not a clue. I'm on my way, though."

"Pharaoh, don't! He's obviously trying to draw you out!"

Yugi's attention was drawn suddenly by a hoarse shout from the Thief King—Atem saw it, too, through Yugi's eyes, as Bakura fell to his knees. Ryou's ring—where it hung, always, around his neck—glowed a blinding lavender.

"What in Isfet?!" Namu grunted, and his feet, mysteriously, skidded an inch or so backwards. He held the rod out more insistently; Ryou's ring vibrated madly.

"Bakura!" Jounochi shouted, lunging for Namu. Namu swung the rod towards him, Bakura left to collapse as it's pressure vanished. Jounochi, conversely, froze; his body convulsed, eyes rolling back and glowing violet.

"Suit yourself!" Namu spat. "I'll just make you my puppet, then!"

Jounochi's body went limp, for a moment, and then spun on unsteady feet. He flew at Yugi, eyes blank and hands outstretched. Yugi shut Atem out of his mind even as he felt the Pharaoh begin to race towards the scene. Yugi allowed Jounochi to plow into him, but got his legs up between them; he kicked out against Jounochi's stomach as his own back hit the ground, and so threw the other boy up and over him. Bakura had regained his feet, by then, but still swayed unsteadily.

"Relevant!" the stranger snarled, swinging the rod like a club; Bakura threw his arms up to protect his head, but the blow still connected and made him stagger. Yugi felt Jounochi grab him from behind and thrashed as his arms were wrestled behind his back. "I'll show you relevant! This whole palace is under the control of Malik Ishtar, now!"

The guards... where are our guards?! Yugi thought frantically, head twisting toward the various entrances to the hall.

Namu—or Marik Ishitar, rather—laughed. “Can you hear it? The sounds of battle? The Pharaoh isn’t as universally loved as you may believe. Even now, my forces are attacking your perimeter—occupying your guards while I destroy you from within your own walls!”

"Pharaoh!" Yugi reached out again; he felt Atem mere rooms away, now, and racing ever closer. He had a dagger in his hand, and it occurred to Yugi that the Pharaoh had only the most remedial training in such weaponry. "The attack! It's a diversion!"

"They're everywhere, Partner! They came out of nowhere—underground, I think! Diversion or otherwise, they're doing serious damage already!"

 "Malik... Malik Ishtar, he's...!"

 "Ishtar?!"

Malik raised the second artifact—the upside-down pyramid that hung around his neck—and chuckled darkly. "And now... as the Pharaoh himself approaches..."

The pendant began to glow with the eerie purple light of the Shadow Realm. Atem appeared, frantic, throwing the doors of the hall wide.  

"Get back, you fool!" Bakura snarled. "We're the fucking bait! Don't you get that?"

"Pharaoh! Run!" Yugi shrieked, even as Malik lifted the pendant higher.

"In the name of Shadows, Pharaoh, I banish you! Suffer, as I have, forever stranded in the darkness!"

"Yugi!" Bakura shouted over the rising and unnatural sound of wind—sand, too, materialized from nowhere, whipping about and stinging where it's grains struck exposed skin. "Separate your minds! You'll get caught up in the spell, too!"

Yugi didn't obey, but Atem heard and complied, severing their mental link violently enough to make Yugi cry out. Malik rounded on Bakura, lip drawn back.

"You can share his fate, Thief King! I won't forgive you for making such light of my family's pain!"

The pendant's glow intensified along with the forming gale around them; Yugi felt Jounochi stagger as the rod's light, conversely, faltered. Realizing that Malik was at some sort of a limit, Yugi called out to his friend, begged, "Jounochi! Jounochi, fight! Jounochi!"

Malik gave a furious snarl as the Jounochi staggered, his grip on Yugi slackening. Torrential sands had risen, engulfing both Atem and Bakura, and Malik's rod lost another bit of luminescence.

"Yu... gi...?" Jounochi asked blearily. Yugi kicked out and caught Jounochi's shin, making him yelp and stumble back.

"Run!" Yugi gasped out, finding himself back on his own feet. "Find Priest Seto and run! The palace is under attack—someone has to get away!"

"But—!" Jounochi began to object, then saw the Pharaoh Atem, with a cry, crumple. He grabbed Yugi's hands, swearing, "I'll be back! With help! I promise!" and then tore off.

Yugi felt a flutter of satisfaction as he watched Jounochi vanish, then turned and met Malik's furious gaze. The gale winds peaked, then began to quell; the sands that had swallowed up the Thief King and the Pharaoh fell, empty.

"Malik... Ishtar, was it?"

Malik pointed his rod toward the Great Royal Husband. "And for you too, Yugi Mutuo, infinite suffering. I'll see to it personally, and then send you to be with your beloved. I'll send you to him broken, and he'll suffer as I have. If he's still alive and sane, by then."

An odd golden light—the Eye of Anubis, Yugi thought, but couldn’t quite be sure—flickered on Malik’s forehead.

The doors of the hall began to open—not to reveal palace guards or servants, but to admit a rush of cloaked figures. Malik's rod glowed softly as he orchestrated their movement; bade them seize the Great Royal Husband, and had him dragged away.

... ... ...

Thief King Bakura slammed his fist, still sticky and red with pomegranate juice, into the dusty, lavender turf of the Shadow Realm. Atem, some ways from him, sat motionless and stunned.

"Where...?" he asked vaguely, and Bakura gave a coarse laugh.

"We're in the Shadow Realm, fool!" he spat. "Curse it. Somehow he banished us to the damned Shadow Realm!"

"Didn't you say that Destiny Board is the only way to get here, in the waking world?"

"Clearly I was wrong," Bakura snapped. "And I sure as Anubis’ foul breath don't know of any other way to get out."

They were silent, for a beat, each realizing the significance of that statement. Atem examined the dagger he still held, then tucked it into a sheath at his hip. He stood, a bit unsteadily, and began to pace.

"And to be stuck here with you," Bakura said, with a trace of humor. "That's some bitter irony, right there."

"I can't... sense Yugi..."

"If you'd been connected mentally, when that shit kid did whatever he did, lil' Yugi would be right here with us." Bakura looked down at Ryou's ring, seeming distant as he said, "I doubt you'll be able to touch his mind, from here."

"My father... kept some grave-keepers... by the name of Ishtar..."

Bakura blinked, letting the ring fall back against his chest. "Grave-keepers?"

"He only referenced them once, that I remember. And just a casual thing, like calculating their wages or something... but I'm certain..."

"So the kid does have a genuine grudge, ey?" Bakura asked. "And here I was all ready to give you the benefit of the doubt and write him off as some lunatic bastard."

Atem looked dutifully affronted; he muttered, "I can't listen to your nonsense... not right now..." and paced away from where the Thief King sat.

"I wouldn't go that way, if I were you," Bakura called after him, but Atem ignored it. The Thief King shrugged; stood, and brushed himself off. "And five..." he breathed, to no one but himself, "four... three... two... one..."

Atem shrieked as the ground collapsed beneath him; Bakura sighed trudging obligingly after the Pharaoh.

"I told you not to," he called, as he approached the ravine that had opened up in the sand. "I know this place well, Pharaoh—it'll kill you, if you don't pay attention. I know every detail and trap of its topography, by heart."

Atem, hanging by one hand from the edge of the cliff, huffed. "What are you expecting, cur? An apology?"

The Thief King reached him, looked down and crooned, "Well, considering how things have turned out, an apology might be nice."

"Bakura, quit fooling around," Atem grunted, struggling for a second handhold; the rocky ground kept crumbling away beneath his fingers when he grasped at it. "Bakura, curse it... help me...!"

The Thief King's grin widened, warping at the tremor in the Pharaoh's voice. "Help you?" he echoed, innocently. "Dear Pharaoh, why, in the exalted names of all the gods, would I do that?"

Atem's face lost a bit more of its color. "You..."

"I've been waiting for this moment," the Thief King sneered. As Atem reached up again, he placed his foot casually at the very edge of the cliff, blocking the Pharaoh's hand. "Foolish Pharaoh! We aren't in your palace, anymore—this is my place, and you're the guest."

Atem's face twisted with anger—anger and fear. "I knew it..." he hissed, bearing his teeth as the Thief King bent towards him. "May your soul know eternal agony, you filthy—aah!" He cut himself off as his wrist was grabbed.

