I HAVE OFFICIALLY BROUGHT KNIGTHSHIPPING TO FANFICTION !

I did it! I promised everyone a new story by summer and here it is! Woohoo! I'm so proud! And best of all I have the next six chapters written out so once they're all typed up I will update this story once a week. What your be a good day for my lovely reviewers?

Now this is KNIGTHSHIPPING, which is a branch of PUZZLESHIPPING 'cept it's TimaeusxYugi, sort of like blindshipping to everyone who's picky. Anyway this is a combination of fantasy and historical fiction (see notes at the bottom for anyone who has questions), and I'm very proud of the story and the plot! I'm also testing a new style and format with this story as well, which is why I'm able to get the chapters up so quickly and I really like it so far so I hope everyone enjoys it as much as I do.

DEDICATION: to only one person: Wings of the Valkyrie! This story started off as a dream I had and i pitched it to her for feedback and from there we started planning it out. She's helped me so much with this fic even when I thought about giving up on some awesome ideas, and she even beta-ed it for me! I love you girl! This story would've sucked so much without you!

Also shes written some pretty awesome Knight fics herself ;) i LOVE how she writes Timaeus if any of you are curious ;)

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. Characters all belong to Kazuki Takehashi and Koonnami (The ones who did the anime: Dartz and Timaeus are anime-only characters), all historical characters are FICTIONAL versions of themselves and NOT based on fact. The Temple of Amun is also a real place, located in what is present-day Luxor.

As always read, review, criticize, comment, ask questions and have fun, any and all flames must have a reason.

Part One

Chapter I: Timaeus

1047 B.C.E

Waset.

He'd heard the tales, seen it on countless maps, and paintings, but no replication could compare to the splendor or reality. And from the forecastle of the trireme's bow, he had the perfect view of its luster.

A magnificent golden bridge to a forgotten paradise on the edge of the world—nourished by the Nile, bordered by the unforgiving sea, and defended by an endless, barren desert. Glorious with temples and pyramids, the once great nation birthed a great procession of kings and priests, philosophers and astronomers, healers and artists—rivaling that of the great civilization of Atlantis. Now, it was a fractured land of scattered kingdoms and temple priests.

He'd never found confidence in religion, not until Locri, but their faith was based on devotion and divine loyalty. Not like Kemet's hem-netjer priests who owned lands, held offices, controlled towns, and ruled everything below the Delta in all but name. Waset was their capitol and The Great Temple of Amun, their palace—and his prize.

It was ironic, really; while they slouched in a castle of golden sand, enjoying safety and security behind their temples and ships and gluttonous on the offerings to the Gods, the true rulers were all but exiled to Djanet. But when he succeeded today, it would be Djanet—not Waset—that would be the seat of the new Great House, Pasebakhaenniut, renamed Psusennes I, its King—and Atlantis, its new ally.

He grinned. His prize glittered in the rising sun across the sea-fed river; buildings made like sand castles bleached white, mocking purity; granite walls encircling the temple precinct in a huge, single square, a barrier and a trap; and the golden Great Temple of Amun at its heart, a series of great halls, towering statues, and scattered buildings added and reshaped with each dynasty and each King.

By the time the Helios sun reached his zenith, the shores of the east Nile would be at the mercy of the Dragon Riders. Not a single general leading a massive fleet, not even a fleet at all, but three massive ships; the hulls painted in sea turquoise, navy night, and bloodied russet—their latten sails mimicking dragon wings and the bow of each ship ornamented with the forebody of their namesake, the final warning before conquest. Each one captained by one of the only three Generals loyal, powerful, and fearsome enough to earn the coveted and respected title of Dragon Knight. Atlantis was taking no risks. The outcome would be entirely to their favor.

The priests were powerful, but land and wealth would not protect them from Atlantis' Dragon Generals. They were not warriors. The Temple of Amun had no army—its navy contained only the royal barracks. Another power center, certainly, but unlike Waset itself and the priests who prayed to the Gods, its power was religious: cultural and influential. It was only in faith, and faith was a poor shield.

Under his King's command, and with Psusennes's blessing, it would soon belong to the supreme commander of the Atlantian Generals, the leader of the Dragon Knights, and the Trierarch of the Eye of Timaeus.

Giddy pride, well-masked, rushed through him. He spun from the bow and descended to across the deck—flawless grace commanded the swagger in his step. Sabatons clicked in warning, and at his approach conversations stopped, all foolishness vanished, and any thoughts of play extinguished. Hoplites retracted their shields. Thranites withdrew their swords. Soldiers who acted as crew paused their work, and someone rushed below deck to warn the rowers below.

