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Sep. 5th, 2006 08:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_goldenpathTitle: The One I called Myself Me Once
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Characters: Bakura Ryou, Bakura, Malik Ishtar
Rating: PG
Summary: A snippet out of the daily life of Bakura Ryou.
Author's Notes: very belated holiday ficcu for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kuchizuke. Thank you for requesting!
Key: ---------- scene change
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Sometimes
“What do you want?”
No answer. Not that he expected an answer. Not that he expected anything. Anything at all. If he didn’t expect anything, he couldn’t get disappointed. God knew how many disappointments he already had in his young life. Mother. Sister. Gone. Sometimes he wrote letters, yes, he wrote letters, he wrote them and kept writing and wanted to write until the ink had dried up and he was pressing the pen so hard against the paper that he was tearing it. His writing had long been illegible by then; as if he was screaming on the paper, to the paper, expressing himself by bending the tip of his pen, scratching into the table top.
He realizes that writing is the only way of expressing himself without his interference.
Sometimes he thinks
“What is it?”
He answers. Unexpectedly, out of the blue, suddenly, but he answers. It’s different every time, though his voice remains the same. There’s malice in his words, venom dripping of every syllable, yet there’s a strong-willed determination behind each and every one of his sentences, his own beliefs expressed with everything in his power. Almost passionate, a fierceness hardly matched by anything his friends say. It’s hard to make a distinction- is it really him picking up that knife, or is it his doing? Is there a ‘he’ in the first place? Another him? There’s only this golden pendant, the Sennen Ring as others like to call it, and he doesn’t even know why he’s wearing it. It’s heavy- solid gold, dangling from a cord around his neck. It’s pretty.
He knows there’s a lot he doesn’t know, and he knows there’s a lot that he knows.
Sometimes he thinks killing
“Why..?”
Sensations, feelings, his senses on fire. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. As he arched his back, his legs trembling from the cramped position, his hair would plaster on his face, sweat-soaked, and his eyes would be closed, closed in concentration, concentration on his senses, as excitement ran through his body, as his breathing quickened and would hitch and oh fuck gods yes! Fingers on him, stroking him, touching and prodding and sometimes squeezing, gripping, and he’d scream, throwing his head back, scream out in frustration, relief and need.
He would wake up alone, damp sheets wrapped around his pale limbs, his pajama pants would be… somewhere else. In the corner of his room, haphazardly thrown away, cast aside. He would feel a little cramp, a dull pain… but that was only physical, and it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
He figures he isn’t the only one doing this… but is the only thing he does that to himself.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself
“What do you think it is?”
He couldn’t remember when the voice actually started talking to him. As in “really talking” to him. Asking, demanding. He continued to cut- his bread, a tomato, a slab of meat, and when he opened his eyes he would find the food slaughtered on his counter, his hand on the knife’s handle, the ingredients cut up as if a madman had been butchering it, attacking it again and again. He wasn’t very strong physically- but he doubted if it would take much physical strength to achieve this. It would be rage. Blind, dark, raging rage. He acquiesced- he just simply acquiesced to it. He didn’t want to lose his friends over this. He didn’t want to involve them. Not again.
After all, it only took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen and start all over again… and sometimes those cut-to-shreds ingredients could be added to soup or some other dish. Why make a problem out of it?
He reminds himself to forget about it; if he forgets about it, it doesn’t exist, right?
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad
“Why do you think I’m asking you?”
It’s never silent anymore. If it’s silent, something’s wrong. He always had appreciated silence, minding his own business in relative peace, going about his business without being questioned, without being contested. There are so many kinds of silence one can enjoy; but suffocating silence was never one of his favorites. Had he been punished? Rejected? Discarded? What had he done wrong, and why was he asking himself this? Where his mother and his sister taken away from him because of his mistakes, his faults? The silence he used to know… was that a punishment from whatever divine being?
Empty, everything feels empty if he doesn’t feel the presence. His presence. No, that can’t be right, there isn’t any other presence. Doubts, fears- it’s just fear of being alone. Who is he kidding, hasn’t he been alone all his life? He would seek refuge, solace and warmth, into the depths of his mind by lack of someone in his life, someone who would lie next to him, someone at his side. He wanted to feel an arm around him, the comforting gesture of a hug, wanted to hear that everything was going to be all right again. He would find his silence and he would find walls, icy walls, and he would feel like he rammed them, smacking into them head-first, only to be thrown back miles away.
He denies finding himself on the floor, finding himself in a room he wasn’t in before, finding himself in any situation he wasn’t in before.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
He didn’t recognize the sound, but it really was the doorbell- so strange to him, because he couldn’t recall the last time someone rang the doorbell. Who would want to visit him? He has work to do- crafting a whole RPG from scratch was time consuming; he even neglected his own homework for it. The sound is distinctive, though- and urging to boot. Moving his feet, he didn’t know if he was walking to the door of his own free will or that he was curious. After all, he liked to know… everything.
Opening the door was an endeavor to him- it would probably be some mailman, someone to deliver a package or ask a stupid question, and he would close the door, not caring what any other might think of him. Had he changed? Was he still the same, or not? It was his hand on the doorknob, turning and twisting it a little, opening the door in that peculiar way as he’d always known it to open.
He claims to be the one to open the door, but it’s him who watches, who is in control.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today. Today, someone
“Why do you still think you can be rescued?”
He once had friends. Friends who cared, friends who called him and asked him to come hang out with them. Friends who wanted to play with him, board games, card games, a role playing game. It stopped after most of them ended up in a coma, after playing a game with him- and it didn’t take long for him to retreat into himself, searching for… what, actually? Relief? Comfort, that silent voice that told him that everything was going to be all right? He’d allowed himself to be deluded by that small lie, as everything went downhill from that moment, and he started living by the day, instead of looking backward, instead of looking forward, only the here and now counted.
He recognizes the young man at the door as Malik Ishtar, the one from the Battle City Finals, the Egyptian with the God Card. He musters up a smile, the corner of his mouth slightly twitching.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today. Today, someone else will die.
“Why is it you’re still not believing me?”
Feeling safe. At ease. Eyes narrowed, he invited him in. Yes, such a pleasure to see each other again. Yes, he’s doing fine, and how about you, Malik-kun? He’s looking good. He left immediately after the Battle City Finals for Egypt. He left. Like everyone else in his life, and he shouldn’t be so surprised about it. There was only one constant factor in his life- him. Even though he barely talked, even though he barely cared- still, he was there. So why not…? Why not obeying him, why not listening to him? After all, he never lied, right? Malik is in the living room, admiring all the figurines and the neat, meticulous board game. What is it he’s trying to pull here, anyway? Ask for forgiveness? Repent for his sins?
He keeps smiling, pleasurably, softly, and sanely. The Ring weighs heavy, but it’s glowing with anticipation. The Darkness calls for satisfaction, for a sacrifice, for a sign. He’ll give it to him.
Because he is him, and he is his.
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Title: Step out of the Shadows and Walk in the Sun
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Pairings: High Priest Set & Kisara
Warnings: drama, as little angst, sap
Summary: After a strange girl with pale skin, white hair and blue eyes has been brought to the Royal Palace, High Priest Set can’t sleep very well, confused by his own thoughts.