"Foolish Pharaoh," Bakura chortled, his grin morphing into something far friendlier. He heaved Atem up—lifted him up out of the chasm, then hefted him effortlessly over his shoulder as the Pharaoh gave a shriek of protest. "You should have seen your face... ha!"

"Bakura, you... you stupid bastard..." Atem wheezed, his breath driven from him as Bakura's shoulder ground into his stomach. "That was too far... you rotten, stinking thief..."

"Payback for that time you made me think you were taking me to an execution," Bakura said, patting Atem's back.

"Put me down..."

"As the Pharaoh commands me."

But as Bakura went to lift Atem back down, the ground gave an unstable lurch beneath them. Bakura scarcely had time to realize what was happening—tried to leap away from the edge, but Atem's dead-weight slowed him—and they both plummeted downward amid a tumult of stone and tangled limbs.

Bakura grabbed and held tightly onto Atem's robes; the Pharaoh gave a shout of objection that was lost in the melee. They tumbled down the cliff-face, locked together, as a craggy landing loomed up beneath them. With a grunt, Bakura thrust the Pharaoh away from him; Atem cried out as he continued, for dozens yards, to tumble along alone. He rolled a clumsy, bumpy halt at the bottom of the ravine, groaning softly with pain.

Every inch of Atem's body felt bruised, battered, and he took a long moment to catch his breath before pushing himself upright on trembling arms. He craned his neck, squinting up at the jutting rock ledge he had been thrown past, and saw Bakura's head appear from atop it.

"Pharaoh Horus! You still alive?"

Atem scowled. "What in Ra did you think you were doing? Are you trying to kill me, after all?"

"Clearly, this is all part of my master plan," Bakura called down, grinning.

Atem struggled to his feet, assessing the damage: a dozen spots scraped bloody, his clothes torn, his whole body one massive ache. "This only happened because you were joking around, up there. And then you go and shove me, damn you! When you get down here, I may put you out of your filthy misery myself."

"Why don't you come up here and just try it?" Bakura sneered, with an inappropriately playful grin.

Though the slope was traitorous and crumbly, Atem, fuming, made the climb in a few calculated leaps. He drew a breath to shout something but pulled up short when he saw the Thief King, sprawled out on his belly with his right leg twisted out gruesomely behind him. Drag-marks in the sand showed how he'd crawled from a blood-stained spot of impact to the ledge's edge.

Bakura smiled; said, "Help me up, please. It's way too strange, looking up at you."

"Oh Osiris..." Atem breathed, and slumped onto his knees. "You... the impact was..." This shelf... hitting it was a sudden stop, with all the force of the fall behind it. Tumbling down the embankment, to the bottom, that was a gradual stop. "You know the topography... you pushed me..."

"Do try not to think the worst of me," Bakura said, with a slightly pained note in his voice. "It is how things are, between us, but it gets a bit old.”

Atem moved shakily forward; Bakura allowed himself to be rolled slightly over, though his teeth grit in pain. Atem examined his leg—femur smashed in multiple places, and hip mangled just above it. The knee seemed intact, somehow, as did everything below it. The blood on the ground had apparently come from a contusion just below Bakura's hip—the first and worst point of impact, it seemed. The skin had split, broken bone visible just beneath.

"The bleeding... isn't bad, at least," Atem murmured, and the Thief King gave a laugh made hoarse with pain.

"Right... there's that, at least. Help me up, I said. We can't stay exposed like this."

Atem nodded vaguely but didn't move. He started violently when Bakura grabbed his wrist.

"Pharaoh! Don't act like you've never seen damned blood before! We can't stay exposed!"

"Bakura... you..." Atem's face twisted, for a moment, and then he nodded; looked away. He looped Bakura's right arm around his own shoulders—narrow, compared to those of the Thief King—and heaved the other man up. Bakura staggered, hopping on his left foot to gain his balance as he tried not to knock Atem over. He gave a stifled shout of pain as his leg was jostled, but bit back any other exclamations.

Slowly, with agonizing care, Atem navigated them both back down the slope. The Thief King's weight on him was almost more than he could tolerate, but he didn't let himself falter. He thought of the agony that Bakura must be in and used it to lend perspective to his own discomfort.

Along the ravine wall, they came to a shallow indent—it could hardly be called a cave, but it was cover, at least. Atem lowered them both to the ground, slowly. Bakura collapsed back against the stone, his breathing ragged, his face unnaturally ashen, and his eyes closed.

"Bakura? Listen to me, you're not going to die here." Atem wasn't sure what compelled him to say it, but he couldn't hold the words back. The Thief King's lips twisted into a wry little smile.

"Great gods, Horus, you sound ridiculous..."

Atem shivered. "Look, this is the Shadow Realm, right? I have my deck with me, and you always carry yours. Can't we use Monster Reborn or Miracle's Wake to fix you?"

Bakura shook his head faintly. "Nah... those cards only work when you die. And even then, they don't fix you." Opening his eyes as slits, he moved one shaky hand to pull back his robe. "See this?" He ran his finger along a knot of scar tissue on his side. "Knife wound. Killed me. Monster Reborn brought me back, but the wound was still there when I woke up. It healed at a normal pace, after that. And when I came back because of Miracle's Wake, when I fought you, I couldn't move for hours afterwards. I've had some luck using Life Point restoration spells, like Goblin's Remedy, to speed up healing, but I don't have any of those with me, and I don't think you keep any in your deck either, right?"

Atem shook his head miserably. "No... I don't."

Bakura sighed; closed his eyes again. "And no trees or brush here, so nothing to even make a splint... Aah... well, guess I'll just die..."

"You're not going to die!" Atem objected; his voice broke on the last word.

Bakura chuckled. "Ha... got you again, Pharaoh..."

Atem bit his lip, tried to keep his composure, and whispered, "Yeah... you got me..."

Neither spoke for a moment, Bakura's harsh breathing the only audible sound. Then Atem rose, went to the mouth of the little alcove.

"There has to be some other way to get out of here..." He gazed out, virtually unseeing, and only looked back when Bakura made a pained little noise. Alarmed, he hurried back to crouch beside Bakura as the thief struggled to straighten out his leg.

"How can I help?"

Bakura shot him a baleful grin. "Take off my outer robe and tear it into strips, would you?"

Atem nodded and did as he was bade, drawing the small dagger at his hip to cut the rich crimson fabric. Bakura labored to get his bones into some semblance of the right shape. Then, together, they bound the injured limb with fabric, though not much could be done for the hip itself. At some point, Bakura also stuffed a scrap of cloth into his mouth and bit down to keep from wailing. The skin on his face and fingers grew slick with sweat.

When the job was done, Bakura slumped back with his eyes screwed shut; gave an odd series of crooning sobs into the rag, saliva leaking out past it. Atem sat awkwardly beside him, unsure of what to do.

Eventually, Bakura collected himself and opened his eyes; he pulled out the gag and threw it to the side, then wiped his mouth, avoiding Atem's gaze.

"I don't know if there's another way out of here, but there's something we can try." Bakura's voice was rough; scratchy. "There's a kind of center, in the Shadow Realm—like the center of a vortex. I've never gone too close to it, but... if there's an answer anywhere, it's there. The rest of this place is just empty wasteland."

Atem nodded, swallowing against the bile in his throat. "Right... that's something. We just need a chance."

Bakura placed one hand against the stone wall; it trembled almost uncontrollably, and Atem lurched to wedge himself under Bakura's arm as the Thief King tried to get up. After a tenuous moment, when both of them might have totally collapsed, they managed to stabilize.

"Aah... how pathetic," Bakura groaned, then gave a soft, involuntary yelp of pain. He snapped his teeth shut, and Atem could tell from the heave of his chest that he was trying hard not to cry out.

"We'll summon a monster, as transport," Atem said, and Bakura nodded reluctantly.

"Which one, do you think?"

Atem shrugged. "You're more experienced with things like this than I am."

Bakura thought for a moment, then said, "You're just trying to give me some sense of control, aren't you?"

Atem huffed. "You give me too much credit."

Bakura gave a pained smile, then pulled his deck out, leafed through it, and selected a card. "I summon Curse of Dragon!"

The air around the two humans swirled; buffeted them, and nearly knocked them both over. The monster screeched, when it had formed, and gave a flap of its skeletal wings as it settled down on the sand.

"Hey, friend," Bakura called, reaching out a hand. The monster screeched softly, bobbing it's head like a great bird. "Give us a ride?"