By the time he reached the stern, not a single passenger was not on deck and when he made his appearance upon the dais, he met the proud sight of his soldiers all standing in military form—watching, waiting for his orders.

He approached the stern's deck with commanding grace, flawless and unchallenged—his face a mask of cold indifference as he glared lowly at them. None of them moved. None of them dared look away. All standing in obedient attendance, erect and alert and hanging on his every word. All fully armored in turquoise and black—colors of Atlantis' fiercest general.

Fearsome in both appearance and nature; his strength unmatched, his merciless gaze piercing even the cruelest of enemy hearts, and his honor inspired many a tale of bloodless victories and ruthlessly worded conquests.

"My Atlantian brothers," he bellowed—deep voice carrying through the air in a rich, prosperous baritone. "We have traveled far and sailed long." He strutted across the dais, the movements commanding and insolent but regal.

"But today," he stopped and spun to face them, mantle fluttering like the wings of a god behind him. "We set foot on the lands of our allies. Not as conquerors. Not slavers. But liberators." He stressed the word with a powerful shout. "From an unjust cult. From usurpers who seek to replace their King with one of their puppets—a puppet whose strings are held by those blinded by Lust, Greed, and Pride," he punctured each word.

"Traitors!" someone shouted.

"Thieves!" shouted another. Before long, the ship was alive with angry rants and shouts, and threats of violence and punishment. Their commander frowned, and withdrew his sword and slashed it across the air. It clanged against the metal of the stern with a loud, metallic sound echoing through the noise. Immediately, the men silenced, realizing their mistake. Adrenaline pumped their veins but in the promise of brawl and bloodlust of war, not their commander's vision.

The General's glare was harsh and unforgiving as stone. He stood tall and commanding. The heavy armor did little to conceal his herculean strength; a slender breastplate guarded a granite chest, and iron gauntlets—worn with the scars of many victories—encased firm arms and powerful legs. He'd discarded his helmet, revealing a face of harsh granite angles and chiseled with experience, as well as the wisdom of age. Thick tresses of midnight, with the darkest tints of blue, swayed in the sea breeze like a crown of blazing black fire. A forelock of silver bolts mimicked the symbol of the Greek sky king. And his eyes… the very eyes that were the final sight of so many who's been paralyzed by their beauty. One was the sparkling emerald of the sea, whose power he shared with the ocean herself blazed within them—harsh, indomitable, and untamable, but with dangerous calmness that any moment promises retaliation.

The other, a single slash—like the claw of some terrible beast that inspired countless rumors. Some say he'd survived a terrible fight, the opponent ranging from a savage beast to a wicked warlord. Others say he'd been touched by the very dragon whose title he shared and it was the dragon's claw that had left the mark. More fantastical souls believed he was the dragon itself—for in the stories, he'd lost his right eye in battle. But all were rumors and not even the Atlantian King himself knew of the scar's origin, and it was a well-kept secret.

Sailors and soldiers alike looked on with fear and respect—his silence and disappointment louder and harsher than any biting words of disapproval.

"Liberators," he repeated at last. "Remember your honor, men. Remember the land you call home and the country you represent. You are her Pride and her Glory. Her Honor. Remember well your mission when you step on to the shores of battle. Remember what you have been taught, what I have taught you. Attack only soldiers. Subdue only. Kill only if necessary. Take the priests hostage, but do not kill them. Do not harm the peasant men; do not hurt the farmer, the elderly, or the sick. Let no harm befall the women. Do not touch your hands to children. Defend, but kill only if you must. But know this," his voice lost all prosperous promise and was only a cold warning now. "If you murder the innocent man, if you rape the woman, or harm the child, kill the elderly for sport or the injured for pleasure, do so only if you plan to take a knife to your throat. Do not think in your blind pride to escape your commander's wrath or bribe his mercy. Dishonor is the worst of all crimes in any form. And no one is immune to punishment."

The warning was fierce and merciless, but not a single soldier flinched. Their oath was made long ago—their hearts pure and their respect too great.

"Because tomorrow," he rose his sword into the air. "We take the Great Temple of Waset!"

A roar of cheers echoed. Sword raised in promise. Their commander's name chanted like a prayer. "Timaeus! Timaeus! Timaeus!"

The smallest of smiles curled at his lips then he bellowed. "Now back to your posts!" He barked, sharp and quick. "I want this ship docked and you ready to march in the hour!"