Author's note: very belated request ficcu forryuuseisui. Thank you for requesting!
Key: ---------- = scene change
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He got up as soon as the sun was rising, before any of the servants could come in to wake him. It was a habit he had developed and cultivated over the years. He enjoyed the quiet, silent hours before the usual rush of the day would start: the noise and chattering of the servants doing their work, his fellow Priests bothering him and wanting his advice, people nagging at him about something unimportant and to top it all, a boring Pharaoh wearing more gold than was available in the national treasury.
Zoning out as the Pharaoh was talking while maintaining a perfect look of interest on his face was another habit he had developed and cultivated; fortunately, he was quick and intelligent enough to immediately pick up on the subject at hand whereas the Pharaoh would drown in an ocean of words. He wondered for a brief moment if every time the Pharaoh excused himself with having a headache it was because of his incessant talking or because of the weight of his overly large earrings.
Set didn’t care to get dressed immediately in his robes that were fitting for his function as High Priest; before the servants would arrive, he simply walked around in a long shenti until the time had arrived to get properly dressed. Besides, no one saw him in these extremely early hours-- the whole Palace was quiet, except for the guards making their rounds, and they were selected and trained on making as little noise as possible. His eyes darted over to his desk, a few piles of papyri and carefully rolled-up scrolls neatly divided into ‘to do’ and ‘to study’.
He was a man of discipline, of structure- the only one approaching him in that fashion was Shaada, or maybe Aishizu or Akunadin- he couldn’t recall Karim being ever so tidy, Shimon trusted his personal assistants to keep track of everything and Mahaado… well, that bungling half-assed spirit sorcerer couldn’t even keep the most lowest of thieves out of the royal tombs. It was a disgrace, and if it were up to him, Set personally, he would’ve long stripped Mahaado of his rank and status. Just because the man was an early childhood friend of the Pharaoh, he shouldn’t be receiving any special treatment. It didn’t matter now anyway- the man had died, and nothing good about the dead, right?
In the corner of his room stood a small, wooden table; carved with a flower pattern, the stems traced with a little bit of gold- truly the work of a very skilled craftsman. It only had one drawer for the most basic utensils of personal grooming; a brush and a comb, adorned with the same pattern as the table. The table top was made from some kind of light-weighted stone, sturdy enough to support the massive golden water bowl, but not too heavy to strain the slender table legs. It had been a gift from Akunadin when Set moved into these quarters, close to the Pharaoh’s own personal chambers as he was the High Priest. The old man had mumbled something about “an appropriate gift for the future Pharaoh”.
Set had wondered what his fellow Priest was talking about, but he appreciated the small, efficient piece of furniture even though he loathed the monstrous golden bowl- where that one had come from, he didn’t know. He dipped his hands into the water, along with a piece of cloth, to freshen himself up. He never heard the servants enter his room in the middle of the night to change the water, which was for the better- being disturbed in his sleep equaled a very cranky High Priest in the morning.
While washing himself with the cold water, his mind wandered off- usually he would go over the duties of the day ahead of him, but now he was too occupied with recent events. Mahaado’s death was a blow to the nation, and his Sennen Ring had fallen into the hands of the self-proclaimed King of Thieves, Bakura. Self-proclaimed or not, that man was dangerous, especially the ka he possessed. Diabound. Even the most strongest of Gods had difficulties defeating him, if one could speak of defeat- it had been merely a stalemate, ended by Bakura disappearing through the wall. The thief had strange powers; combined with the strength and abilities of his ka, he could prove to be a very difficult problem to take care of.
It was of this demonstration of the thief’s power that he had suggested to go to the city and test the commoners there for possible presence of a ka- if one was hidden within a person and had the potency to grow and become powerful, he wouldn’t shun any method to make it grow and surpass the power of Diabound, of the Gods themselves. This was war, not a scuffle- if they allowed the thief to rob the tombs of the late Pharaoh, if they allowed him to barge into the Throne Room to provoke and challenge them all, they were far from an easy fight. Next time, Bakura would show even more of his power, and were the Gods able to stand up to him by then? It was hard to tell, and Set wasn’t the one to stand by and patiently wait until the events would unfold.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to develop a headache from all these thoughts before the day was about to start. Dropping the cloth in the water, Set turned away from the small table, towards the large, comfortable chair wherein the servants had placed his robes, clean and neatly folded. As his hands touched the familiar fabric, he couldn’t help but think of yesterday- the day when he and Shaadah had effectively visited the city, looking for any hidden ka. The other Priest had been aghast when learning Set’s plan, offering the same argument as Akunadin had done: the Pharaoh would never approve of this, using commoners to detect and determine their ka and, with proven power and abilities, ‘encourage’ their ka to grow and strengthen.
Set had never given Shaadah a distinct answer, only his opinion that the Kingdom was in danger, and that drastic times demanded drastic measures. What else were they supposed to do- stare into some blue flame over a large tub and mumble incomprehensible words like Aishizu did when probing her Sennen Tauk? The woman wasn’t even able to determine the future anyway- whatever she saw, it was shrouded and unclear, and Set disliked anything remotely shrouded and unclear. He was a Priest of the Pharaoh’s Court, trained to determine and research facts and results, and his Sennen Item -the Rod- had never been faulty! It had never hesitated in doing its work, and it had never disobeyed its owner. Set snorted- sometimes he really was the most efficient of this whole Court together.
Dressing himself, his mind trailed back to yesterday’s events- the girl they had found in the city, on the ground, dehydrated and exhausted, and the commoners throwing rocks at her. It was strange to see such a beautiful girl lying on the ground- even though she was covered in dirt and bruises, her features were distinct enough to show off her beauty, and Set had barely been able to refrain from gasping. He knew her… the girl from his village…?
He hadn’t been able to wonder about his thoughts, as the panicked crowd started yelling about some monster, about how the girl brought bad luck, how her pale skin was sickly and strange, how she would bring doom and destruction. It had taken quite some bellowing for the people to calm down, and the guards had to raise their shields and spears. Two Priests of the Pharaoh’s Court and quite a handful of guards, and the mob had finally quieted down- but the fear had been tangible.
Shaadah had tested the girl, using his Sennen Ankh to determine her ka- and almost fainted on the spot. Her ka was so powerful that it was hard to see its limits, and Set knew she had to be even more special. Her name… Kisara… was as special and beautiful as she was. It was no wonder that he ordered the guards to take extremely good care of her, that the girl was in no way to be harmed.. and if she was harmed, they would have to deal with his wrath.
She was brought to the part of the Palace where she could heal and rest up in peace, without being bothered by anyone, and in the meantime he could… study her face... no, her ka of course, that was the most important part. He suddenly realized that he had dressed himself in his official robes anyway when he put on his hat, the gold ornaments firmly in place. Huh. I guess I’m more distracted than I thought.