The monster rotated, slightly; bore it's back and stooped low. Atem and Bakura made their arduous way over to it, and then, with Atem's support from the ground, Bakura managed to heave himself up onto its back. The Pharaoh followed, feeling irrationally guilty in his freedom of movement. The gaps in Curse of Dragon's backbone made for decent seats, and Atem held onto the vertebrae just in front of him.

"Better shot than I expected..." the Thief King growled. "But if you think I'll just take it—!”

Bakura lunged, drilling a fist into the underside of Seto's rib-cage. The High Priest wheezed, but grabbed Bakura's shoulders and wrenched him off-balance; tangled their feet, and so sent then both crashing to the ground. They rolled over once, twice; the Thief King managed to get on top and punched Seto in the face once, twice.

"Hey! Hey! Damn it, Bakura! Seto!"

The Thief King looked up at the shout, and the High Priest took the opportunity to ram his knee up into Bakura's stomach. The Thief King gasped as he lost his breath, and Seto—with superior height—threw himself up and flipped their positions. Bakura, upon finding himself pinned, grabbed the front of the High Priest’s shirt and smashed their foreheads together. Seto reeled and Bakura grabbed his shoulders; wrenched him sideways and into the sandy turf.

"Gods damn you both!" Pharaoh Atem was still shouting, and when Bakura sprang up Atem immediately placed himself between the two men. Seto, slower, staggered to his feet and raised his fists. "Stop it! Both of you!"

Bakura was grinning—a wild, slightly open-mouthed grin, breath huffing in and out between his teeth, heedless of the blood still dripping from his mouth. "Oh, no fun, Horus, no fun!" he wined, and made a feint towards Seto. The High Priest jumped, but Pharaoh Atem didn't budge.

"Stop it!" Atem repeated furiously, and then turned to his cousin. "I expected better from you! My High Priest, brawling in my front courtyard of all places?"

Seto grimaced; staggered, a bit, and shook his head as though dizzy. "I... sorry, my cousin... Pharaoh..."

"How hard did you hit him?" Atem asked Bakura, who shrugged.

"No harder'n he hit me."

"Oh... Bastet, why are there two of you, now?!" Seto demanded, pointing at Bakura and again lurching to one side.

"Damn it, Bakura..." Atem muttered.

"Oh, it went from 'damn both of you' to just 'damn it, Bakura?'" the Thief King asked, making an effort to look hurt. "How unfair, Pharaoh..."

"He's no fighter!" Atem said, with an exasperated motion at Seto.

Bakura gestured to his jaw—swelling now, visibly. "Could've fooled me."

"He got in a lucky shot," Atem said flatly, and Seto glared blearily at him.

"Don't underestimate me, Cousin..."

Atem fixed him with a baleful look. "Don't go trying to brawl with experienced fighters, then. A crooked nose wouldn't suit you."

Seto looked mildly alarmed at that proposition; staggered again, suddenly, and Atem caught his arm. A concerned huddle of palace-folk had formed, by then, and Atem handed the High Priest off to a servant.

"Make sure he goes straight to the healers," the Pharaoh told the girl, who nodded seriously. Then Atem turned to Bakura; jerked his head. "Walk with me."

"What, I don't get to go see the healers?"

"You'll survive."

The palace-folk took their cue; left the Pharaoh and the Thief King to themselves. They wove together through the carefully cultivated gardens in silence, the late summer sun warming their backs.

"He threw the first punch," Bakura said, without preamble.

"Hmm."

"Sorry if we wrecked any of your flowers."

Atem sighed. "Flowers are flowers. They'll grow back."

"Sorry. It got out of hand."

Atem shrugged. "I'm not upset. It just worries me that you two are on such earnestly bad terms. And I know," he added, when Bakura began to speak, "that it's all in good fun, to you. But not to him. Seto might really take your head off, if given half a chance."

"He couldn't."

"He could. He killed both our fathers, you know. Poisoned them."

Bakura blinked. "Oh. Gods, no, I didn't know that. I'm... sorry?"

"It isn't exactly common knowledge. For obvious reasons."

"Obviously not."

"It was in defense of me," Atem said, with a hint of a smile, "so I'm in no position to complain, but my cousin is capable of murder. And if he gets it into his head that you're a threat, to him or to me, he might just take matters into his own hands. That's what I'm nervous about."

"Poison, huh...?"

"He knows I'd be rather cross," Atem continued, "but my disapproval will only stop him to a point. If you agitate him enough, I can't guarantee how he'll act."

"Poison doesn't really work on me," Bakura said, after a moment. "But I'll keep an eye out for knives in my bed."

"Do that."

"His namesake suits him."

"Set..." Atem murmured, and then nodded. "Unfortunately so. But with one very important difference—he supports me, as pharaoh.

"Sure. He supports you so well that he ran off to play with the god cards for how long? Almost a year, right?"

"I've never feared that he might try to take the throne," Atem said, with a sigh. "And he's back, now. It was hard, for us both."

"You're too generous, Horus. And don't you dare take that as a compliment, because it's not."

Atem smiled grimly. "Perhaps... but he's my brother. And a far better brother than Set to Horus, in the legends."

"The legends set a pretty low standard, if that's your basis for comparison."

"Seto has his troubles. But I could count on him, if I needed. I would bet my life on that."

Bakura sighed; shook his head and shrugged. "You know him better than I do..."

"I do. But do watch yourself a bit more, around him. A crooked jaw wouldn't suit you any more than a crooked nose would suit him."

"You don't think it'd add to my dangerous look?" Bakura asked, grinning.

"I think the scar does just fine," Atem said, glancing over. "Besides, Ryou would be very upset."

"You're right about that... aah, he's going to be upset enough about this..." Bakura rubbed his jaw.

"Go to the healers now." Atem gave a dismissive wave. "They'll be able to bring the swelling down."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Just don't let it happen again."

"Now be sure you lecture your good cousin with just as much authority, okay?"

Atem narrowed his eyes. "My authority has never worked on either of you. I know the best I can do is ask you both to be civil, as a favor."

... ... ...

"... Bakura..." Pharaoh Atem began.

"Hmm?"

"Would you like to tell me why you're wearing Seto's headdress?"

Bakura looked up from his seat on one of the courtyard benches, the headdress in question slipping slightly to the side. "Why, it has a serpent on it, and one that quite resembles Diabound, too. I supposed that made it mine, actually."

Atem massaged his forehead with one hand. "I asked you... please..."

"I don't owe you any favors, Pharaoh."

Atem was drawing breath when he was cut off by a far angrier, indignant shout of, "You wretched thief!" and Bakura sprang to his feet.

"You'll have to forgive me, Lord Horus! Another time!" He waved, then darted off through the garden, one hand clutching the headdress.

Atem stepped obligingly out of the way as his High Priest gave furious chase, albeit with a shout of, "Apologies, Cousin! Pardon me!" and then vanished from sight after Bakura.

... ... ... 

"Obelisk the Tormentor... and Slifer the Sky Dragon..." Atem murmured.

His High Priest nodded, standing before him at the side of the throne room. It was mid-morning, the day after the banquet. "Two of the Three Lost to Time. Two of the three god cards. The third has eluded me." 

"Finding even one of them is a feat thought impossible, by many..." Atem murmured. "You've done well. Far beyond well." 

Seto nodded. "My Pharaoh honors me, with such words." And he offered the two cards on upturned palms. 

Atem considered them, then picked up Slifer the Sky Dragon. Seto looked questioningly at him. 

"My Lord?" 

"Obelisk is yours, Cousin. You've dueled well, with it, and are deserving." 

Seto looked perturbed. "They're both yours, by rights, Pharaoh. I left to find them on your behalf." 

"Then consider Obelisk a gift, if you must," Atem replied. "Either way, it is yours." 

Seto hesitated, for another moment, and then pulled the card back toward himself. "Thank you, Pharaoh. You honor me." 

Atem smiled. "I do. But you needn't be so formal about it." 

Seto still dipped his head when he said, "You honor me, Cousin." 

"And you didn't leave on this mission on my behalf," Atem scoffed. "Don't try to feed me such lies." 

Seto's head snapped up. "It's not—!" 

"You left because you were running away. From what happened." Atem's voice wasn't harsh; his expression was gentle and open. "What's done is done, Seto. There's no need for that, anymore. You're home, and I hope you'll stay." 

Seto shifted; began to turn, and said, "Excuse me. I have business to attend to."

"Stay, Seto."

Seto bent his head again, though he didn't turn back. "If that is my Pharaoh's command." 

