Adult-FanFiction.org : Yu-Gi-OH

Beloved	By : lucterna Category: Yu-Gi-Oh > Het - Male/Female Views: 3281 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own YuGiOh!, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-And So It Begins
- 2-All You Have to do is Dream
- 1
- 2
After being thrown from your village because you bear the cursed "mark of Set," you are taken in by one of the chaos god's secret temples and raised as a priestess there. However, the Pharaoh's eyes eventually fall on you and it is like an instant ignition of passion. That is, of course, until the people of Egypt discover the Pharaoh's new lover and your supposed "curse" ... (Primarily You/Pharaoh Atemu, but also You/Thief Bakura and a little one sided You/Priest Seth)

A couple of things you should know about the events in this fic:
1. It's a little deviant from the storyline. Not enough to be totally AU, but I have upped the ages of the characters in it and it also takes place before any of the mess with the Millennium Items (well, minus the events that happened at Kuru Eruna)
2. Also, I've given you a name, to be learned through this chapter, and because you bear the "Mark of Set", your appearance is altered. Here you have long, fiery red hair and very pale white skin, just like the god Set. However your eyes are still whatever color you want them to be.

I hope that you all enjoy!
~LoA

Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh! or anything otherwise copyrighted, registered or trademarked to someone else.

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"Look at her," someone whispers and your head sleepily turns towards the nose. Your head is heavy however and you cannot bring your eyes to open upon the intruder. The rest of your body feels numb, except for a reassuring tingle somewhere in your toes. "The hair... her skin," they continue to whisper.

Mentally, you blanch. Your hair and skin ... they were the reason you had been tossed out of your village in the first place. "Devil!" they had cried, "Servant of Evil!" And you could only stand there and take it. The stones thrown, the rotting food along with it. There was not a single thing you could do to raise your voice in protest, because you knew and had known all your life that you were something different, something that must be wicked. Your parents, those poor souls that had sheltered you your entire life, hiding you away from the rest of the village for as long as they could ... they had looked right. Father with his smoothly shaven head and darkly tanned skin. Sparkling brown eyes that had been so comforting. And Mother, long ebony tresses falling around her shoulders and the warmest pair of eyes you had ever seen in that kind, caring caramel face. Yes, they had looked right.

But you... you were ... are a malady. Something horrible to be frowned upon by all those around you.

"She bears his mark," a second voice whispers through your thoughts. You can tell whoever it is must be standing opposite the first person to speak. Desperately you want to open your eyes to them, but you cannot even will it.

Feeling is starting to slowly return to your body, beginning with those tingles and spreading gently upwards through your legs. However gently the feeling moves, though, it brings along with it a new bout of pain. Each and every injury you can feel as fresh as the day it was made. The cuts and abrasions on your feet sting and throb joining in with the searing pain from the wounds on your legs. You cringe at the thought of it reaching any higher; you know your stomach is a smorgasbord of bruises and even the shallow intake of air that you have managed to keep up this entire time is beginning to make your chest ache.

The voices begin to whisper furiously as they notice your awakening. You feel hands pawing at your legs, holding them down as they begin to twitch with the feeling coursing through them. As the numbness completely disappears, you cry out in agony and shoot straight up, hunching over yourself and fighting back a useless urge to wretch. With that sudden motion another wave of pain hits you full force and tears burst from your eyes. The owners of the voices are fervently trying to make you lie down again, but you feel that if you do so you may choke on your own tongue and that will not be very pleasant.

Finally they allow you to sit up, and you hear one go scurrying off. The second gently takes you by the chin and raises your face to meet his. "Aneksiset[1]," he murmurs, his dark eyes sparkling with amazement and awe. While you absorb the word he has just addressed you with, you painfully try to ignore the softly tanned contours of his face. They only serve to embitter you more.

When it finally sinks into you, in a horrified whisper you ask, "What did you call me?" Your eyes are wide ... you have heard it before, the villagers cried it out to you as you fled. But their voices had been outraged and fearful. This man was gazing at you with some sort of ... reverence? Despite the discomfort it causes, you tremble and jerk your head from his hand.

"Aneksiset, you have come to us," he says so low you can barely hear it. But there it is in his eyes, the sparkling admiration one has for an idol.

Gasping in a breath, you choke back a sob as tears fill your eyes. What is this curse doing to him!? You knew you must be something terrible, but what was this new evil casting this man into adoration for you? "No, no, no," you whimper, backing away from him. Your backside connects with a smooth, cool stone wall. Through your haze of tears you register that it being cool must mean night is upon the land. "Don't call me that," you beg, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes to hold back the tears.

You are interrupted as the soft speaking man moves onto the bed (yes, a bed, you had realized that somewhere in all the fuss...) beside you. He pulls your hands gently from your eyes and then wraps his arms around you, saying, "Aneksiset, let your tears come forth." Lightly he strokes your back with one hand, letting the other curve upwards to rest on your shoulder.

And despite the fact that you are entirely terrified at the name he is calling you, you listen to his words and bury your aching face into his shoulder. Instantly the salty drops pour out of your eyes and you tremble finely in his arms. With the force of your sobs, the rest of your body seems to numb again and all you can feel is the clenching of your stomach with each cry. And the man, with his soothingly light voice whispers to you. You cannot understand him through the garbled noise of your own crying, but you know it must be things to reassure you. These only suffice to make you cry harder, clinging to him as if your life must depend upon it.

It is only after you've yanked yourself from the man's arms and tried to rub away your tears that the second man returns. He looks almost identical to the first from his softly angled features to the chocolate hue of his eyes. The only difference is the length of his hair and the age shown in the faint lines on his face. His hair is longer, deep ebony locks that have been braided into hundreds of tiny braids around his head, while the man who's arms you'd just left had hair cut to just under his chin and it was bone-straight.

