What remains of freedom, chapter three
AN:
Chapter title means "A moment in Tir-Na-Og", Tir-Na-Og (or "Tir-Na-nÒg") being a mystic place in Irish mythology. It's the title of a chapter in a novel called "Die Suche Nach Deidre", by Frederik Hetmann, which is a retelling of the legend of Noisi and Deidre; it's the chapter in which the narrator, who's in love with Deidra, uses a charm to bring himself and Deidra to Tir-Na-Og for a moment, because he will be able confess his love there (doesn't exactly go as planned though).
I don't own YGO.
Thank you for the reviews!!
/AN
Ein Augenblick in Tir-Na-Og
Mokuba on the floor, still unconscious, and the bet was won if only he found out who it was he was fighting, because he would never ever let this go unpunished.
The unspeakable victory in his voice when he called their dragon on the field, and she hated the gleam of triumph in Bakura's eyes when the monster was destroyed, almost screamed with pain, but she shouldn't worry, he wasn't dependent on her, he would win, and –
And as concluded beforehand, the game wasn't finished. Figured he would cut it only after having destroyed one of the blue eyes white dragons.
Strong light that blinded Seto for a moment, so that Bakura could look at her, grinning.
"The rest is up to you."
She acknowledged with a brief nod, and didn't answer.
And then, he was gone.
Kaiba shielded his eyes. The thief had disappeared. He rushed over to Mokuba, of course. The boy was unharmed, as promised.
He held the millennium eye in his hand.
And it was tempting to try – try to remind him, to let the never-ending connection work in the other way, too, but once she had succeeded, it would be out of her control.
But it had to be – it was his choice in the end. His choice to accept, to follow her, to fight. She could have magic help her to reach him, but never take influence over him, never control him. And she didn't wish to.
She was Kisara, and she was alive. She was Kisara, who had been chosen by the blue eyes white dragon, Kisara, who had been saved from enslavement by Seto, the future high priest, Kisara who had fought by his side and been killed in his arms. She was all this, had been all this for thousands of years, but she was more than all that all the sudden. She was also, and that had been trivial all this time and seemed not to be anymore, Kisara who had been born far from Egypt, who had been alive before she was chosen, who had played hide and seek with her only sister as a small child.
And it was more than that. She was not anymore reduced to her past and her mission. She could forget even her name and have the dragon disappear and she would still be, she had back a present, there was the cold stone under her bare feet, the dim light of the torches, her own breath and the sound of footsteps from outside, and dusty air, and saliva in her mouth because she was hungry, and she was all that.
She had been young when she had died; but she was back. Back in that body of hers that she suddenly loved, and back in this dusty cell that seemed wonderful all the sudden, and she would be back to the sun as well and see, see the sky.
And see and feel Egypt as it had been, not the land it had become, and Seto –
And Seto. Not a re-found past, not a moving puppet, not a memory. Seto, as he was, true, real, present, and she could face him.
It would be worth the sacrifice of her memory, the sacrifice of everything past.
Time was passing too fast; she could feel it in her members; the world, so simple otherwise unreal, accelerated; and yet too slowly: thoughts treacherous all the thief's fau-
Real memory, oddly vivid, as if it had little difference to the reality in this world...
"... and I call for my most powerful monster: the blue eyes white dragon!"
He raises his head with pride, and his voice, his voice is full of triumph and savage joy, as if the true goal was not to win the duel but to manage to bring this single card to life!...
The dragon obeys his call and appears, majestic and impressive as always, seeming to shine in it's own light, proudly raising his head, a low, powerful roar escaping it's troth, staring at the opponent's monsters, awaiting the order to attack...
This one card, her card, her very soul which is once again called on the battle field as his shield.
But he does not call for you
He doesn't: he calls for the dragon who's finally free of her; Akunadin would have done the same.
But does he really? Has he always, every single time, and when he's hold the false card in his hands as a child, and when he's first hold the true one, and when he's first woken her from the stone panel after her death.
Has he ever been thinking of her?
The one who's conquered the sky and created an illusion image of her dragon in order to see it, and has a name that is not his own adores the white dragon, his power, his beauty, his uniqueness. He calls his name with all his soul. He's sacrificed a god for it, he would do it again. He's dreamed of it since he's a child...
The dragon is hers, is a part of her, her strength, her soul, and a painful rest of her consciousness. It is their three thousand years old bound he feels when he senses how deeply he's bound to this one monster; it is the mergence of their souls he accomplishes when he wakes the even stronger, three headed dragon.
