Sweeter For the Wait

Disclaimer: I do not own YugiOh.
Warnings: Unbetaed. VERY tame.
Notes: I thought people would like some closure and a ray of hope after “Ra Beneath the Night Sky,” so even though I didn’t plan it, here's a sequel. Please read the first fic before this one, or it’ll probably make little or no sense. Thanks to everyone who took the time to read my scribblings and to those that reviewed. *indicates emphasis


Sweeter For the Wait


The young man who ruled amidst plenty in one of the largest and most ancient empires of the world, who all regarded as Egypt itself, was being driven slowly mad by hunger. From his vantage point on the throne, Atemu watched as the bureaucrats squabbled against each other in the middle of the hall, as the priests in double rows by its perimeter finally gave up on achieving meditation and left, and as a few brave courtiers from the throng all the way in the back stepped forward with false humility. A woman with too much kohl around her eyes, and fat semi-precious stones that bulged like dung droppings around her neck dropped immediately to her knees when his gaze passed her. Atemu sighed. Perhaps the bribe of a (much more tasteful) gold necklace would get rid of her. A few more of the nobles came closer, seeing as he did not shoo the woman away as she approached, creeping on her belly like a wayward snake. One locust he had the patience for, but a whole swarm, he did not. Pharaoh turned and barked to the guard closest to him. Immediately, a squadron tore through the still bickering government officials, who squawked indignantly, and bodily hauled the woman and the rest of her kind away to the outer halls. Atemu sighed once more and turned to Shimon, his faithful scribe. “Tell all nobles that open court will be suspended for two days. I don’t have time for their concerns right now.” The old man scribbled dutifully, bowed his head of gray hair, and said, “So it is said, so it is written, so shall it be done.” Shimon hurried away, cutting through the officials, who managed to ruffled their feathers angrily at the interruption although they already resembled the most pitiful bedraggled birds Atemu had ever seen. Something unpleasant in his squeamish stomach stirred. The regal personage who was Pharaoh arose from his seat. The barrage of insults and arguments below his dais abruptly halted. In the sudden eerie silence, Atemu spoke, “It is time for Egypt to gather sustenance and strength. We will take inner counsel with Ourselves, and only with Ourselves, for the remainder of the day.” He left his own organized meeting, left the submissive, although bewildered crowd with their jaws agape and sighed in relief when the doors closed behind him and he was alone. Atemu’s stomach growled louder again, audibly this time, and rudely. Against the doors, Atemu sighed again. That could have been embarrassing.

Atemu meandered around the massive pillars of the palace wraith-like, the soles of his sandals making no noise against the smooth marble floor. At last, when the flickering thoughts in his troubled mind had flitted away and when his crimson-purple eyes were no longer alternately bright and dark with musings, he came upon the semi-circularly arranged gardens. The green abundance was nursed by none other than the waters of the Nile river, moisture carried by a connecting artificial waterway made long before his grandfather ruled. A few floating exotic plants grew here, soft riots of color contrasted by long thin stalks of some mustard-hued blossom he had forgotten the name of. Its leaves were edible. He plucked a blade off and began to chew slowly. Well perhaps edible was the wrong word; Atemu enjoyed the sharp taste, faintly sweet, but only swallowed a small portion of it. The plant wasn’t nutritious, and too much of it could slow the digestive system. Just a bit however, would be good roughage. He stretched, his hunger abated for the moment, and sank down on a step of the short staircase which was half submerged in the wet-land. Perhaps he would waddle fully into the water later. He started when a hand from the edge of his vision dropped a silver plate full of dates by his side. Atemu’s eyes narrowed. He had asked to be alone. He had *commanded* it however subtly. He turned around to snap at the servant -

Blue eyes

- and instead snapped his jaw shut, nearly biting his own tongue. Atemu relaxed for a moment, banished the lingering fatigue in his body and steeled himself. He covered himself metaphorically with silky drapes, and the words that sprung from his mouth were a perfect purr of compelling force and liquid honey.

“Hello, Set.”

“Shimon asked me to bring you food,” the brown-haired priest said bluntly, ignoring the strange undercurrents in Pharaoh’s salutations. The lower hem of the brunet’s robes were dark from standing ankle-deep in the water, but he seemed undisturbed. Undisturbed by anything, by *anyone*.

Pharaoh frowned for a moment, and cast a glare over the waters. A bird was nestling under some long grass. It burst into magnificent flight and the fluidity at which it did so washed over Atemu’s face and eased a part of his soul. Atemu squashed the strange anger that had risen at Set’s seemingly dismissive attitude. After all they had shared, how - he cut his thoughts off. He was not himself today. Atemu felt restless and petty like a robber in the night. The fact that Set did not irked him. He was Pharaoh, he was Atemu. He was better than this.

“I must thank Shimon later,” Pharaoh murmured. The setting sun washed warm gold over his skin, and he began to gather its strength with metaphysical hands. The light filtered between his fingers like grainy sand; for a brief moment he was saddened, as it slipped away, into the approaching night. Would he, too, one day die and slip away, leaving Egypt in this intolerable state? The sovereign frowned, but the expression was quickly cast away. Atemu was not often melancholic. Set shifted minutely as if he could feel Pharaoh’s negative mood. Atemu watched Set subtly from the corner of an eye. An ocean wave gathered and foamed, moved and then sank back into the still depths of those blue orbs. They were even more mysterious than the cumulus lands that Ra and his chariot rode through daily. One day, Atemu hoped to uncover all of its riddles.