It still was extremely early when he left his quarters, the few servants already busy with their chores not in the least disturbed when seeing him walk around at this time of hour. Set passed them without greeting, his thoughts with Kisara. Blue eyes… long, white hair… and a ka powerful enough to surpass the Gods. It had to be… she was the one she was looking for, and he would use it. Her. The ka. Her. No, he wouldn’t use her- only her ka! Akunadin had mentioned something about extracting the ka, and even though it had been Set’s original plan, he knew that with extracting a ka it would mean the death of its holder. There had to be another way, and he was going to find it. Was it because she was a girl, and not some lowlife peasant who would die early anyway from his hard work at the lands? Was it because she was beautiful, and not some commoner toiling and sweating? Was it… because he knew her? He’d seen a white dragon before…
Mumbling a greeting in return when some official bowed for him in the hallway, Set made his way over to the quarters where he’d ordered Kisara to be brought to- away from Akunadin, away from anyone meddling, away from noise and unrest. The room was quite dark, but silent- there was nothing more than a bed, two chairs, and a small table in it. Any other decoration was scarce; a few cushions and comfortable carpets had been laid down. His footsteps didn’t make any sound when he approached the girl in the bed, still she suddenly turned her head towards him, eyes closed.
“Kisara. Are you awake?”
She didn’t answer him, and he dismissed the movement of her head; it was probably some subconscious reaction.
“Kisara, I…”
He was a High Priest at Pharaoh Atemu’s Court. He was renowned, praised widely for his devotion and dedication, consulted each and every day for his practical wisdom, and he was standing in front of a sleeping girl not knowing what to say. Only the same vicious circle of thoughts was playing in his mind- to protect the Pharaoh, the Palace and the people he needed a strong ka, no matter what, even if he had to sacrifice the life of the wielder… but seeing this girl, weak and helpless, had made him reconsider his plans. What justification did he have to draw so much power from her ka that would leave her for dead?
Was it justified in the eyes of the Gods to kill an innocent to save millions? It is. Power is above anything. Power is above everything. We need that power… or we will be killed ourselves!
Her lips parted, just a little. She was exhausted and drained, but after a short examination the healer had said that she would recover completely. They didn’t have the time to have her rest until she was back to full strength; the King of Thieves could strike any time, and they needed power, the power and strength of the white dragon… the ka hidden in this woman weak from dehydration, so strong that it would rival the Gods.
His hand moved on its own, grabbing the Sennen Rod he always carried, and with a small click, the dagger inside was revealed. In order to protect the Kingdom… he would go very, very far. This girl’s ka was stronger than any power he’d ever known or seen, and with it, he would be able to protect the city from every attacker, Bakura first.
Unsheathing the dagger, Set kept his eyes on the woman. She wouldn’t die. Not now. Not… ever? How would he be able to control the power within her, how would he be able to use it to the benefit of the city, to guard and to protect it? How ironic was it that this weak woman harbored such an incredible force?
“Please don’t.”
Her voice was soft, yet it sounded like giant bells in his head. He stepped back, caught off guard by her wide open eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“I- I wasn’t going to kill you.”
“Please don’t,” she repeated. Lying still, turning his head towards him some more with the slightest of movements, she blinked. “High Priest…”
Kisara. The whisper of her name, the briefest ghost of a memory, the barest of touches…
“You’re stronger than this,” she said, her voice lilting, carried by the wind. Her lips were barely moving, yet her voice was audible without any trouble.
“What do you mean?” He asked, suddenly realizing he still had the dagger out in the open, and shoved the cap back on, a little too roughly, and screwed the two pieces together. She smiled at him- a mother’s smile, a lover’s smile. It tugged at her lips, and a soft sigh escaped her.
“There’s no need to do this.”
She was hallucinating… dreaming, not lucid. She couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking, what he was intending. She was lying still as a corpse, her pale skin not giving any indication of her health, and her eyes were open, but not really seeing. They were focused on him, but did they really see him? He felt as he was being observed, being probed, as if she was gauging him.
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he answered brusquely. He didn’t care what she thought. She was the key to this country’s survival, and he was going to use… no, he was going to wield it!
Another sigh escaped her, but the smile didn’t disappear from her lips. Her voice was strained now, as if she was exerted from talking.
“Step out of the shadows and walk in the sun, High Priest. It’s beautiful outside.”
Silence fell, and he instinctively knew that she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was peacefully even, and her eyes had closed again. A few stray strands of hair were plastered against her cheek, the strange white color matching the pale complexion. Step out of the shadows. Set clutched at the Sennen Rod, pressing the Item so hard against his chest that the tip of the winged blades almost cut in the fabric of his robes.
“It’s not that easy,” he muttered, as he suddenly turned away and stalked out of the room, barking orders at the two guards that if anyone should disturb Kisara, their heads would roll. It was later than he thought, and he was running behind schedule. He, High Priest Set, running behind schedule because of a girl! Because of a strange woman with strange words and a strange ka, that held the promise of great power.
He almost wanted to disdainfully dismiss it, but found he couldn’t. There was a path of darkness right open for him, if he truly considered killing her or using her to death for her power. He would sink into the shadows, murdering in the name of protection, killing in the name of all that was good, and staining himself with the blood of innocents, soothing himself that the need of the many prevailed the need of the few.
Looking to the west, he noticed the sun rising. It was going to be beautiful outside- a nice warm temperature, the Palace basking in the golden rays of the sun… He had considered using her. He had considered killing the wielder of the ka powerful enough to defy Bakura and any other attacker, if that would mean the country, the Palace, and his Pharaoh would be safe.
He would’ve dealt with his final judgment himself- after all, he owed his soul only to the Gods, not to anyone else… not even to the blue-eyed, white-haired woman. Kisara. Stronger than this? Yes, he was stronger. He was going to find a solution to this predicament, and he was going to see the white dragon, the ka that she harbored… but she would show it to him when she was ready, and he would see it when she chose to show it. The white dragon was of light, about to be released to fight the darkness, and no darkness would taint it before it would spread its wings and fly to the heavens.
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Title: Below the Surface
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Characters: Pharaoh Atemu & Mana (Vaseshipping)
Genre: a little angst
Rating: G
Summary: Mana thinks about how close she is to her Pharaoh, the boy-king she grew up with, and wonders about how much closer she can ever be to him.
Author's Notes: forexiled_valkyrie. ^___________^
Key : ------------ = scene change
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It was still early, in the Palace was at rest. She’d chosen this particular hour because it was silent, soft and sweet- not many people would think she, Mana, apprentice to Priest and the great spirit sorcerer Mahaado, would be up at this time.
It made her smile, though- she never minded much that people didn’t take much effort or time to look past her bubbly, bouncing exterior, and simply laughed at her childlike attitude. It worked in her favor at times like these, but often it was frustrating and she wanted to stamp her foot when people laughed at her or continued treating her like a kid.
She was on her way to become a powerful sorceress herself- she wasn’t able to see a spirit ka, let alone summon it, but one day…! She couldn’t help it that she didn’t have all those spells memorized like her teacher, or be as organized or efficient as High Priest Set, or as perfect Priest Shaadah, who never seemed to forget, to spill, to laugh, to make a mistake of any kind.