And yet, she's less than the magical creature, she's only a frail human girl, and dead since centuries. She existed beyond the dragon, without the dragon – if she was revived, would he walk passed...?
Even if he'd see the memory of the blue eyes white dragon inside her, even if he'd feel and see and remember, even if he'd accept not to deny the existence of the past – knowingly chose deny it?
But had priest seen her?
He has refused to destroy her to get her power when he could have. He has spared her, chosen to protect her on the risk of his life and against his own father.
But he's too proud to rely on thievery or gifts: he would never – and Akunadin should have known – accept anything that has been stolen and offered to him.
But he's also saved her when he did not know her, he's always seen as his mission to protect and save, already as a child, and even more as a chosen priest...
He's held her in his arms when she was dead and pressed her body against his, when he knew he should leave her and continue to fight.
But what does this gesture for someone who has died for him mean, what is it in a world where death is so powerful and respected?
Did he ever care about her?
Has she wished him to? Even after the thief came to the prison she had accepted as he had chosen to keep her there?
She has, for years, childishly carried his image in her hearth, as he's disappearing in the dark while the horse carries her away, and murmured and dreamed his name. And she'd died for him...
Did that lead anywhere?
Is it all that connects her to the one he's become now, the one who's Seto and is not?
Often, she sees so little of Seto in him that she wonders who he is. Back in Egypt he had been fighting to protect his country and the pharaoh. He was loyal and faithful and strong.
Today, all his loyalty and his strength are given to a single person.
He's been searching for her.
She had willingly given herself to Seto.
But he, who is Seto and is not had to search for her; he has gathered together the cards that revived her when the stone tablets had since long become dust. He's killed and destroyed and blackmailed and done anything to get them.
Would he have spared her, like Seto did?
Would the priest have done the same?
What time was it, which part of the battle? Where was the high priest, the pharaoh, the thief king?
She was not worried: after all, Bakura had made this game, and he had to let her meet Seto, if he came.
And he would come.
Still, she would have liked to know. She had been locked in here for many days, and back then, she hadn't felt so impatient – and she had not been isolated...
Would the thief king come and visit her, as he had in the real past? Would he take her with him so she could flee, like he –
Her head was spinning all the sudden, and she decided she couldn't wait. Couldn't allow herself to see the thief or – somehow – the past would –
But this wasn't the past. She could not still change everything, could not change him, because he was not the one –
Eyes like Akunadin. What had happened to him? What would have, had she followed his advice and ran?
She had to leave before he came. Had to.
And she was Kisara, running through the dusty streets of Thebes barefooted, her long hair flying behind her, and never before had she felt as free. And the unbearable infinity before her immortal eyes, and the pain, and the bitterness, all gone, all sent to rest far in the back of her mind to be forgotten; she was Kisara running to meet him, running as the thief had told her to, and she would never know, and this conflict too was an immanent part of her.
She was Kisara running without hast and without ever slowing down, a way she knew by heart this time, and there was the sand under her feet and the smells of a market place nearby which she could too, remember, and the bemused looks from people, and she was Kisara, running, feeling, fleeing, free.
But she had not expected it to be like this.
She was here only and alone because she had wanted to meet him. She had expected him here, it was her fault he was, so why – why did his presence here startle her that much?
She met him in a small side street. He was standing, one hand against a wall – what had happened to him? – dressed as always, most obviously not belonging here, not belonging anywhere but in his time.
Had a few hours back in this world been enough to make her part of it so completely?
He stopped to look at her. The light was dim, nicely so, the heath of the day being kept out, the voices from further away, the market place: they were alone, as if...
He stopped to look up at her, and she froze in place, and it suddenly hit her she had never really seen him, had been to close to him, part of him, and he, too, was Seto.
A look of realisation appeared on his face, and her heart skipped a beat at he looked at her for a long moment, through narrowed eyes, with concentrated attention, as if he was trying to figure out what he was being reminded of. An ancient memory, buried deep in the indistinct rests of events from early childhood – or like from a previous life, something a part of him he couldn't name was still remembering. And she knew him well enough to be certain that he hated the feeling, the incertitude it brought, but for that, she felt no guilt.
She didn't know how much time passed: they stood still, completely still, looking at each other.
Had she really come to find him, or did she want back the priest?