"It's not a command," Atem said, softly. "It's a request." 

And Seto replied, after a moment, "I'll stay, Cousin..."

... ... ... 

"It looks like it hurts..." Yugi murmured, running his hands gently along the bruises that mottled Atem's chest. They, along with some scrapes about his shoulders and face, were the extent of his injuries from his duel with High Priest Seto. Mentally, though, the Pharaoh had taken less damage from the final attack than was to be expected—there had been no fear, on his part, or malice on Priest Seto's, at the moment of impact, and that had softened the blow.

"It's fine," Atem murmured, kissing Yugi's shoulder; working his way along the collar bone, and then hovering above Yugi's throat. He kissed the hollow at the base of Yugi's neck, then ran the tip of his tongue lightly up; nipped his jaw. Yugi shivered. 

"Really... I wish you hadn't taken that last hit..." Yugi breathed, although his breath kept hitching. 

Atem nibbled, then sucked at Yugi's neck, just below his jawline, leaving a scarlet mark before replying. "I had to, love... We had to settle it. And now it's settled." 

"No more fighting? Really?" Yugi asked, stubbornly refusing to be distracted. 

"No more fighting..." Atem breathed; kissed Yugi's mouth, quickly, and breathed between kisses, "No fighting... unless Bakura... starts it..." 

Yugi shoved Atem's chest, at that, and Atem grunted softly in pain. Yugi, remembering the bruising, gave an alarmed squeak. "I-I'm sorry...! I wasn't thinking...!"

"If you weren't thinking, we wouldn't be having this conversation... Stop thinking..." Atem growled, giving up on spoken words as he attacked Yugi's mouth again. Yugi's body arched involuntarily, despite his whine of protest. 

"We're not done talking about this...!" he said, and then groaned into Atem's mouth. 

"We can talk about it later..." was Atem's reply, as his fingers sought out each sensitive spot on Yugi's body. 

"Pharaoh..."

"I'm sure it'll come up again. I got Seto to say he's staying. I almost thought he wouldn't."

Yugi felt Atem's distress bubble up, with that thought, and wrapped his arms around the Pharaoh's neck; kissed him back, to soothe him. "But you got him to stay. So don't worry."

"Right... it wasn't just because of me that he stayed, though. I'm sure."

That made Yugi pause, and for a moment they both stilled, short of breath and with passion halfway begun. "What? What do you mean?" 

"The boy. Jounochi." Atem matched Yugi's verbal speech, for a moment, and Yugi sensed his lingering dislike for the young man in question. Atem reverted to telepathy, for efficiency's sake, to convey without words how Priest Seto had left in search of the god cards; how he had sworn it was on his Pharaoh's behalf; how Atem had always known it to be an excuse, for the palace had become an uncomfortable place for young Seto Kaiba. "But he only found two of the three gods, so he could've stayed away, according to his own pretext. He came back because he wanted to. He came back because of the boy."

"Couldn't he have just been homesick? After all that time?"

Atem's head was turned slightly, his gaze distant. "No... not my cousin. We may not appear it, but we know one another well. He's not the type to suffer from ailments such as homesickness."

"So... Jounochi?"

"Mm. I don't know his motivation, exactly... but that's the only thing I can think of. That's the only variable that could've changed his mind, for whatever reason."

Yugi frowned, then said aloud, "I hope he comes back, then." 

Atem looked down in surprise. "'Comes back?'" 

Yugi nodded. "Jounochi. He doesn't think... I mean, he left, this morning." 

Atem smiled suddenly; began to laugh, the sound soft and warm. 

Yugi stared up at him, surprised. "Atem?" 

"Don't worry, Partner..." Atem leaned down; kissed him, and so passionately that Yugi had no choice but to respond. "It's been taken care of."

"What do you mean... Pharaoh...?"

"We cousins may not appear it, but we know each other well. It's been taken care of."

"Pharaoh, please explain...!" Yugi's whine, as Atem's hands began again to wander, suited the pensive thought. 

"Later, Partner... we said we'd talk about this later..."

"Pharaoh..."

"Later, my love."

"Later... Pharaoh..."

... ... ... 

Jounochi Katsuya sat in a dingy tavern at the very edge of town—the next town over, from the royal city. It had been a couple of days since he'd covered such a distance in one day, so his legs were a bit achy, and he propped them up on the empty chair across the table while he drank his beer.

"Aah..." Leaning back, Jounochi let his head hang; closed his eyes. He was strangely comfortable with the fact that his time as Priest Seto's... whatever he had been... was over. But he had no idea what would be next for him, then. He would return to his family; try to find work... and what? Perhaps take a wife, for the sake of meeting social expectations; perhaps not. Perhaps he'd never take another lover, and keep instead to whores and one-night-stands for company. 

Maybe that jerk Kaiba's wrecked me... for good... Jounochi smiled, when the thought occurred to him. Maybe...

The chair was jerked suddenly out from under his feet, and he gave a shout of surprise as he bolted upright. A familiar shape thudded down across from him, waving for the tavern staff. 

"Wine, please," the newcomer said. "The best you have." 

"Wh-Wha..." Jounochi tried, then stood and spluttered, "Wh-Wh-What?!" 

"Have some dignity, pup," the man said, with a motion. "Sit down." 

Jounochi slumped back into his chair; stared at Seto Kaiba, even as the High Priest thanked the serving girl for the wine. He poured two bowls. 

"Drink. You look like you could use it." 

"You... you came after me?" Jounochi breathed, and Seto narrowed his eyes. 

"Don't ask questions with such obvious answers." And he sipped his wine. Jounochi, at a loss, did the same. 

After they'd both finished their drink, Priest Seto stretched across the table; grabbed the front of Jounochi's shirt and kissed him, more insistently than passionately. Upon drawing back, he bit Jounochi's lip hard enough to make the other yelp; to draw beads of scarlet blood. 

"Come home, pup. Don't make me chase you all the damn way back to the start." 

Jounochi's breath caught, and he grabbed Seto's wrist as the High Priest went to retract it. Seto regarded the display with slight amusement. 

"You jerk. Stealing my shtick." 

"You're the one who ran away, this time." 

Jounochi drew a breath, then let it out with a chuckle. "It's already dark. We'll have to spend the night here, for sure. I'll decide in the morning, whether I'll keep running or not. What'd'ya say?" 

But Priest Seto shook his head. "I'm through sleeping anywhere but my own bed." He stood; used the grip Jounochi still had on his wrist to pull the other up, as well, and led him toward the tavern's door. 

Jounochi was drawing breath, once again, to object, but again let it out before speaking. Seto motioned almost demurely to the chariot waiting outside, all but blocking the street. Several palace folk stood by the horses, and Seto motioned one of them over. 

"Go pay the tavern owner," he instructed the servant, then said to Jounochi with a smirk, "You can't expect the High Priest to go looking for his lost puppy on foot, now can you?"

Jounochi grimaced at him. "That's how I always had to come after you."

"You and I aren't quite of the same privilege," Seto replied. "Or the same breeding, or the same social standing. And yet..." he threaded his fingers through Jounochi's hair, startling the young man, "here I am, come to retrieve you anyway." 

"And you still manage to be a jerk while doing it..." Jounochi muttered, but didn't resist when Seto shooed him on ahead toward the carriage. "I haven't decided yet, y'know," Jounochi objected, as he was bundled inside. "I may be gone again tomorrow morn—aah!" 

The High Priest gave him a rather hard shove, sending him crashing face-first into the carriage's cushioned seat. Seto was on top of him before he could right himself, pinning him down, and the carriage door shut behind them with a soft click. 

"Don't be so disagreeable," Seto ordered, close to his ear; Jounochi shivered. "It just makes me want to put you in your place..." 

Jounochi tried to think of a retort as his ear was bitten; as his trousers were pulled down in one swift motion. He felt the carriage begin to move with a gentle lurch, the sounds of horses' hooves an echo behind Seto's harsh breathing. 

"What do you want, Joey? Anything... I'll do anything you want... For this carriage ride, the High Priest will be your servant..." 

Jounochi gave a breathless chuckle. "That's a weird thing to say, when you've got me pinned." 

"I know what you like..." Seto rasped. "That's why..." 

"And if I had something different in mind?" 

"Then I am your servant." And the High Priest bit his neck; sucked, then licked the spot as if in apology. 

Jounochi's whole body shuttered. "Maybe... after... y'know. After y'know what... then I'll think'a something... different..."  