She continued to smile however, her feet sinking to the ankle in the thick carpet. The wool tickled her skin, but it felt soft and comfortable. It was a gift from some king from some country whose name she’d forgotten already. There was always someone visiting from another country, they couldn’t expect her to keep up with all of their names, could they?
It was a really nice carpet, its pattern representing goddesses and nymphs bathing, surrounded by beautiful nature and animals. It really put the bare, faint red rug in her room to shame, but she was just an apprentice, not anyone of a real high rank. She shrugged, not really caring much about riches and luxury. She was used to a certain standard of course, seeing as she was brought to the Royal Palace as a very young child, surrounding her with gold and servants.
Despite everything, Mana had never been spoiled, and she had to work hard to keep up with her teacher, and he never hesitated to make her run the simplest errands, as to not allow her to become lazy or complacent. Mana didn’t mind that much either- she sometimes felt uncomfortable when there was always someone close to her, a servant ready to take anything out of her hands, often without even being asked.
Life was good to her, as she had a roof over her head, clothes to wear, food to eat… and friends to love and to take care of. Her smile widened. It was so quiet at this hour, silence except for the steady breathing. Not even a slight rustling of the heavy curtains, not even a flicker of the small oil lamp. She could watch and gaze and look all that she wanted, and no one would notice.
Not many were as close to the Pharaoh as she was. No, not many at all. Actually… maybe only her teacher, Priest Mahaado, came as close to the Pharaoh as she- but that was hardly any surprise, seeing how the three of them had become friends from the first moment they met.
Her earliest memory was of her arrival at the large courtyard, brought there to meet the young Prince who would grow up to be the Pharaoh, and the young Priest in training who would be her teacher, Mahaado. He would grow up to be the Pharaoh’s most loyal servant, his fierce devotion almost surpassing that of the other Priests all together. She heaved a soft sigh. It was logical for them to be so close to the Sun and Star of Khemet, the son of Ra, the son of Horus… the son of the Gods. And she was the closest one to him.
She felt cared for, by the both of them- they had studied together, fought together, cried and laughed together. She adored her teacher, continuously teasing him with his strict, stern behavior. He wouldn’t take an hour of free time for himself even if he was forced to- he’d found some ancient script or scroll to study, and his idea of a good pastime was to dig through the library for even more ancient text. Huffing a little, she blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face with a puff of air.
There was someone she adored even more- her Pharaoh. Atemu. Officially she wasn’t to call him with his given name, so she called him simply Prince. He still was that to her- the Prince who plucked the fruits from the branches she couldn’t reach, the Prince who hid in large vases with their hide-and-seek games, and the same Prince who had become the Pharaoh. She could barely grasp what kind of burden and responsibilities he was carrying; the strain of being in command of a whole, wide nation had to be exerting.
Maybe that was why he looked so serious and stern all day, just like her teacher. Oh, he still had time for her, but he never played hide-and-seek with her anymore and a walk in the fruit garden had to be scheduled, instead of spontaneously organized. It was all different now, and it saddened her. She knew very well why people weren’t taking her seriously all the time- wasn’t it her own teacher who constantly reminded her to pay attention, to keep her focus, that she needed to answer to her responsibilities? Mana wasn’t a slacker, but she preferred a little fun to walking around all day with a frown on her face. This was a Royal Palace, not a graveyard. She knew very well how to behave, and she wasn’t ignorant, despite what everybody might think.
She’d been so sad when the Prince’s father, Pharaoh Akunamukanon, had died. He left his very young son to take up his position, to become the new Pharaoh, and ascend to the Throne. Mana had been present at all the inaugural ceremonies, bored to death. She knew the Priests could hold lectures and speeches for hours on end, but on that day… it seemed really like there came no end to it at all.
Atemu had sat on the thrown, his face carefully schooled in a neutral
expression. Her childhood friend, her ‘brother’, her Prince, her Pharaoh, sat alone on a cold and hard Throne, and with only her teacher as undoubtedly loyal friend. With the same fierce dedication of her teacher, Mana had decided at that very moment that she would take care of her Prince, her Pharaoh, and protect him and guard him to the best of her abilities and beyond.
Her smile grew wider, fondly. Maybe she wasn’t the best spirit sorceress yet. Maybe she was a little bumbling, maybe she was a little air headed sometimes. Mana refrained from taking a step forward, forcing herself to stand still. She was a lot of things, but mostly she was loyal to her teacher and her Pharaoh, and she would do anything to protect them both. She would take good care of them- her friends, her teacher and brother, her master and… a dark blush spread across her cheeks. Would she ever dare to finish that train of thought? The moment he looked at her, he always smiled, which made her smile in return, knowing that she was the one to bring that smile on his face- his day was often too filled with frowns and serious business where she’d break her head over.
He moved, lips parting slightly as he turned around, sheets rustling. Mana clutched her want to her chest, her smile turning into a fond, endearing expression.. It was nice to watch him sleep. One day she would learn to craft her own spell to see and read watch dreams, so she could catch a glimpse of them. She would love to know what he was dreaming of. A woman in his life? The latest council meeting? Any other problem that might troubling him? The only thing she could do to protect him here was to guard his dreams, and intervene when she noticed he was having a nightmare- it would only take a few soothing words, not even a spell, to calm him down again.
Watching him sleep was the only opportunity for her to catch him at ease, showing the signs again of the child he was supposed to be. He had more duties than her, and the weight of his tasks had to be horrible- but she would be there, invisible, a step behind him, watching out for him, protecting him and guarding him. Let the people think she wasn’t paying attention. Let them dismiss her, discard her. Their opinion didn’t matter to her. Her Prince, her Pharaoh was all that mattered, and she was very serious in the promises and the decisions she had made. She was the closest to him, she was the one who knew him, she was the one who touched him.
He would wake up soon now, so she'd better leave the room- if the early morning servants arrived and found her in the Pharaoh’s chambers, it wouldn’t look very good for her. Best friend or not, they would ask what she was doing there, her teacher would be confused and maybe disappointed in her if he found out, and her Pharaoh himself..? What would he think of her standing at the foot end of his bed, watching him, memorizing every line of his face, every strand of his hair, every intake of breath?
She was just simply guarding him. Guarding his dreams. Guarding his rest, guarding his whole being. She wanted to be wherever he was, close to him as a shadow, his light, anything that would surround him, the one that comforted him with a single word, the slightest of gestures, the slightest of touches… just one touch.
It wasn’t the first night she'd spend in his room, watching over him, and many nights would follow. She almost frowned herself, an unfamiliar expression to her and she lightened up almost the next second, as he turned around, sheet slipping away from his ankle. She moved forward, every footstep silenced by the carpet, and she carefully pulled at the sheet to move it back over his feet. It was the beginning of a touch… and a gentle gesture of comfort. She didn’t want him to wake up all cold. One day, she would wake up in his arms, and there would be all the warmth she needed. They would wake up together, facing another day as dark and light, sun and moon, fire and water, land and ocean. She’d be there. Undoubtedly.
---------------
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Characters: Bakura Ryou, Bakura, Malik Ishtar
Rating: PG
Summary: A snippet out of the daily life of Bakura Ryou.