He needn't ask twice.

He sheathed his sword and spun to the sound of clapping behind him.

"Good speech," the clapper complimented, arms crossed and golden eyes gleaming with pride. An emerald pendant was at his throat and a silver circlet of sovereignty rested on his brow. "A bit arousing for a simple retrieval mission, don't you think?"

Timaeus chuckled. "No mission is ever simple. They may not be warriors, but the hem-netjer will not relinquish command without a fight."

The king threw his head back in hearty laughter. "No humor when it comes to battle, I see."

"Battle is not humorous," Timaeus responded in a clipped tone.

"Indeed." The king's pleased face became a frown as he descended the dais. The commander followed without question and entered the aftercastle—a high wooden construction roofed over three rooms and provided all over with narrow horizontal slits for minimal light. The first third of the structure opened into a meeting room; their battle plans mapped on the center table pinned with stone figurines and battle pieces. Two wooden doors branched into sleeping quarters; one, the Trierarch's, and the other, the King's.

He hunched over the round table. His eyes scrutinized the ocean map imprinted in the wood. The stone figurines marked specific locations—targets.

"My Lord Dartz?" Timaeus bowed, and took his position where three ship pieces formed an off-triangle—one sea green, one deep blue, and one rusted red, all bearing dragon heads.

He took the green piece with the skill of chess. It followed the slithering river down the map, like outlining a large blue snake and stopped just to the left of a one-dimensional pattern of sand. A red marker dotted their prize.

"We will arrive on the shore within the hour. Critias is docked at Djanet," he moved the navy dragon head over a curved green triangle spider-webbed with rivers. "And Hermos," the red figurine remained immobile in the lonely blue sea, "Remains in the bay, awaiting command."

"Very good," Dartz nodded pleased, but still scrutinizing each detail. He pointed to the east beach. "We dock on the shores here," he tapped the spot roughly with his finger. At this perspective, it looked just outside the temple, but in reality, the distance was roughly one thousand feet. He traced the marching pattern as he spoke. "You and your men make the march and you will reach the temple before noon and, as Psusennes confirmed, the annual flood has filled the canals. We will sail right up to the front gate. We'll cut off their escape and minimize time."

"You're certain?" Timaeus questioned evenly. His loyalties forbid him from disobeying his King's command, but he had no fear of questioning uncertainties.

And Dartz respected it.

He smiled. "You were smart to leave at dawn," Dartz said with pride. "Waset is not the Delta. That has water and shade, but this is the open desert. They feel and know the full force of the sun, heat, and sand. They are adapted to it. Do you really think Atlantian soldiers spoiled by ocean breezes and mountain rain, clad in heavy chains, would fare well under the highest of noon? When the sun is at its fiercest and the heat is most brutal?"

Timaeus hadn't thought of that. As a Dragon Knight, he was a seafarer and used to the fiercest of the sea storms; the razor winds sharper than daggers, the heavy rain pounding continuously like a never-ending barrage of stones, the rough waves slamming into you like iron-fisted punches knocking air from your lungs and balance from your feet. By comparison, the hot sun seemed mild. His time on the Nile had been short, but he'd felt the weight of the heat at once. The humidity alone was so thick and stuffy, it was like breathing soup. Here, the air was dry, but it seeped heat into his armor like thousands of slithering snakes and made his skin heavy.

With the high sun even more brutal, even the most seasoned of soldiers would have trouble.

His brows lifted, and Dartz smiled when he finally understood.

"The best way to avoid the harsh sun is to beat it there."

"I see," Timaeus nodded. "You're sure separating the army is the best route? We've taken only one ship, and I only have a handful of men." He also wasn't too keen on leaving his beloved ship in anyone else's hands, even his King's.

"Yes," Dartz said firmly. "As fine as your ship is, Timaeus, it boasts Atlantis. If the priests or even the common people see it approach, they will assume the worst. They may flee below or even attack. Our best hope is to avoid such attention and block the river."

"Without it, they can either surrender or choose the desert. And they are too proud to choose the desert," Timaeus said confidently.

"Never underestimate human fear," Dartz said with more of a chuckle than a warning. "Psusennes was clear: we are to capture everyone alive and unspoiled. He won't have his reign begin with the slaughter of the High Priests, and I'd rather not jeopardize our alliance because the priests chose the coward's way out."

"Understood," Timaeus stood straight and nodded. "My men were given the strictest of orders."