"Who are you people?" you whisper, throat tight now that you've been crying. Your voice, usually so soft and smooth, is hoarse.

The older man, who is carrying a small wooden bucket of water and some bandaging linens, gives you a smile that you can only perceive as fatherly. Without answering you for a few moments, he sets the bucket down beside your bed and kneels with the bandages still in his hands. "Aneksiset, I am Ankhef and this is my younger brother, Djau. We serve the hidden temple of Set on the borders of Memphis, city of the Pharaoh."

Barely nodding in acknowledgment of his introduction, you plead again, "Please don't call me that, I am not his." The tears that have just begun drying on your face threaten to spill again.

Ankhef places a hand gently against your forehead. "But, child, your hair is the color of flames and your skin white as the clouds. These are his marks, and why bear them if you are not his?"

You can only shake your head. No matter what you say it is all true anyhow. All of your life you have known it and now with it being dangled in front of your face so openly, denying it is only prolonging the inevitable. With a sigh you turn away from Ankhef and Djau, your half-lidded eyes staring at the smooth walls of the room. You know from secret visits to the temple near your village that this room must serve as quarters of some kind. Perhaps it is even the brothers' room. Slowly your eyes travel up the wall to find a border of chiseled hieroglyphs, painted in and around with gold, red and black near the top. The brothers remain silent as your eyes trace the rest of the room. There isn't much to it; just two beds including the one you're lying on, a small stone table and two wooden chairs, and lastly several stands with small basins on them. These serve as the only lighting in the room for small fires burn within them.

The place is sparsely decorated. In fact, there are only two decorations. One is a small statue of the Set animal placed in the center of the table. The other is a long, thin tapestry which hangs in the small space between the beds. Your eyes trace over the hieroglyphs without really reading them and instead you find the pictures more interesting. There is Set, the pale man with the strange creature's head, and his brother Osiris lying in the box that Set had specially tailored to the god's size. The legend is not new to you, for your parents had told you of it many times, inadvertently reminding you of the wickedness you must house within.

Finally Djau interrupts your silent inspection. "If it would please you, Aneksiset, tell us your given name."

"Yes," Ankhef readily agrees. "We will call you by it, if that is what you wish."

Your gaze jerks from the tapestry to wash over the brothers again and after several silent moments you nod. "Rasui[2]," you answer quietly.

"A beautiful name," Ankhef reassures you. He reaches forward to gently pat your hand. "Now, if you will let me tend to your injuries," the man pauses before carefully saying, "Rasui. And then you may rest until Ra is reborn upon the horizon."

You nod slowly in response, your voice having left you for no certain reason. At your consent, Ankhef gently lies you down upon the bed after Djau vacates it. Then he sets about treating you. There are numerous injuries. First the abrasions and cuts on your foot, which the older man tends to without so much as a flinch. He gently cleans every wound you've sustained and bandages them all with tender care. When he is finished, he sets aside the reddened rags and the bucket of dirty water and looks over his handiwork with an almost appreciative smile. "There, Aneksiset," he whispers, "In the morning we will see to it that you are bathed and the bandages changed."

Turning an uncertain gaze up at him, you nod again and suppress the urge to beg him not to call you that name again, "Thank you, Ankhef, Djau. I don't know how I'll repay you for helping me."

Djau answers you, his dark eyes twinkling, "Your very presence is thanks enough, Aneksiset." He acknowledged your given name, but it seems he will not be giving up on this one any time soon. "We are honored to have such a... corporeal reminder of our god walking among us."

At this statement you feel almost angry. Are they only helping you because you bear the accursed mark of Set? Is that all you are to them? Your eyes flash with this emotion and you study the two men carefully. The look in Ankhef's eyes disproves your theory slightly, while he does stare at you with that uneasing sparkle of idolization, you can see that he genuinely cares. If you had been just another umber-skinned Egyptian on the street, he would have taken you in and cared for you all the same. As for Djau, you are certain things are not the same with him. To him you must only be Set's likeness. You frown slightly.

Noticing this, Ankhef turns to give his younger brother a stern look. "Djau, it is time you found your spare quarters for the night."

Now Djau frowns, "Why am I sleeping somewhere else?"

With a sigh, Ankhef replies, "Because I have ordered you to do so. Please do not disobey me."

Djau sniffs petulantly, but with one last admiring look at you, he leaves the small quarters without another word.

At that, Ankhef gently commands you get some sleep and he even tucks you in. He reminds you so much of your father that it makes your heart ache and for a long while after he has extinguished the fires in the basins, you lie awake staring at the flat stone ceiling. Your mind wanders to the last few hours you managed to spend in peace with your parents before the other villagers had broken into your home and dragged you out to stone you and disgrace your family. And all for what? Just for the way you looked? The fact that your long hair, which fell just to your shoulders, is thick and a bright, fiery red. And the fact that your skin is a pale, almost snow white. These are not your fault and as far as you could have ever told, you possessed no other traits to mark you as a wicked blemish on the village. But there had been crop failure, due to damages from the recent onslaught of the Inundation period and instantly they had been upon your door, to blame it on "Set's red-haired witch."

Tears build in your eyes before silently sliding down the sides of your face, to embed themselves in your hair. You continue to weep this way until exhaustion finally claims you and blessed darkness sets in.

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I thought I was never going to finish this chapter! @.@; And I apologize for the lack of YuGiOh characters thus far. But I promise next chapter we will run across them! I just needed to get out some preliminary stuff before jumping into plot. Heh. ^_^;;

1) Aneksiset, roughly translated, I believe means "Beloved of Set"
2) Rasui, according to a random site with Egyptian names on it, means "dreams."
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