Author's Notes: very belated holiday ficcu for
kuchizuke. Thank you for requesting!Key: ---------- scene change
--------------------
Sometimes
“What do you want?”
No answer. Not that he expected an answer. Not that he expected anything. Anything at all. If he didn’t expect anything, he couldn’t get disappointed. God knew how many disappointments he already had in his young life. Mother. Sister. Gone. Sometimes he wrote letters, yes, he wrote letters, he wrote them and kept writing and wanted to write until the ink had dried up and he was pressing the pen so hard against the paper that he was tearing it. His writing had long been illegible by then; as if he was screaming on the paper, to the paper, expressing himself by bending the tip of his pen, scratching into the table top.
He realizes that writing is the only way of expressing himself without his interference.
Sometimes he thinks
“What is it?”
He answers. Unexpectedly, out of the blue, suddenly, but he answers. It’s different every time, though his voice remains the same. There’s malice in his words, venom dripping of every syllable, yet there’s a strong-willed determination behind each and every one of his sentences, his own beliefs expressed with everything in his power. Almost passionate, a fierceness hardly matched by anything his friends say. It’s hard to make a distinction- is it really him picking up that knife, or is it his doing? Is there a ‘he’ in the first place? Another him? There’s only this golden pendant, the Sennen Ring as others like to call it, and he doesn’t even know why he’s wearing it. It’s heavy- solid gold, dangling from a cord around his neck. It’s pretty.
He knows there’s a lot he doesn’t know, and he knows there’s a lot that he knows.
Sometimes he thinks killing
“Why..?”
Sensations, feelings, his senses on fire. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. As he arched his back, his legs trembling from the cramped position, his hair would plaster on his face, sweat-soaked, and his eyes would be closed, closed in concentration, concentration on his senses, as excitement ran through his body, as his breathing quickened and would hitch and oh fuck gods yes! Fingers on him, stroking him, touching and prodding and sometimes squeezing, gripping, and he’d scream, throwing his head back, scream out in frustration, relief and need.
He would wake up alone, damp sheets wrapped around his pale limbs, his pajama pants would be… somewhere else. In the corner of his room, haphazardly thrown away, cast aside. He would feel a little cramp, a dull pain… but that was only physical, and it was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
He figures he isn’t the only one doing this… but is the only thing he does that to himself.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself
“What do you think it is?”
He couldn’t remember when the voice actually started talking to him. As in “really talking” to him. Asking, demanding. He continued to cut- his bread, a tomato, a slab of meat, and when he opened his eyes he would find the food slaughtered on his counter, his hand on the knife’s handle, the ingredients cut up as if a madman had been butchering it, attacking it again and again. He wasn’t very strong physically- but he doubted if it would take much physical strength to achieve this. It would be rage. Blind, dark, raging rage. He acquiesced- he just simply acquiesced to it. He didn’t want to lose his friends over this. He didn’t want to involve them. Not again.
After all, it only took a few minutes to clean up the kitchen and start all over again… and sometimes those cut-to-shreds ingredients could be added to soup or some other dish. Why make a problem out of it?
He reminds himself to forget about it; if he forgets about it, it doesn’t exist, right?
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad
“Why do you think I’m asking you?”
It’s never silent anymore. If it’s silent, something’s wrong. He always had appreciated silence, minding his own business in relative peace, going about his business without being questioned, without being contested. There are so many kinds of silence one can enjoy; but suffocating silence was never one of his favorites. Had he been punished? Rejected? Discarded? What had he done wrong, and why was he asking himself this? Where his mother and his sister taken away from him because of his mistakes, his faults? The silence he used to know… was that a punishment from whatever divine being?
Empty, everything feels empty if he doesn’t feel the presence. His presence. No, that can’t be right, there isn’t any other presence. Doubts, fears- it’s just fear of being alone. Who is he kidding, hasn’t he been alone all his life? He would seek refuge, solace and warmth, into the depths of his mind by lack of someone in his life, someone who would lie next to him, someone at his side. He wanted to feel an arm around him, the comforting gesture of a hug, wanted to hear that everything was going to be all right again. He would find his silence and he would find walls, icy walls, and he would feel like he rammed them, smacking into them head-first, only to be thrown back miles away.
He denies finding himself on the floor, finding himself in a room he wasn’t in before, finding himself in any situation he wasn’t in before.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today.
“Who do you think you’re talking to?”
He didn’t recognize the sound, but it really was the doorbell- so strange to him, because he couldn’t recall the last time someone rang the doorbell. Who would want to visit him? He has work to do- crafting a whole RPG from scratch was time consuming; he even neglected his own homework for it. The sound is distinctive, though- and urging to boot. Moving his feet, he didn’t know if he was walking to the door of his own free will or that he was curious. After all, he liked to know… everything.
Opening the door was an endeavor to him- it would probably be some mailman, someone to deliver a package or ask a stupid question, and he would close the door, not caring what any other might think of him. Had he changed? Was he still the same, or not? It was his hand on the doorknob, turning and twisting it a little, opening the door in that peculiar way as he’d always known it to open.
He claims to be the one to open the door, but it’s him who watches, who is in control.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today. Today, someone
“Why do you still think you can be rescued?”
He once had friends. Friends who cared, friends who called him and asked him to come hang out with them. Friends who wanted to play with him, board games, card games, a role playing game. It stopped after most of them ended up in a coma, after playing a game with him- and it didn’t take long for him to retreat into himself, searching for… what, actually? Relief? Comfort, that silent voice that told him that everything was going to be all right? He’d allowed himself to be deluded by that small lie, as everything went downhill from that moment, and he started living by the day, instead of looking backward, instead of looking forward, only the here and now counted.
He recognizes the young man at the door as Malik Ishtar, the one from the Battle City Finals, the Egyptian with the God Card. He musters up a smile, the corner of his mouth slightly twitching.
Sometimes he thinks killing himself isn’t that bad, but not today. Today, someone else will die.
“Why is it you’re still not believing me?”
Feeling safe. At ease. Eyes narrowed, he invited him in. Yes, such a pleasure to see each other again. Yes, he’s doing fine, and how about you, Malik-kun? He’s looking good. He left immediately after the Battle City Finals for Egypt. He left. Like everyone else in his life, and he shouldn’t be so surprised about it. There was only one constant factor in his life- him. Even though he barely talked, even though he barely cared- still, he was there. So why not…? Why not obeying him, why not listening to him? After all, he never lied, right? Malik is in the living room, admiring all the figurines and the neat, meticulous board game. What is it he’s trying to pull here, anyway? Ask for forgiveness? Repent for his sins?
He keeps smiling, pleasurably, softly, and sanely. The Ring weighs heavy, but it’s glowing with anticipation. The Darkness calls for satisfaction, for a sacrifice, for a sign. He’ll give it to him.
Because he is him, and he is his.
---------------
Title: Step out of the Shadows and Walk in the Sun
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Pairings: High Priest Set & Kisara
Warnings: drama, as little angst, sap
Summary: After a strange girl with pale skin, white hair and blue eyes has been brought to the Royal Palace, High Priest Set can’t sleep very well, confused by his own thoughts.