"You..." He paused, as if he still thought that maybe, he would be able to figure out without having to ask. "You are... the girl..."
Suddenly, she knew what he was talking about, even before he said it. She was the girl from the vision. Maybe it was all he knew, all he remembered in this moment. But she also knew that he had felt a strong connection to this girl, and wanted to know who she was ever since.
She was surprised to discover she was relieved instead of disappointed.
Demanding anything else had been foolish. She would not tell him who she really was, she decided. She would not overshadow his second life by forcing him to accept the past.
But she had to steel him for the combat that lay ahead of him, and which he'd been forced to enter because of her. She had no doubt that he would help them. And while his past self was –
…
His past self. Seto.
Gods!
She knew this moment. The strong string of ancient memory was going through her as well. She had lived this once already, had been in this street already, and the dim light had been exactly the same, the shape of the clouds had been exactly the same, the –
Bakura had not come: this was the moment during which she was fleeing, running to meet Seto, dying to save him.
And this time, she had stopped.
It was a trick. Bakura had never been interested in her memories.
How could she have been so naive?
He had offered her freedom, succeeded in granting it to her this time: she was no game piece. She was Kisara again, with all her memories, her life and her years of incomplete existence, and she could choose to stay and speak to Seto as she had wished to, she could return to her cell, she could flee – how far did this fake world extend? – and leave Egypt to its fate. She had a second choice: she could let the priest die.
The painful realisation that she had been betrayed was not enough to completely destroy the peace of the moment; in a first instinctive gesture to run which she had then stopped, she was now balancing on her toes. He'd be fine without her: he had all three remaining dragons; and he'd make the right choice: he had Mokuba.
With a last small smile, she rushed past him.
Running had felt freeing first; now, it was horrible. She wasn't used to it, wasn't used to having a body; small stones were digging into the skin of her feet palms, she could feel every step painfully run through her whole body; and she was lacking air.
Briefly, she wondered if Bakura, who controlled this place, was purposely cutting her off oxygen; but not more than last time, she had much room for thought.
She could see Seto appear, far beyond her, and ran faster.
It had been Akunadin, Seto's father, who had killed her. Akundin was the creator of the millennium items. She wasn't late: she would stop him this time as well, and hope that once dead for a second time, she would be allowed peace. Maybe she'd never truly been loyal to the priest.
Funny how years of non-existence as a pure spirit, with nothing but thoughts and feeling to ponder over, had not really made her come any farther than the first time.
Ending, the second.
Kaiba turned round and left the arena without a word.
Bakura sighed and followed his example more slowly. A few spectators – most of those female – congratulated him for having put on such a good fight against Seto Kaiba; he walked past as fast as he could without being too impolite, and sighed in relief when he saw Anzu waving at him. Quickly, he went through the crowd – most of which had come to see Kaiba rather than him, since seeing the ancient world champion duel was a rare occurrence nowadays, and others who were just there because they were hoping to get the arena next – and finally made it to the others: Honda, Yugi and Anzu were waiting for him.
"You were good!" Yugi immediately declared.
They quickly left the crowded place (especially since Honda had spotted a journalist), and went to an a bit calmer part of Kaiba Land, which they found near a water-toboggan that, probably because of the rather cold weather, was pretty abandoned.
Jounouchi joined a moment later, carrying six hotdogs, and looking quite pleased when Bakura assured him he didn't want one.
"Sorry, I missed the ending of your duel," he apologised hastily, sounding a little nervous. "You lost?"
Bakura nodded with a small smile as Anzu muttered something about tact.
"I know the feeling," Jounouchi added friendly, while biting into two hotdogs at once.
"You don't know feeling of coming close to beating Kaiba," Honda answered.
"He destroyed one Blue Eyes White Dragon," Yugi added.
"Hey, I did come that far once!" Jounouchi protested. "I even took it over once. You should have seen Kaiba's face when I did. He's crazy about that card."
There was a brief, a little uneasy silence, as they looked at Yugi: Atemu, and Yugi through him, had got a glimpse of what might be the reason for Kaiba's very close connection to the dragon, but he had explained that he couldn't tell them. It was something personal to Kaiba.
"Maybe you need new cards," Jounouchi added after a moment. "More strong monsters. I mean, you're still using..."
He trailed off. Yugi hid a laughter behind his hand; Jounouchi was still crepd out by Bakura's deck, and both Anzu and Honda had a certain understanding for it: they were the same cards the spirit had used. Even Yugi had another deck than Atemu.