When Thief King Bakura had first brought Ryou back to his hideout, he'd been unsure if the small boy would live. He told himself it didn't matter; convinced himself that it wouldn't bother him if the kid did die, after all. 

"I shouldn't've cared..." Bakura murmured, wrapping his arms around Ryou's shoulders. Ryou, surprised, paused in his own affections. "Shouldn't've..."

"Hmm?" 

"When your hair..." Bakura pulled Ryou down closer; buried his face in the plush white, and murmured, "Your hair was so pretty. It was all scraggly, though. I thought it was brown, too, it was so filthy... but I washed it out... and it was so pretty... but I... thought..." 

Ryou made a questioning sound, but Bakura didn't respond. His grip on Ryou tightened further, and Ryou fell still; allowed himself to be held. 

When Thief King Bakura had first given the foundling a much-needed bath—though apprehensive about the possibility of him catching a chill—he’d been surprised to find that Ryou had exotically pale skin, beneath the layer of grime that had accrued. But even more startling had been his pure white hair, revealed after a thorough scrubbing—which had stained Bakura’s own nails brown—and several rinses. The Thief King’s first reaction had been awe—What a stunning creature he’d found! Though the boy was in poor condition, currently, it hadn't been difficult for Bakura to envision what he would look like, when restored to health. 

But white hair... pretty white hair, thinned and made coarse by hardship... white hair... 

Bakura remembered the cold terror he'd felt, when it had first occurred to him. He remembered the way his insides had constricted when he'd realized that starvation often led to the whitening of hair; he remembered the way his hands had started to shake when he realized that the very trait he was admiring could well be a sign of exactly how close to death the boy, Ryou, was. He had withdrawn, physically, lest Ryou feel his trembling, while the boy sat listlessly in the bath. 

"Were you born with it? With your hair that color?"

The Thief King had scraped together the courage to ask it, one day not long after. He had dreaded the answer. 

But Ryou had replied, "Yes! Unusual isn't it? Why?"

And Bakura had been able to smile; say, "I was just wondering. It's beautiful, you know," because his fears were without substance. He'd flipped Ryou gently onto his stomach, then—Ryou, still far too weak to effectively move about on his own. Ryou had squeaked in surprise, and stiffened when Bakura had buried his face in that thin, pretty white hair—nuzzled through it to kiss the crook of Ryou's neck. His hands massaged the wasted and aching muscles of the boy's back, seeking to relieve the pain there. 

"Is this okay...?" he had breathed, close to Ryou's ear. 

"It's okay, Thief King..."

With the memory drawn powerfully into his mind, Bakura flipped their positions on the plush palace bedding. Ryou, who'd been drifting to sleep against his chest, squeaked in surprise. 

"I love you..." Bakura growled, and then turned Ryou onto his stomach; asked, with his face pressed into lush white hair, "Is this okay?" as he lifted Ryou's hips with one hand. 

"Gods, you don't have to ask that every time..." Ryou mumbled, fidgeting expectantly; shifting from side to side, lifting himself slightly and pushing backwards. 

Bakura chuckled. "Forgive me, my love..." and he ran his fingers languidly through Ryou's hair; tangled them, there, and pulled gently to raise Ryou's head; murmured, close to his ear, "I love you... I love you... I loved you long before I was supposed to love you..." 

Ryou made a soft, questioning sound that lapsed into a whine of pleasure as Bakura reached around his waist; Ryou buried his face in the pillow, lest that whine become a scream. 

I thought it wouldn't matter... if you died... Bakura thought, relishing the feeling of Ryou's healthy body beneath him; breathing in the sweet floral scent that clung to his lush, dazzling white hair. 

The day—the hour—that they had met, the Thief King had crouched, uncertain, beside the poor thing as it lost consciousness. He had stared at the golden trinket left in his hand, and wondered what to do. 

How much will it hurt... he had wondered, if I take this kid in... and then he dies? How much will it hurt if I try to save him, and it doesn’t work?

That fear had almost been enough to make him rise; turn; walk away, and not look back to see if the pitiful thing had already stopped breathing. 

But he'd wavered, instead, and thought, Ryou... 

He'd asked for the boy's name, and Ryou had given it to him. 

So the Thief King had picked Ryou up; felt the almost imperceptible weight of the boy's body, and smelled the same rot-scent that had clung to himself, for so many years. He had found himself frozen, there, holding Ryou like some fragile treasure. And he was, Bakura decided then—he was a treasure, to be stolen and to be kept and to be cherished. 

Why have you given him to me...? he had asked, of no god in particular, as he craned his head back to look at the sky. Why now, when I've scarcely got the will to keep myself living...?

No answer had been forthcoming, and so the Thief King had sighed; shrugged his robe off of his shoulders and used it to wrap his newest treasure—to conceal him, on the way to the most secret of the Thief King's hideouts. All along, had he told himself that it wouldn't matter if Ryou died, after all. He told himself that the boy probably would die, after all. 

At least he wouldn't die on the filthy streets, though. That, the Thief King had thought, would be some mercy, at least. And in that thought, buried so deep that he couldn’t detect it in order to deny it, was the hope that Ryou wouldn’t die at all. 

Ryou cried out softly, bringing Thief King Bakura back to the present. He blinked; marveled at the fact that that scrap of skin and bone he had picked up that day had become the gorgeous creature he was lucky enough to now be atop. He let himself slide across the inside of Ryou's thigh, hand moving gently and deliberately. Ryou's back arched, and neither shoulder blades nor spine looked like they might tear through. His skin, indeed, was flushed and soft; supple, no longer like over-dried papyrus beneath the pads of Bakura's fingers. 

One hand still tangled in Ryou's hair, the other moving low and rhythmically, Bakura kissed the crook of Ryou's neck; kissed his shoulder, and breathed, "I love you... I love you so much... You're so beautiful... so beautiful... you've always been... always...!" 

Ryou cried out; sobbed quietly, the sound muffled by a mouthful of blankets. He shuttered; convulsed, and Bakura held him steady. 

"I love you... I love you..." the Thief King breathed, again and then again. "I love you... I love you..." 

As Ryou quieted, he slumped to the bed; Bakura eased him down. After a moment, though, Ryou rolled over onto his back; fixed the Thief King with a half-lidded, coy gaze. His mouth was open slightly as he caught his breath. 

"I love you, too..." Ryou breathed, tipping his head back. "I love you... I adore you... I worship you..." 

Bakura chuckled; leaned down and lavished kisses across Ryou's chest. Ryou wrapped his legs around the Thief King's hips, grinding upwards. 

"I love you... I live for you... Please, my King... take me... steal me away..." 

"You mean Bakura is lying...?!"

"Not about hearing me sing last night, he's not..."

"Oh Ra..."

Bakura's grin widened as the banquet guests continued to urge their Pharaoh on. "How about it?" the Thief King called, to the trembling musicians. "How about 'Dirge for Osiris?' That's a great song to sing along to!"

It wasn't—it was well-known, but also a beautiful, dramatic song that required range and volume to carry off. Atem's face paled, and the musicians exchanged nervous, uncertain looks.

"The Pharaoh is a god, after all, isn't he?" Bakura crooned; took an unnecessary drink of his wine—evading the grab that Ryou made for the glass, from across the table. "He can give us a little song, if he's not frightened."

"Pharaoh, you don't have to..."

"Well, now I do," Atem replied bitterly. "He's going back to the dungeons for this, I swear to Ra..."

Atem stood slowly; stiffly. He held up his wine glass in what appeared to be a toast—an excuse, clearly, to drain it immediately thereafter. He motioned somewhat jerkily to the musicians as Bakura sat back down—clapping, and indeed igniting a brief flare of applause from about the table. The musicians, after another uncertain moment, started up the well-known song—the harpist taking the lyrical lead and the others following.

"Pharaoh..."

"Please don't think less of me, my love."

And then, Atem began to sing:

"Rent apart, body and soul, by the cruel Desert...  We search... we search... With beautiful Isis, we search... To bring you home... honored, beloved Lord... So you might, in turn, someday guide us home."

Yugi's breath stalled as the Pharaoh's voice—though with a slight, scarcely perceivable tremble to it—filled the banquet hall sonorously. It was with the utmost precision and skill that he hit each note; enunciated each lyric. His hands, visible to Yugi, were shaking far worse than his voice as the table fell to stunned, reverent silence.

"Gods above..." Ryou breathed; Bakura, across the table, was nodding sagely, looking sinfully pleased with himself.