Author's note: very belated request ficcu for
ryuuseisui. Thank you for requesting! Key: ---------- = scene change
-----------------
He got up as soon as the sun was rising, before any of the servants could come in to wake him. It was a habit he had developed and cultivated over the years. He enjoyed the quiet, silent hours before the usual rush of the day would start: the noise and chattering of the servants doing their work, his fellow Priests bothering him and wanting his advice, people nagging at him about something unimportant and to top it all, a boring Pharaoh wearing more gold than was available in the national treasury.
Zoning out as the Pharaoh was talking while maintaining a perfect look of interest on his face was another habit he had developed and cultivated; fortunately, he was quick and intelligent enough to immediately pick up on the subject at hand whereas the Pharaoh would drown in an ocean of words. He wondered for a brief moment if every time the Pharaoh excused himself with having a headache it was because of his incessant talking or because of the weight of his overly large earrings.
Set didn’t care to get dressed immediately in his robes that were fitting for his function as High Priest; before the servants would arrive, he simply walked around in a long shenti until the time had arrived to get properly dressed. Besides, no one saw him in these extremely early hours-- the whole Palace was quiet, except for the guards making their rounds, and they were selected and trained on making as little noise as possible. His eyes darted over to his desk, a few piles of papyri and carefully rolled-up scrolls neatly divided into ‘to do’ and ‘to study’.
He was a man of discipline, of structure- the only one approaching him in that fashion was Shaada, or maybe Aishizu or Akunadin- he couldn’t recall Karim being ever so tidy, Shimon trusted his personal assistants to keep track of everything and Mahaado… well, that bungling half-assed spirit sorcerer couldn’t even keep the most lowest of thieves out of the royal tombs. It was a disgrace, and if it were up to him, Set personally, he would’ve long stripped Mahaado of his rank and status. Just because the man was an early childhood friend of the Pharaoh, he shouldn’t be receiving any special treatment. It didn’t matter now anyway- the man had died, and nothing good about the dead, right?
In the corner of his room stood a small, wooden table; carved with a flower pattern, the stems traced with a little bit of gold- truly the work of a very skilled craftsman. It only had one drawer for the most basic utensils of personal grooming; a brush and a comb, adorned with the same pattern as the table. The table top was made from some kind of light-weighted stone, sturdy enough to support the massive golden water bowl, but not too heavy to strain the slender table legs. It had been a gift from Akunadin when Set moved into these quarters, close to the Pharaoh’s own personal chambers as he was the High Priest. The old man had mumbled something about “an appropriate gift for the future Pharaoh”.
Set had wondered what his fellow Priest was talking about, but he appreciated the small, efficient piece of furniture even though he loathed the monstrous golden bowl- where that one had come from, he didn’t know. He dipped his hands into the water, along with a piece of cloth, to freshen himself up. He never heard the servants enter his room in the middle of the night to change the water, which was for the better- being disturbed in his sleep equaled a very cranky High Priest in the morning.
While washing himself with the cold water, his mind wandered off- usually he would go over the duties of the day ahead of him, but now he was too occupied with recent events. Mahaado’s death was a blow to the nation, and his Sennen Ring had fallen into the hands of the self-proclaimed King of Thieves, Bakura. Self-proclaimed or not, that man was dangerous, especially the ka he possessed. Diabound. Even the most strongest of Gods had difficulties defeating him, if one could speak of defeat- it had been merely a stalemate, ended by Bakura disappearing through the wall. The thief had strange powers; combined with the strength and abilities of his ka, he could prove to be a very difficult problem to take care of.
It was of this demonstration of the thief’s power that he had suggested to go to the city and test the commoners there for possible presence of a ka- if one was hidden within a person and had the potency to grow and become powerful, he wouldn’t shun any method to make it grow and surpass the power of Diabound, of the Gods themselves. This was war, not a scuffle- if they allowed the thief to rob the tombs of the late Pharaoh, if they allowed him to barge into the Throne Room to provoke and challenge them all, they were far from an easy fight. Next time, Bakura would show even more of his power, and were the Gods able to stand up to him by then? It was hard to tell, and Set wasn’t the one to stand by and patiently wait until the events would unfold.
He closed his eyes, not wanting to develop a headache from all these thoughts before the day was about to start. Dropping the cloth in the water, Set turned away from the small table, towards the large, comfortable chair wherein the servants had placed his robes, clean and neatly folded. As his hands touched the familiar fabric, he couldn’t help but think of yesterday- the day when he and Shaadah had effectively visited the city, looking for any hidden ka. The other Priest had been aghast when learning Set’s plan, offering the same argument as Akunadin had done: the Pharaoh would never approve of this, using commoners to detect and determine their ka and, with proven power and abilities, ‘encourage’ their ka to grow and strengthen.
Set had never given Shaadah a distinct answer, only his opinion that the Kingdom was in danger, and that drastic times demanded drastic measures. What else were they supposed to do- stare into some blue flame over a large tub and mumble incomprehensible words like Aishizu did when probing her Sennen Tauk? The woman wasn’t even able to determine the future anyway- whatever she saw, it was shrouded and unclear, and Set disliked anything remotely shrouded and unclear. He was a Priest of the Pharaoh’s Court, trained to determine and research facts and results, and his Sennen Item -the Rod- had never been faulty! It had never hesitated in doing its work, and it had never disobeyed its owner. Set snorted- sometimes he really was the most efficient of this whole Court together.
Dressing himself, his mind trailed back to yesterday’s events- the girl they had found in the city, on the ground, dehydrated and exhausted, and the commoners throwing rocks at her. It was strange to see such a beautiful girl lying on the ground- even though she was covered in dirt and bruises, her features were distinct enough to show off her beauty, and Set had barely been able to refrain from gasping. He knew her… the girl from his village…?
He hadn’t been able to wonder about his thoughts, as the panicked crowd started yelling about some monster, about how the girl brought bad luck, how her pale skin was sickly and strange, how she would bring doom and destruction. It had taken quite some bellowing for the people to calm down, and the guards had to raise their shields and spears. Two Priests of the Pharaoh’s Court and quite a handful of guards, and the mob had finally quieted down- but the fear had been tangible.
Shaadah had tested the girl, using his Sennen Ankh to determine her ka- and almost fainted on the spot. Her ka was so powerful that it was hard to see its limits, and Set knew she had to be even more special. Her name… Kisara… was as special and beautiful as she was. It was no wonder that he ordered the guards to take extremely good care of her, that the girl was in no way to be harmed.. and if she was harmed, they would have to deal with his wrath.
She was brought to the part of the Palace where she could heal and rest up in peace, without being bothered by anyone, and in the meantime he could… study her face... no, her ka of course, that was the most important part. He suddenly realized that he had dressed himself in his official robes anyway when he put on his hat, the gold ornaments firmly in place. Huh. I guess I’m more distracted than I thought.