"I'm used to them," Bakura said. "And I've strong enough monsters."
He flipped through his deck, showing them one of his cards with a proud smile. Jounouchi almost chook on his last bit of hotdog.
"You used this!? You said you wouldn't!"
The card showed a winged stone monster that ended in a long tail. Yugi had given him the card after they came back from Egypt, when Bakura's deck had turned out to be short of a few cards ("I probably lost them when I fell down the stairs," he had explained, sounding as if that was a frequent occurrence). They had never told Bakura the whole story. He had never asked, either.
Bakura shrugged.
"I needed my best cards against Kaiba."
"Yeah..." Jounouchi murmured, unconvinced, but vaguely feeling that, as a duellist, he should be agreeing with this statement. "Well, at least if he doesn't invite you to his next tournament, we'll know it's because he's afraid you might beat him next time."
Bakura just shrugged.
"I don't really think Kaiba will throw another tournament anytime soon," Yugi said.
"He'll want a chance to duel you aig... To duel you," Jounouchi argued.
"Maybe..." Yugi murmured doubtfully.
"I'll better be going," Bakura said, looking at his watch. "It took longer than I thought..."
However, when he reached the exit of the amusement park, he was stopped by Anzu, who came running after him.
"Bakura!"
He looked around unsurely.
"Anzu?"
"I – don't want you to be late for something because of me, but do you have two minutes?"
Ryou seemed to hesitate.
"Of course," he managed to say, his voice as polite as ever. "What's the matter?"
"I was just wondering... We've barely seen you lately."
"Oh. I'm sorry, I was very busy and..."
"It wasn't a reproach. I was just wondering if there was something wrong...?"
Ryou looked at her hesitantly, unsure if he just wanted to turn round and leave, as Kaiba had; without answering his questions. He'd probably never find out if the duel on the top of his building was a mere imagination, or an unclear memory that didn't quite belonged to him; and then again...
"I was in Egypt again."
"I didn't know." She hesitated as well. "Did you... go back to...?"
He nodded slowly.
"Sort of. The place crumbled down, you know. There was really nothing left. And Isis told me they would be gone anyway."
"They... The items? They have to be..."
They couldn't even begin to imagine what would happen if there was any chance someone might get his hands on the rod alone again – for example.
"I know... It just feels weird." He paused, and glanced up at her timidly, before he suddenly remembered something: "Do you still miss him?"
He sounded hopeful; Anzu didn't answer right away, even though she knew what she wanted to say, but she was not sure if she should speak it. The pain from the loss, and the anger about his departure had not yet vanished, and she wondered if they ever would. But whenever she tried to speak about it – Jounouchi and Honda didn't quite understand, and it would take some time before she would be ready to talk to Yugi.
"Yes," she said. "But I would not go back even if I could. It was his and Yugi's choice."
Ryou pressed his lips together,
"It..." He trailed off.
Anzu looked at him with worry, before she asked carefully:
"Do you miss him?"
Ryou blinked up at her, wondering what she meant; finally, seeming to decide he could trust her:
"I don't know, I – no. Of course not. That's no it... But he got a ceremonial duel and a goodbye and I – he just sheltered me all the time and left me with the wounds. And I don't even know what..."
Again, he trailed off, made a helpless gesture, not knowing himself what he wanted to add. There were a lot of things he didn't know; that didn't seem complete. Somehow, he had thought that maybe this duel with Kaiba would help.
Anzu managed to nod slowly. But this was how endings always were, unsatisfying and too abrupt, and always too soon. It was the other way that was the exception.
"I really should be going," Ryou finally said. "Do you think Kaiba will give up duelling?"
Anzu shook her head without needing to think.
"I doubt it."
They both managed to grin.
"I have a new rpg-scenario. Maybe you could come over on the week-end and try it...?"
She nodded again, still smiling.
"Sure. I'll tell the others."
-Fin-
I finished something! Go me! Though, how sad is it that I had actually written all of this before posting the first chapter, and it still took me that long to post the last one? Mostly, this is because I think that style-wise, this has been going downwards since chapter one, and I was hoping I would find a way to fix it. I'm not sure if I shouldn't have cut off Kisara's present tense Priest/Kaiba reflection altogether.
I hope the part with Ryou and Anzu didn't seem too random: it has a purpose, but... I'm not sure how clearly it actually comes across.
Please review!