As the song ended, Atem bowed briefly; sunk back down into his seat with all the dignity he could manage. Cheers and congratulations swelled up around him, but he waved them off with only a cursory graciousness.

"Oh, my poor, dear underlings... lying for my benefit..."

"Pharaoh, what are you talking about? That was beautifully!"

"Oh, partner, not you too, please..."

"Pharaoh, you sing wonderfully!"

"Please don't lie to me... this is too much..."

“Pharaoh, that was gorgeous!" Ryou exclaimed softly, oblivious to his timing. He was surprised when Atem replied with only a baleful look.

"And even little Ryou, too... it's too much, Yugi..."

Seto took more detailed stock of the man before him—clearly the notorious Thief King, identifiable by that large scar down the right side of his face. Last Seto had heard, he'd been chased out—crushed, by Atem's policies, and reduced from King of Thieves to nameless outlaw. Four years after Atem had taken over, the Thief King should have been dead, or at least in a fairly desperate state. The man standing before Seto, though, looked to be in peak physical condition; his silver hair was lush, and lean, powerful muscle rippled beneath gleaming bronze skin. His dress wasn't ostentatious, but at least respectable: a red silk robe, with a few slim golden bands strung about a maize-colored headdress. Around his neck he wore a polished ring that bumped against his bare chest. 

"Priest Seto, Bakura, Bakura, Priest Seto," Atem said briskly, motioning. 

"Thief King Bakura, to you," the Thief King crooned, bowing low at the waist. 

Seto stiffened further; turned to Atem, and was somewhat soothed by the sight of the Pharaoh still seated firmly on his throne. "And I'm the Pharaoh's High Priest," he replied, with all the dignity he could scrounge up in the wake of his shock. "As I'm sure you know, that means I'm second in command, here in the palace—second only to Lord Pharaoh." 

"Really? I've never heard Horus mention you," Bakura said, his grin twisting a bit more. "And last time I checked, Lord Yugi is second to Lord Pharaoh, here." 

Seto stiffened. "Yugi?" 

"The Great Royal Husband. Or are you that oblivious to what's going on in your own palace?" 

Seto felt the blood rise to his face. He had heard about the royal wedding, of course, but had either never been told or neglected to remember the new Royal Husband's name. "I've been far away, in other lands, on important—" 

"Excuses, excuses," Bakura sneered. "And you say you're so high-up, here at the palace." 

Seto glanced at Atem—seemingly impassive as he watching the scene. "I have been away," he said slowly, "but now that I've returned—" 

"Now that you've returned... what?" Bakura sneered. "Dynamics here at the palace have changed quite a bit." 

"Not that much," Seto replied stiffly. "And you are..." He took a deep breath; realized he had no idea what the arrangement might be, between his Pharaoh and the Thief King, and decided he shouldn't speak on what he didn't understand—he'd already made one significant blunder, by not recognizing the Great Royal Husband by name. Instead he focused on what he did know, for certain. "I am High Priest Seto Kaiba. And I will not be talked down to by the likes of you." 

Atem's lips quirked upwards, even as Bakura laughed boisterously. "This one has some spunk, Horus!" he said, glancing at Atem. "You always keep interesting company, that's for sure!" 

Seto, with the distinct impression of being mocked, took a step forward. "Listen carefully, thief!" he began, but Bakura's laughter all but drowned him out. 

"Thief! That's original," he chuckled, as Seto's anger mounted. Again the priest glanced at his Pharaoh, wondering why Atem refused to intercede or further explain the situation. "And so terribly insulting, oh! No one's ever wounded me so, before! My tender heart bleeds!" 

"By the gods, I will cut you deep, cur!" Seto declared, taking an aggressive step forward. Bakura didn't seem impressed. 

"I say we have ourselves a duel, Priest. What do you think, Horus?" 

Atem's eyes flashed, and he glanced briefly at Priest Seto. "I think that would settle things, don't you, Kaiba?" 

Seto stiffened. The Pharaoh only addressed him thusly in the most serious contexts, and he wondered if the Pharaoh was being held hostage—if he was trying to communicate some message of distress. The only one who has ever beaten me in an official duel... is Pharaoh Atem himself... so... is he asking me to beat this filthy thief...? He must expect I'll be able to win. Of course I'll be able to win.

"I accept your challenge!" Seto declared, though feeling the travel-weariness deep in his bones. But when Atem raised the concern, asking if he would prefer to rest first, he shook his head. "I won't delay, even for a matter of hours! This is a duel for pride—I will fight, now, and I will win!" 

"Are you sure?" the Thief King asked, with a crooning note of derision in his voice. "Feeling up to it, really? I don't want you blaming fatigue for your defeat, now." 

"Never!" Seto thrust one hand out, robes rustling dramatically out behind him. He turned to Atem. "We will go to the duel ring immediately. Will you accompany us, Pharaoh, as witness?" 

"Of course." Atem nodded seriously; rose, and gave brief instructions to a servant before stepping down from the raised platform where his throne sat. 

"What shall we wager?" Bakura asked, as the three began to walk. Seto turned pointedly away. 

"This is a battle between men, for pride. We needn't sully it with material wagers." 

"Doesn't have to be material," the Thief King replied. "My usual rule is that the winner gets to take a card from the loser's deck, but you don't seem the type to go for that." 

"I certainly am not," the High Priest replied tersely. "Cards shouldn't change hands so casually, much less cards of such high caliber as I use." 

The Thief King chuckled. "We should still bet something, I think. Wagers just make things more interesting." 

"Is your pride not valuable enough to you to keep the contest 'interesting?'" Seto asked. 

"My pride... ah, a very important thing, to be sure, but it's not as if you can take that from me, even if you win this duel." 

Seto glanced at him; Bakura seemed untroubled. "How can you say that? To lose is to—" 

"The Pharaoh and I are one for one, by the way," the Thief King said nonchalantly, and both Atem and Seto went a bit pale. "That's how I got that statue put up, out in the courtyard. What's your record against our beloved god-incarnate, hmm?" 

Seto looked at Atem, who was pointedly avoiding his gaze. "The Pharaoh... has never granted me a rematch." 

Bakura's face lit up. "I've got a fine idea, then! Pharaoh will duel the winner, how about that? How about it, Horus?" he asked Atem, who refused to make eye contact with him, as well. 

"Don't involve me in your petty squabbling. I won't be party to this." 

"You thought the duel between your loyal servants would be a good idea," Bakura said, with mock innocence. "Why don't you join in the fun?" 

"... Pharaoh, I believe you should duel the winner," Seto said, slowly, and Atem glanced at him in surprise. For years... I've respected you, when you've said that we shouldn't fight. Men with our power and ties of blood should stand unified, you've said. And, after the last time... But I've lusted for a rematch, Pharaoh. You claim to respect me, but you've denied me the chance to reclaim my pride. We will fight once again, and this time...

Atem, after a moment, dipped his head. "Very well. I'll assent, to this. I will duel the victor." 

... ... ... 

Yugi, feeling Atem's anxiety spike, raised his head slightly; a warm, dry breeze ruffled his hair. For the purposes of functionality, the two of them kept their minds mostly separate as they went about their days, but they where in the habit of maintaining some awareness of one another's general state. 

"Pharaoh?" Yugi queried, across their mental connection.

Atem didn't respond, though Yugi did feel his stress rising as steadily as the Nile during spring. Deciding he shouldn't distract the Pharaoh, Yugi didn't try again to make mental contact. 

"Lord Yugi? Is there anything I can get for you?" 

Yugi shook his head; smiled at the servant who had paused. He was sitting in a secluded spot of the palace's main courtyard, admiring the blue of the sky and basking in the morning warmth. Within hours, the late summer sun would grow too hot to comfortably enjoy, and he would retreat to the shadowy palace interior. 

"No, thank you." Then he paused; said, "What's happened, this morning? Does the Pharaoh have any special visitors?" 

"Oh! Yes," the servant said, seeming pleased. "Priest Seto returned this morning!" 

"Priest Seto?" 

"He's been away for over a year, on a godly quest!" the servant said. "And he's returned at last!" 

Priest... Seto... Pharaoh Atem had mentioned his High Priest, his cousin, on occasion, but nothing to give Yugi any real insight into the man or his so-called "godly quest." "Ah. I see. Thank you very much." 