It still was extremely early when he left his quarters, the few servants already busy with their chores not in the least disturbed when seeing him walk around at this time of hour. Set passed them without greeting, his thoughts with Kisara. Blue eyes… long, white hair… and a ka powerful enough to surpass the Gods. It had to be… she was the one she was looking for, and he would use it. Her. The ka. Her. No, he wouldn’t use her- only her ka! Akunadin had mentioned something about extracting the ka, and even though it had been Set’s original plan, he knew that with extracting a ka it would mean the death of its holder. There had to be another way, and he was going to find it. Was it because she was a girl, and not some lowlife peasant who would die early anyway from his hard work at the lands? Was it because she was beautiful, and not some commoner toiling and sweating? Was it… because he knew her? He’d seen a white dragon before…
Mumbling a greeting in return when some official bowed for him in the hallway, Set made his way over to the quarters where he’d ordered Kisara to be brought to- away from Akunadin, away from anyone meddling, away from noise and unrest. The room was quite dark, but silent- there was nothing more than a bed, two chairs, and a small table in it. Any other decoration was scarce; a few cushions and comfortable carpets had been laid down. His footsteps didn’t make any sound when he approached the girl in the bed, still she suddenly turned her head towards him, eyes closed.
“Kisara. Are you awake?”
She didn’t answer him, and he dismissed the movement of her head; it was probably some subconscious reaction.
“Kisara, I…”
He was a High Priest at Pharaoh Atemu’s Court. He was renowned, praised widely for his devotion and dedication, consulted each and every day for his practical wisdom, and he was standing in front of a sleeping girl not knowing what to say. Only the same vicious circle of thoughts was playing in his mind- to protect the Pharaoh, the Palace and the people he needed a strong ka, no matter what, even if he had to sacrifice the life of the wielder… but seeing this girl, weak and helpless, had made him reconsider his plans. What justification did he have to draw so much power from her ka that would leave her for dead?
Was it justified in the eyes of the Gods to kill an innocent to save millions? It is. Power is above anything. Power is above everything. We need that power… or we will be killed ourselves!
Her lips parted, just a little. She was exhausted and drained, but after a short examination the healer had said that she would recover completely. They didn’t have the time to have her rest until she was back to full strength; the King of Thieves could strike any time, and they needed power, the power and strength of the white dragon… the ka hidden in this woman weak from dehydration, so strong that it would rival the Gods.
His hand moved on its own, grabbing the Sennen Rod he always carried, and with a small click, the dagger inside was revealed. In order to protect the Kingdom… he would go very, very far. This girl’s ka was stronger than any power he’d ever known or seen, and with it, he would be able to protect the city from every attacker, Bakura first.
Unsheathing the dagger, Set kept his eyes on the woman. She wouldn’t die. Not now. Not… ever? How would he be able to control the power within her, how would he be able to use it to the benefit of the city, to guard and to protect it? How ironic was it that this weak woman harbored such an incredible force?
“Please don’t.”
Her voice was soft, yet it sounded like giant bells in his head. He stepped back, caught off guard by her wide open eyes, her lips slightly parted.
“I- I wasn’t going to kill you.”
“Please don’t,” she repeated. Lying still, turning his head towards him some more with the slightest of movements, she blinked. “High Priest…”
Kisara. The whisper of her name, the briefest ghost of a memory, the barest of touches…
“You’re stronger than this,” she said, her voice lilting, carried by the wind. Her lips were barely moving, yet her voice was audible without any trouble.
“What do you mean?” He asked, suddenly realizing he still had the dagger out in the open, and shoved the cap back on, a little too roughly, and screwed the two pieces together. She smiled at him- a mother’s smile, a lover’s smile. It tugged at her lips, and a soft sigh escaped her.
“There’s no need to do this.”
She was hallucinating… dreaming, not lucid. She couldn’t possibly know what he was thinking, what he was intending. She was lying still as a corpse, her pale skin not giving any indication of her health, and her eyes were open, but not really seeing. They were focused on him, but did they really see him? He felt as he was being observed, being probed, as if she was gauging him.
“I wasn’t going to kill you,” he answered brusquely. He didn’t care what she thought. She was the key to this country’s survival, and he was going to use… no, he was going to wield it!
Another sigh escaped her, but the smile didn’t disappear from her lips. Her voice was strained now, as if she was exerted from talking.
“Step out of the shadows and walk in the sun, High Priest. It’s beautiful outside.”
Silence fell, and he instinctively knew that she had fallen asleep. Her breathing was peacefully even, and her eyes had closed again. A few stray strands of hair were plastered against her cheek, the strange white color matching the pale complexion. Step out of the shadows. Set clutched at the Sennen Rod, pressing the Item so hard against his chest that the tip of the winged blades almost cut in the fabric of his robes.
“It’s not that easy,” he muttered, as he suddenly turned away and stalked out of the room, barking orders at the two guards that if anyone should disturb Kisara, their heads would roll. It was later than he thought, and he was running behind schedule. He, High Priest Set, running behind schedule because of a girl! Because of a strange woman with strange words and a strange ka, that held the promise of great power.
He almost wanted to disdainfully dismiss it, but found he couldn’t. There was a path of darkness right open for him, if he truly considered killing her or using her to death for her power. He would sink into the shadows, murdering in the name of protection, killing in the name of all that was good, and staining himself with the blood of innocents, soothing himself that the need of the many prevailed the need of the few.
Looking to the west, he noticed the sun rising. It was going to be beautiful outside- a nice warm temperature, the Palace basking in the golden rays of the sun… He had considered using her. He had considered killing the wielder of the ka powerful enough to defy Bakura and any other attacker, if that would mean the country, the Palace, and his Pharaoh would be safe.
He would’ve dealt with his final judgment himself- after all, he owed his soul only to the Gods, not to anyone else… not even to the blue-eyed, white-haired woman. Kisara. Stronger than this? Yes, he was stronger. He was going to find a solution to this predicament, and he was going to see the white dragon, the ka that she harbored… but she would show it to him when she was ready, and he would see it when she chose to show it. The white dragon was of light, about to be released to fight the darkness, and no darkness would taint it before it would spread its wings and fly to the heavens.
------------
Title: Below the Surface
Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Characters: Pharaoh Atemu & Mana (Vaseshipping)
Genre: a little angst
Rating: G
Summary: Mana thinks about how close she is to her Pharaoh, the boy-king she grew up with, and wonders about how much closer she can ever be to him.
Author's Notes: for
exiled_valkyrie. ^___________^Key : ------------ = scene change
-----------------------
It was still early, in the Palace was at rest. She’d chosen this particular hour because it was silent, soft and sweet- not many people would think she, Mana, apprentice to Priest and the great spirit sorcerer Mahaado, would be up at this time.
It made her smile, though- she never minded much that people didn’t take much effort or time to look past her bubbly, bouncing exterior, and simply laughed at her childlike attitude. It worked in her favor at times like these, but often it was frustrating and she wanted to stamp her foot when people laughed at her or continued treating her like a kid.
She was on her way to become a powerful sorceress herself- she wasn’t able to see a spirit ka, let alone summon it, but one day…! She couldn’t help it that she didn’t have all those spells memorized like her teacher, or be as organized or efficient as High Priest Set, or as perfect Priest Shaadah, who never seemed to forget, to spill, to laugh, to make a mistake of any kind.