"Very good." Dartz's smile radiated cautious confidence. "Kemet has suffered through enough divide and invasion. She will never be whole until the Red and Black lands unite. Pinedjem's reign was the first step. He became King, and his son, High Priest. Now, Amenemnisu is dead and Djanet has no King. The time for them to act is now. Amenemnisu reminded them that their power is limited, but they've grown used to independence from the capital.

They won't relinquish power easily. Psusennes is King by blood and education. They know they cannot influence him. If he becomes King, he will condense their power to remind them who they serve. Their reign as kings is weakening, and they sense it. They will not give it up without a fight."

"So, the rumors are true? They seek to put their puppet on the throne?" Timaeus asked, brows knitted together.

Dartz shrugged. "We cannot be certain until we interrogate them, but Psusennes is confident their claim is weak."

"Good," Timaeus grinned and rose from the table. "It will make our victory that much cleaner."

Dartz raised an eyebrow, but his smile was impressed. "You're certain you can win this with little bloodshed?"

"I am," Timaeus nodded confidently. "My men are not simple-minded soldiers who only care about murder and rape. They are proud warriors, strong fighters, experienced seamen, and patient oath-keepers. They are loyal to no one but me, save you. They will not disobey. And those with less control will know too well the consequences if they do." His tone darkened with the last sentence, deepening with retribution—but no malice.

"And what of those idiotic enough to try?" It was a rhetorical question, but laced with the authority of judgment.

Timaeus stopped in the threshold. A smile slit his face, but his eyes were bright with merciless promise. "What I do to all those foolish enough to betray my trust."

I hope you all liked Timaeus ;) I certainly do! He's so much fun to write!

Historical Note: This story takes place during the Third Intermediate period, following the death of Ramses XI. During this time, Egypt suffered a great deal of divide and invasion. The High Priests of Amun gained a significant amount of power and influence because a lot of priests and religious figures shared family ties with the Pharaohs. So long story short, the Priests ruled the South (Upper Egypt, the desert from the Temple of Amun) and the Pharaohs ruled from Djanet (modern-day Tanis) and ruled the Nile Delta a.k.a. Lower Egypt (the North). Pharaoh Smendes I founded the 21st dynasty after Ramses, and was succeeded by Pharaoh Pinedjem I in Upper Egypt (he was High Priest of Amun from 1070 to 1032 BCE, and became de facto ruler of Upper Egypt in 1054 and married a daughter of Ramses XI to unite the two, and was succeeded by his son Masaharta as High Priest) while Neferkare Amenemnisu ruled Lower Egypt, but his reign was short and he died in 1047 BCE. This story takes place in the year of his death and prior to the crowning of the new Pharaoh.

Now, a note on Atlantis: to make this story as accurate as possible, I did a lot of research on Atlantis, specifically the book Timaeus of Locri, which not only inspired our fav dragon in the anime, but also gave Atlantis an actual location: Locri, Italy. The theory is, Atlantis sank 10,000 years go, but instead it was 10,000 years before Ancient Greece, but new sources believe the calculations were off and it was actually only 900 years before Ancient Greece that it sank, which makes much more sense. Granted this mean it would've sunk during Tut's reign but for the purpose of this story, it hasn't sunk yet.

Glossary

Waset - Modern Cairo

Djanet - Modern Tanis, made the royal capital by Psusennes I

hem-netjer - Ancient Egyptian Priests

Temple of Amun - Modern Luxor

Trireme - a type of galley ship famous for its three sails, usually used as merchant and war ships. Atlantis ones are based on 17th-century Spanish trireme galleys.

Trierarch - title for the Captain and acting commander of a Trireme ship

Grammar Knight's Note/s:

Helios – the personification of the Sun in Greek mythology

Kemet – name of Ancient Egypt in Egyptian/Coptic

Amun – King of the Egyptian gods

Red and Black lands – The ancient Egyptians thought of Egypt as being divided into two types of land, the 'black land' and the 'red land'. The 'black land' was the fertile land on the banks of the Nile. The ancient Egyptians used this land for growing their crops. This was the only land in ancient Egypt that could be farmed because a layer of rich, black silt was deposited there every year after the Nile flooded. The 'red land' was the barren desert that protected Egypt on two sides. These deserts separated ancient Egypt from neighboring countries and invading armies. They also provided the ancient Egyptians with a source for precious metals and semi-precious stones.

So, basically, Waset is located in the Red land.

X x X

NextTime: Chapter II: Ujalah - We meet Yugi and follow him through a traditional morning for him at the Temple of Amun—and why he wants more than anything to escape it.