As the servant left, Yugi returned his gaze to the sky. But he could still feel Atem's unrest, and it soon became his own. He rose; paced around aimlessly for a moment, and then eventually made his way toward the entrance of the palace. He passed the statue of Thief King Bakura and felt himself smile. Just outside the gate stood a two-wheeled, single-rider chariot, now deserted save for servants and stable-hands who were beginning to tend to the horses and the chariot. The Great Royal Husband watched them work, for a moment, and then strolled back into gardens. He saw and noted where a few flowers had been trampled by hasty feet. 

Yugi paced around the courtyard, avoiding palace-folk as much as he could; sticking to the secluded and shadowy areas on the perimeter of the palace. For some time he walked, in slow and methodical patterns, focusing on his surroundings and blocking out even the faint sense of Atem's mind brushing his. 

There was a beat of unnatural silence—a moment when the desert winds stopped; when no palace-folk were within sight or earshot; when even the birds fell silent in anticipation of the stifling midday heat that was fast approaching. 

Yugi heard the scuff of a foot behind him; felt an arm wrapped around his throat. He stifled a cry of pain as he was jerked backwards and dragged further into the shadow of the palace. He didn't struggle as he was dragged through a flowerbed. 

"If you cry out, I'll snap your neck," came a voice close to his ear, and Yugi struggled to draw breath. 

"If I cry out, you'll die..." he whispered, and the other's grip on his neck tightened. 

"Don't test me, pretty-boy." 

Yugi struggled to swallow; whispered, "I won't cry out..." 

"Good. Now, tell me where I can find High Priest Seto." 

Priest... Seto... "I don't... know..." 

Yugi gasped as his body was slammed against the wall, face pressed against the stone. He wheezed softly as a hand tightened around his neck. 

"He's an important man, here in the palace. He's the High Priest, almost equal in power to the Pharaoh. Even the lowliest servant has to know where he can be found." 

So you have no idea... who I am... I thought so... Yugi had suspected the presence of an intruder—no one who lived in the palace would step carelessly in the flower beds that the Pharaoh so enjoyed, no matter how much of a stir the High Priest's return had caused. Though Atem seemed entirely preoccupied with whatever he was doing, Yugi was careful to keep their minds separate, to avoid alerting the Pharaoh to his current state. "I don't... know..." he repeated, though he couldn't quite get enough breath into his lungs. "But... if you let go of me, for a second..." 

The stranger shoved him harder against the wall; Yugi felt his arm twisted behind his back, and realized that this stranger was a practiced fighter. His shoulder creaked. 

"Not gonna happen, pretty-boy. Just tell me where I can find Priest Seto. Or, if you really don't know, tell me were I can find someone who does."

Yugi's vision was swimming with black dots, and he hoped the young man's fingers wouldn't leave marks on his neck. "I can take you... to the Pharaoh, if you'd like..." 

The man's grip loosened, just a fraction. "The Pharaoh...?" he repeated, and Yugi took the opportunity to draw a ragged breath. 

"I think your Priest Seto... is with him now..." That would explain Atem's anxiety, at least. "I can get you... an audience with Pharaoh, if you want..." 

The stranger took a step backwards; kept his hand around Yugi's neck, but allowed his grip to slacken a bit more. "An audience with the Pharaoh?" 

The sound of footsteps broke into the scene, and the stranger lashed out suddenly. He caught Yugi's temple with his fist, and sent the young Royal Husband crashing to the ground. Several palace-folk—two servants and a guard—appeared around the side of the building an instant later, and one of them cried out. 

"Lord Yugi!" 

"Shit!" The intruder raised his fists, but in an instant Yugi was up; in front of him. 

"Stop, please! It's okay!" Yugi called out, as the palace-folk rushed in; they slowed, in response. "He's my friend!" 

"Friend?" one of the servants echoed mistrustfully. 

The guard took a step forward. "What do you mean, Lord Yugi?" 

"He's my friend, from the village! From my childhood, as a commoner!" Yugi blurted out, arms spread wide. "He snuck into the palace to see me! Please, it's alright! He just startled me, and I tripped. So I know what you thought you saw, but really, he'd never hurt me! He's a very good friend of mine!" 

The servants relaxed, though the guard stayed alert as he examined the Royal Husband and the intruder behind him. Forcing a cheerful laugh, Yugi took a step back and linked his arm with that of the stranger—the young man he hadn't even gotten a clear look at. 

"He's just here to visit me, so please, it's alright," Yugi repeated, and eventually the guard's tension faded. 

"Very well, Lord Yugi," the man said, hand leaving the hilt of his blade. The two servants were examining the stranger curiously, but now without hostility. "Shall we prepare to receive him, as a guest?" 

Yugi shook his head. "I'll handle that. Please, don't tell Pharaoh, for now. He's tied up with some very important business, and I don't want to distract him with such a little thing. I'll introduce my friend to everyone properly at another time, when Pharaoh isn't so pressed, what with High Priest Seto's return and everything else." 

The guard nodded; bowed. "As you say, Lord Yugi." 

"Can we get you anything?" one of the servants asked the stranger, who jumped and stiffened. Yugi tightened his grip on the young man's arm; smiled at the servant. 

"He's not used to things like this, so please pardon him. I'll probably take him up to our room shortly, so please have a meal ready for us there, if you would." 

The servants nodded willingly; the two of them bowed, murmured farewells, and hurried off. The guard lingered for a moment longer, still eyeing the stranger. 

"Are you certain, Lord Yugi?" 

"Absolutely!" There was no trace of doubt in the voice of the Great Royal Husband. "I'd trust my precious friend with my life!" 

The guard seemed placated; bowed, as the servants had, and left. Only then did the stranger shake himself, albeit gently, from Yugi's grasp. 

"Why would you...?" he rasped, seeming at a loss. He dropped down to his knees a moment later, and said, "Friend...? Why would... you... and you're..." 

"Mm." Yugi dropped down next to him on the dusty ground; got his first good look at his supposed friend. The young man was tall and leanly muscled, no older than Yugi himself, surely, with wildly tousled blonde hair and limpid, bewildered brown eyes. He was dressed in commoner's clothes—not exactly rags, but certainly not clean, either. He smelled like dust and sweat, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises. 

"You're him... You're... the Pharaoh's..." 

"I am," Yugi said gently. "I'm sorry they frightened you, like that." 

"Why would you do that?!" the stranger demanded. "Why in Set's name would you take that kind of chance for me?!" 

"Because I'd like to understand you," Yugi said, extending his hand. "Why you're doing this. Why you're looking for Priest Seto. And, if possible, I <i>would</i> like to be your friend." 

The stranger looked down; screwed his eyes shut, and then buried his face in his hands. Yugi took one of his wrists gently, enfolding one calloused hand in both of his. 

"I'm Yugi. What's your name?" 

"Jounochi..." the other replied faintly, still hiding his face behind one hand. 

"Jounochi. Why are you looking for Priest Seto?" 

"Because... Because that bastard..." Jounochi seemed to be caught short of breath, then said, "Because that bastard owes me." 

Yugi tilted his head. "If it's gold, then I—" 

"Not gold..." Jounochi said, shaking his head. He lifted his head; laughed breathlessly, and gazed up at the sky. "Not gold. The bastard... he owes me just one more kiss." 

Jounochi Katsuya hurried around the temple of Set, tidying up after worshipers and collecting offerings and otherwise doing what the local priests instructed. It was tiring work, but good work—stable, at least. With a job at the temple, he could support his mother and his sister. With a job at the temple, he could continue living. While they'd survived the great famine, doing so had sapped every resource the small family had, and so now they lived a day-to-day sort of existence. That day was particularly busy, as far as Jounochi's temple work was concerned, but he didn't bother to find out why. Some important person was likely visiting from some far off place—certainly nothing that concerned him. 

When the work day was over, Jounochi made his way to a local tavern. That was fairly standard practice for him—not at all a usual habit for a temple attendant, but he saw no conflict. Within a period made short and effortless with practice, he was pleasantly relaxed, laughing and chatting cheerfully with other regular patrons that he knew well. 

A hand threaded suddenly through Jounochi's shaggy blonde hair, and he spun to face an unfamiliar man. 

"What's the damn idea, y' jerk?" he demanded, even as he realized that the strange man was uncomfortably attractive—tall, with brown hair and dignified, flawless features. He gave off an upper-class type of aura, even though his clothing did nothing to identify him as such. 

Instead of replying, the man reached forward again; tipped Jounochi's chin up, a bit forcefully. Some of Jounochi's acquaintances laughed or called out encouragement. 