She continued to smile however, her feet sinking to the ankle in the thick carpet. The wool tickled her skin, but it felt soft and comfortable. It was a gift from some king from some country whose name she’d forgotten already. There was always someone visiting from another country, they couldn’t expect her to keep up with all of their names, could they?
It was a really nice carpet, its pattern representing goddesses and nymphs bathing, surrounded by beautiful nature and animals. It really put the bare, faint red rug in her room to shame, but she was just an apprentice, not anyone of a real high rank. She shrugged, not really caring much about riches and luxury. She was used to a certain standard of course, seeing as she was brought to the Royal Palace as a very young child, surrounding her with gold and servants.
Despite everything, Mana had never been spoiled, and she had to work hard to keep up with her teacher, and he never hesitated to make her run the simplest errands, as to not allow her to become lazy or complacent. Mana didn’t mind that much either- she sometimes felt uncomfortable when there was always someone close to her, a servant ready to take anything out of her hands, often without even being asked.
Life was good to her, as she had a roof over her head, clothes to wear, food to eat… and friends to love and to take care of. Her smile widened. It was so quiet at this hour, silence except for the steady breathing. Not even a slight rustling of the heavy curtains, not even a flicker of the small oil lamp. She could watch and gaze and look all that she wanted, and no one would notice.
Not many were as close to the Pharaoh as she was. No, not many at all. Actually… maybe only her teacher, Priest Mahaado, came as close to the Pharaoh as she- but that was hardly any surprise, seeing how the three of them had become friends from the first moment they met.
Her earliest memory was of her arrival at the large courtyard, brought there to meet the young Prince who would grow up to be the Pharaoh, and the young Priest in training who would be her teacher, Mahaado. He would grow up to be the Pharaoh’s most loyal servant, his fierce devotion almost surpassing that of the other Priests all together. She heaved a soft sigh. It was logical for them to be so close to the Sun and Star of Khemet, the son of Ra, the son of Horus… the son of the Gods. And she was the closest one to him.
She felt cared for, by the both of them- they had studied together, fought together, cried and laughed together. She adored her teacher, continuously teasing him with his strict, stern behavior. He wouldn’t take an hour of free time for himself even if he was forced to- he’d found some ancient script or scroll to study, and his idea of a good pastime was to dig through the library for even more ancient text. Huffing a little, she blew a wayward strand of hair out of her face with a puff of air.
There was someone she adored even more- her Pharaoh. Atemu. Officially she wasn’t to call him with his given name, so she called him simply Prince. He still was that to her- the Prince who plucked the fruits from the branches she couldn’t reach, the Prince who hid in large vases with their hide-and-seek games, and the same Prince who had become the Pharaoh. She could barely grasp what kind of burden and responsibilities he was carrying; the strain of being in command of a whole, wide nation had to be exerting.
Maybe that was why he looked so serious and stern all day, just like her teacher. Oh, he still had time for her, but he never played hide-and-seek with her anymore and a walk in the fruit garden had to be scheduled, instead of spontaneously organized. It was all different now, and it saddened her. She knew very well why people weren’t taking her seriously all the time- wasn’t it her own teacher who constantly reminded her to pay attention, to keep her focus, that she needed to answer to her responsibilities? Mana wasn’t a slacker, but she preferred a little fun to walking around all day with a frown on her face. This was a Royal Palace, not a graveyard. She knew very well how to behave, and she wasn’t ignorant, despite what everybody might think.
She’d been so sad when the Prince’s father, Pharaoh Akunamukanon, had died. He left his very young son to take up his position, to become the new Pharaoh, and ascend to the Throne. Mana had been present at all the inaugural ceremonies, bored to death. She knew the Priests could hold lectures and speeches for hours on end, but on that day… it seemed really like there came no end to it at all.
Atemu had sat on the thrown, his face carefully schooled in a neutral
expression. Her childhood friend, her ‘brother’, her Prince, her Pharaoh, sat alone on a cold and hard Throne, and with only her teacher as undoubtedly loyal friend. With the same fierce dedication of her teacher, Mana had decided at that very moment that she would take care of her Prince, her Pharaoh, and protect him and guard him to the best of her abilities and beyond.
Her smile grew wider, fondly. Maybe she wasn’t the best spirit sorceress yet. Maybe she was a little bumbling, maybe she was a little air headed sometimes. Mana refrained from taking a step forward, forcing herself to stand still. She was a lot of things, but mostly she was loyal to her teacher and her Pharaoh, and she would do anything to protect them both. She would take good care of them- her friends, her teacher and brother, her master and… a dark blush spread across her cheeks. Would she ever dare to finish that train of thought? The moment he looked at her, he always smiled, which made her smile in return, knowing that she was the one to bring that smile on his face- his day was often too filled with frowns and serious business where she’d break her head over.
He moved, lips parting slightly as he turned around, sheets rustling. Mana clutched her want to her chest, her smile turning into a fond, endearing expression.. It was nice to watch him sleep. One day she would learn to craft her own spell to see and read watch dreams, so she could catch a glimpse of them. She would love to know what he was dreaming of. A woman in his life? The latest council meeting? Any other problem that might troubling him? The only thing she could do to protect him here was to guard his dreams, and intervene when she noticed he was having a nightmare- it would only take a few soothing words, not even a spell, to calm him down again.
Watching him sleep was the only opportunity for her to catch him at ease, showing the signs again of the child he was supposed to be. He had more duties than her, and the weight of his tasks had to be horrible- but she would be there, invisible, a step behind him, watching out for him, protecting him and guarding him. Let the people think she wasn’t paying attention. Let them dismiss her, discard her. Their opinion didn’t matter to her. Her Prince, her Pharaoh was all that mattered, and she was very serious in the promises and the decisions she had made. She was the closest to him, she was the one who knew him, she was the one who touched him.
He would wake up soon now, so she'd better leave the room- if the early morning servants arrived and found her in the Pharaoh’s chambers, it wouldn’t look very good for her. Best friend or not, they would ask what she was doing there, her teacher would be confused and maybe disappointed in her if he found out, and her Pharaoh himself..? What would he think of her standing at the foot end of his bed, watching him, memorizing every line of his face, every strand of his hair, every intake of breath?
She was just simply guarding him. Guarding his dreams. Guarding his rest, guarding his whole being. She wanted to be wherever he was, close to him as a shadow, his light, anything that would surround him, the one that comforted him with a single word, the slightest of gestures, the slightest of touches… just one touch.
It wasn’t the first night she'd spend in his room, watching over him, and many nights would follow. She almost frowned herself, an unfamiliar expression to her and she lightened up almost the next second, as he turned around, sheet slipping away from his ankle. She moved forward, every footstep silenced by the carpet, and she carefully pulled at the sheet to move it back over his feet. It was the beginning of a touch… and a gentle gesture of comfort. She didn’t want him to wake up all cold. One day, she would wake up in his arms, and there would be all the warmth she needed. They would wake up together, facing another day as dark and light, sun and moon, fire and water, land and ocean. She’d be there. Undoubtedly.
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