“You should eat. I don’t want to keep standing here,” Set said abruptly, feeling uncomfortable and breaking the slight tension that had begun gathering between them during the lull in conversation.

“Why would you keep standing here?” Atemu asked, bewildered.

“I am to return the dish,” Set said disdainfully. “Since no one is to bother you, be they noble, official, or *servant*,” he snorted, emphasizing the role he had been degraded to.

“This forbidding does not include you?” Atemu inquired, trying to steer Set’s thoughts into another direction in order to nullify his hostility.

“I should think not. The priests were smart enough to escape this ‘open court’ experiment of yours before it escalated into a full mob scene and your patience had snapped. Therefore, you did not address us, and your new law, badly made in haste and anger, does not apply to me, ” Set said with a cool smile.

“Just a little annoyance deserving a minor decree,” Atemu said, tempted to wave his hand carelessly in order to deflect Set’s smug expression; the priest most likely felt a cruel joy at Atemu’s unusual episodic loss of temper and control. But such a gesture was unlike himself, so Pharaoh merely returned towards a quiet contemplation of the water. After a while, Atemu spoke again, making sure his faintly curious tone conveyed a persuasion and not an order. “Sit. Let us enjoy the dates together.”

“I am fasting.”

“Then enjoy their scent instead. Or are you not strong enough to withstand their temptation?”

Set immediately sat down and took a date into his hands, running his fingers over it in a calculating manner. He assessed its size and color. “They are not very tempting at all,” he sniffed. “This one is already over-ripe and almost rotten.” The priest threw the date into the water. It bobbed for a moment then slowly sailed away. Set picked another fruit from the platter. “This one,” he squeezed gently, “is not ripe.” Atemu stopped Set’s impending throw with a gentle touch to the wrist.

“Have patience. Don’t waste such a thing. It is not ripe yet, but one day it will be. And it will be sweeter for the wait of it,” Atemu said softly, caressing the skin beneath him. The arm underneath his fingers withdrew as if stung. The date fell back onto the plate with a soft metallic “pling”, a little away from the others so it could not be confused with its brethren.

“I do not know this new game of yours, Pharaoh, but I do not like it,” Set growled threateningly.

“To have patience. I must learn to have that, too,” Atemu said to himself, avoiding Set’s ire. He chose another date and bit into its soft skin. Its juices ran down his chin. Set stared. Then turned away. Atemu disregarded the stickiness that dripped onto his hand and took another bite. He finished the fruit with relish, and licked a few of his fingers like a child who wanted even the meager remains of a delightful sweet. “The man who tasted the first date must have thought he had discovered ambrosia. Praised be the Gods,” Atemu murmured, picking up another ripe fruit.

“You may be divine, Atemu, but the dates are not. As a mortal man, I can attest to that.” Set turned suddenly, angrily. He snatched a date from their dwindling numbers and bit savagely into it. Atemu watched his priest’s rough movements slow as he tasted the fruit’s flesh for the first time. Set began to take modest mouthfuls, intent on relishing the morsel; he had not had anything but water for a full three days. The time was long enough and this little indiscretion should not offend the Gods.

Atemu watched his High Priest eat. “That man. After that day, he must have craved for dates, days upon days after. Maybe he was afraid, too, that if he tasted another it would not be as sweet as he remembered. And still he craved,” Pharaoh said, his voice gentling, his eyes distant and sad, but ever watchful.

“It’s stupid to be afraid. One can not become stronger unless one was willing to cast away his very soul and life for gain,” Set said, swallowing his last piece. “Even you must have learned this in all the shadow duels you have fought. Although, I do not begrudge you the fear you must have felt in the ones against *me*.”

Atemu let Set get away with that barb unmolested and reached for another fruit clustered in the middle of the plate. “But, the man must have thought, ‘What if there are no more dates? Perhaps the Gods had only given me this gift once.’”

“Have patience, Atemu,” Set said, grabbing a fruit, and throwing Atemu’s own words back at him. “Any idiot knows a date palm takes time to bear fruit, and that it will bear them to the end of its days.”

“Patience. Even with it, shall I truly find what I seek?” Atemu asked. There was only one date left on the plate, and it was not desirable yet. The stars were out, and it was getting cold. Time to head to bed.

“It is not like you to give up, Atemu. I would be ashamed to call you my rival if you did.”

“You are right,” Atemu said. Pharaoh turned and moved with fire. He kissed the stunned cleric on the lips before he moved away, his body burning and blazing, the revived Ra in his eyes never looking so bright and piercing as it did now to Set. “You are right. But still, I suppose I will have to wait, just a little longer.”

The young man who ruled amidst plenty in one of the largest and most ancient empires of the world, who all regarded as Egypt itself, left the gardens to sleep with a full stomach but with a still ravenous heart.

Deep into the night, with fingers cradling the yet unready date, Set’s eyes trailed after him...


Owari.