"Do you drink wine? Or just vulgar commoners' beer?" 

Jounochi felt the blood rise to his face, and he swatted the stranger's hand away. "What's it to ya?" 

"Wine, please," the man called to the tavern's owner, ignoring the question. "The best you have." 

"Hey! Jerk!" Jounochi grabbed the stranger's wrist; the man looked down at him in surprise, and Jounochi glowered up at him. "What's the idea?" 

"You'll have a drink with me," the man said simply, then wrenched his hand free and sat down beside Jounochi's usual seat. After a moment of hesitation, Jounochi sat beside him. "You come here often?" 

"Almost every night," Jounochi replied brusquely, seeing no reason to lie. 

"Ever drink wine?" the man asked. 

Jounochi scoffed. "Nah. Beer does the trick." 

The tavern's owner had brought over a bottle of wine, then, and two bowls. The stranger poured some, and pushed a bowl over to Jounochi. "Make an exception, tonight." 

Jounochi shrugged—free drink was free drink, he figured, and allowed his eyes to wander up and down the stranger's body. Uncomfortably attractive was a good way to put it, he thought again, and swallowed a gulp of wine. It was stronger than his usual fare, and burned a bit. 

"Tell me about yourself," the other prompted, sipping his own wine. So Jounochi, again seeing no reason to lie, rambled on about his dead father and his well-meaning mother and his chronically ill sister. He ranted about how he wasn't a particularly devout believer, but the temple work kept his family alive. None of it was any great secret—something anyone could have learned about him, simply by asking around that very tavern—and he enjoyed the way the man's eyes glowed with interest when he spoke. 

When he ran out of words—and wine, to chase them with—he said, "And you? What kinda story does a handsome bastard like you have to his name?" 

The stranger shrugged. "That's not important." 

"I think it is," Jounochi challenged, and objected, "Hey!" when the stranger took hold of his chin again. 

"It's not important," the man said again, and kissed him. Jounochi's first reaction was to push up into the contact—the man's mouth was hot and lusty, his lips moving in a practiced way. But a moment later Jounochi drew back; shoved the stranger in the chest.

"What'd you think you're doing?" he huffed, and the stranger smirked. 

"Wooing you."

"If this your idea of courtship, man, you should get a better strategy." 

"I think it's working just fine," the man said, and kissed him against. This time Jounochi didn't pull away as quickly; let the stranger's powerful arms wrap around him, and kissed back. 

The trip from the tavern to the stranger's dwelling was a blur made hazy with alcohol and kisses. But Jounochi came back to himself, slightly, when he found himself thrust down onto a bed—softer, he registered faintly, than an average commoner's bed. 

"I'm not some whore you can just have," he grunted, even as the stranger crawled up over top of him. 

"Would you rather have me, then?" the stranger asked huskily, and Jounochi's whole body grew hot. "I don't mind either way."

"N-Nah... that'd be..." Why would it be strange? As reluctant as he might be to admit it, Jounochi wanted this stranger to take him—wanted to be trapped beneath this powerful frame and ravaged by these skillful lips and strong hands. 

"Are you... inexperienced?" 

"... With guys, yeah." 

The stranger smirked, then; gave a warm, somewhat derisive little chuckle. "Well. I'll be sure to take good care of you, then." 

The stranger wasn't gentle—he was commanding, and at times rough. Jounochi loved that. Though he kept his word—took great care, with Jounochi—the stranger didn't treat him like he was fragile. When morning came, Jounochi wasn't surprised to find himself alone in the stranger's bed, sore and tangled in blankets made filthy by passion.

The stranger appeared from a washroom off to the side of the room, towel-drying his hair, wrapped in a thin, maize-colored robe that showed every contour of his body. "If you'd like to wash up," he said brusquely, and jerked his head toward the washroom. "After that you need to leave." 

"Yeah, that'd probably be a good idea..." Jounochi murmured, and yawned. 

Jounochi tided himself up, suspicions roused yet again by the quality of the soaps and perfumes that populated the stranger's washroom. When he'd finished, he peered out at the stranger, who was standing beside and gazing out the room's window. 

Who are you...?

"Are you ready?" the man asked, without turning. 

"Yeah..." Jounochi slipped into his sandals; walked toward the door, but kept his eyes fixed on the stranger. The man didn't seem to hear him as he approached, and jumped when Jounochi wrapped his arms around his waist. 

"What are you doing?" the man growled, twisting as if to get away. Jounochi rested his chin on the man's shoulder. 

"Last night was fun. We should do it again some time." 

"I'm leaving this town, today," the stranger huffed, turning his face away. "You need to go, now." 

"What's your name? Tell me that, at least." 

"I never asked for yours. You've got no right to ask mine." 

"Jounochi..." Jounochi breathed, and the stranger stiffened. "Jounochi Katsuya... that's my name. Now tell me yours." 

"Get off me," the stranger grunted, and drew a sharp breath when Jounochi nipped his ear. "Enough!" 

"Just tell me your name. That's not too much to ask." 

"Go!" the man snapped, and Jounochi frowned. 

"Fine." He let his arms drop; said, "Fine. I'll just have to figure it out myself, then." 

A hand grabbed the back of his collar; jerked him backwards, and Jounochi squeaked with surprise. 

"You will do no such thing, puppy," the man growled, close to his ear. "Don't get involved in things you can't possibly comprehend." 

"Don't underestimate me!" Jounochi snapped, breaking away and spinning. 

"Learn your place, dog!" the man shouted, and Jounochi stiffened. 

"I'm no dog, you upper-class bastard!"

The stranger stiffened; pushed Jounochi toward the door again. "Get out. Get out!" 

"Hikari!" Atem's tension eased when the other called out to him—called out to him as "Yami," not as "Pharaoh" or even "Atem." The smaller boy approached quickly, almost running through the spectral mist, and Atem embraced him. He pressed his face into Hikari's hair—spiked, and tri-colored like his own, but coarser to the touch and streaked through with purple as opposed to the scarlet tones of Atem’s locks. Then he held Hikari out at arm's length, reminding himself, gratefully, what that gorgeous face looked like. 

"Yami—“ 

"I love you." Atem cut him off gently, pressing starved lips to Hikari's. The smaller boy obliged willingly, wrapping his arms around Atem's shoulders and pulling them closer together. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. Atem wondered how he had managed to exist before, without the feeling—without love. He loved all of Egypt, certainly, but this was something else entirely. This heat, passion, friction, intimacy—it wasn't something he could imagine giving up. It allowed him to surrender every part of himself, at least for a few stolen moments. 

Hikari gave a startled little squeak as he was pushed back; the mists around them solidified as they needed, and kept him from falling far. He pushed Atem back slightly, laughing faintly. "Impatient, tonight? Is it a special occasion?" 

"I just need you... so much..." Atem murmured, burying his face in the crook of Hikari's slim neck. The other gasped as he bit down roughly. 

"Ah—! Lucky thing... these marks aren't there when we wake up... right...?" 

Atem nodded, but was too busy to give the comment a proper answer. He didn't, besides, want to think about the waking world. He wanted to lose himself in the dream—in Hikari. He didn't want to be the Pharaoh, in that moment. He didn't even want to be Atem. 

Being Yami, to his Hikari, was enough. 

When both were thoroughly exhausted, trembling and spent, they lay together—Atem still languidly affectionate, stroking and kissing Hikari, unwilling to think about anything else. It was always hard to remember what his beloved looked like, when he woke, so he strove to etch every detail of Hikari's small body into his mind. 

"Yami?" 

Atem looked up. "What is it?" 

"Why do you love me?" 

"Because you're here for me, in this way. Because you're beautiful, and you're kind, and you're clever, and you're skilled, and you're generous, and you're—“ 

Hikari kissed him to stem the flow of adoration. When he drew back, Atem followed; kept their faces close together. 

"Because you're willing to love me, in return. Not even knowing who I am. Not knowing my bloodline, not knowing my social position, not knowing my—“ 

"I don't need to know any of those things," Hikari murmured, cutting him off again, gently. "I know you. That's more than enough." 

And Atem nearly wept, because it was so pure—something he needed, so desperately. Even if Hikari was merely a making of his own mind, if didn't matter. The love between them was real, at least in the world of dreams, and that was, as Hikari had said, more than enough. 

"You have saved me from the darkness of my own mind, my Light..." 

Hikari only smiled; kissed him, tenderly. "I love you, Yami."