Hello, m'dears! Here's my story for Round 9 of the YGO fanfiction contest and it's the pairing Gemshipping - Ryou x Thief King Bakura- *cue fangirl squeals*. One of my favourite pairings, I decided to do something completely different to my normal style; the result is a sort of warped fairy tale which is a sort of cross between 'Beauty and the Beast' and the 'legend of Persephone'. A cheap rip off or a genius modernisation of ancient legends? You decide.

(XD Joking, it's not really a rip off!) I had a great time writing this- and having the pairing gemshipping is just such a fantastic birthday present!- so I hope you all enjoy it too.

Anyway, on with the fic! :)

Pairing: Gemshipping

Warning(s): Creepy fairytale, hinted slash

This was beta'd by the very lovely (who also has an excellent choice in pennames! xD) LadyBlackwell.

Didn't you ever hear about the Thief Child …?

The legends of old speak of that terrible Monster, the prince with the black heart, eagerly awaiting its unwitting prey from the confines of its fortress, hidden away in the dark and cold of the forest.

The legends and tales that speak of this creature, this 'Monster', differ, of course, as they spread across the world; because no one story is the same, and every storyteller weaves a fresh creation. Maybe that is humanity at its most beautiful- the storyteller.

(It is often said the Monster loves Storytellers.)

In North America they speak of the great winged man who swoops on his prey like an eagle and steals their gold, their silver, their very lives.

The Japanese see the same creature as a half man, half cat- the trickster who toys with its victims before challenging them to a game and forcing them to gamble away their own souls.

In Europe, the people sometimes whisper of a Shadow Man filled with bitterness, hidden away in the forest in his Black Castle.

There are many tales of such a kind- and perhaps each has a grain of truth in it- but it is the one that spread through the snowy villages and was murmured around warm fires in the icy regions of Northern Russia that is closest to any kind of reality.

'The little boy lost, torn away from his mother and filled with hatred, who takes the guise of a Thief in the night- showing no mercy to his victims as none was ever shown to him.'

'Stay out of the darkness in the woods, little ones. You never know where the Thief Child lurks.'

And the Storyteller smiles from under his hood as the children in front of him shrink back with delighted horror.

He so loves weaving these tales.

It was the time of legends and the age of myths when they met for the first time. The world was great and mysterious, and nothing could reach the far corners of the earth apart from words and the brave (or foolish) people who bore them.

The Storyteller, or so he liked to call himself, sometimes thought that he was much more foolish than brave.

The truth was he had no skill apart from his ability to create these tales- and to embellish the ones he 'borrowed' (never 'stole', it was too innocent and mischievous for that)- and so when his mother had died and his father had left and his sister had…

Well, he'd chosen to leave. He'd chosen to travel the world- the parts he could get to by begging the Captains of trade ships to let him on board in return for working as an unpaid member of the crew, that is- and though he earned little money with his work, the villages he travelled between were usually welcoming and provided him with food and shelter in return for the golden stories that seemed to trip off his tongue.

Apart from the villages around here, he thought furiously. In all the small towns he'd visited in the past few days, the villagers had been suspicious and wary towards him—they'd refused his requests for food in return for stories; they'd eyed him with cold mistrust; they'd even bordered on threatening him with violence- and so, he had retreated meekly into the woods.

Actually, that wasn't fair, he berated himself sternly. There had been one moment of kindness- a little girl with incredibly blue eyes and black hair, who was clutching the hand of her flaxen haired little brother tightly, had run up to him just as he was leaving. Don't go into the woods, she had whispered, fearfully.He lives there, don't go into the woods.

And when he had pressed her for more details- he loved stories even when created in the overactive imaginations of young children- she merely shook her head while her eyes flickered towards the dark trees nervously. Don't go to sleep. Don't talk to anyone in there. Get out as soon as you can.

He had laughed, and ruffled her hair. "I'll be fine, I'm sure. The monsters don't scare me!" he had teased.

She had bitten her lip anxiously, and pressed one shiny apple into his palm before turning on her heel and dragging her brother away.

Take care, stranger. Take care in the woods.

Of course he had ignored her; he had no time for the superstitions of children when he was starving and cold and needed shelter… But when night had fallen and he began to stumble around in the pitch black, trapped in the seemingly endless maze of trees, he started to wonder whether the little girl had had a point.

He had no idea where he was.

He had no food (apart from a now half-eaten apple).

He had no shelter.

And, most worryingly, he had spent his last few pennies several towns ago. He knew only too well that having no money was probably the worst handicap of them all in this world that seemed to have forgotten generosity.

It was when the temperature began to drop- gradually at first, but winter was approaching and he knew it would quickly reach freezing- that he realised he really had to find some shelter.

Which was when he tripped into a break in the trees.

And suddenly right in front of him, as if they had appeared as soon as he had wished desperately for shelter, were massive iron wrought gates; peering through them with curiosity overwhelming his instincts that were screaming at him to run and run fast, he saw a great house at the end of a wide driveway.

He pressed a tentative finger to the gates and to his astonishment they creaked open. Without even thinking he began to make his way towards the house feeling a tingle of excitement and this mysterious, magical place. The building was entirely black, he realised as he drew closer; it wasn't just the night's shadows. The very stone was an inky-black colour and he gulped in awe as he reached the front door, peering upwards to see turrets and towers twist into the sky, and hundreds of glass windows with the velvet curtains drawn tightly closed.

His hand trembling with an electrifying fear he knocked three times on the great wooden door.

There was a pause.

Then, much to his shock, a child's voice drifted out of the… Well, he wasn't really sure where it was coming from. It was as if he could suddenly hear it in his head.

"Who are you?"

"I am a Storyteller and I've travelled to this region and become lost in your woods. I'm begging you to let me spend the night- I have no money or food and winter is coming-"

"What is your name, Storyteller?" the child's voice became softer, more curious now than suspicious.

"Ryou Bakura."

Ryou didn't remember much of the next few hours (hours? It could have been days, or minutes. One lost track of time in that place). He supposed that was part of the intoxicating magic of it all; with the thick velvet curtains prevented any natural light reaching the inside rooms, the fact that this massive house seemed to be completely deserted apart from the stuffed animals and dolls that lined the hallways, the dust coating every available surface and the hundreds upon hundreds of deserted rooms…

When Ryou had entered he thought he must be going mad, for there wasn't a child there at all. Instead the darkened corridor was completely deserted, and though he had been wandering for some time now (really, how long had it been?) he hadn't seen a single person.

It was all empty corridors and lonely rooms.

And shadows. Shadows everywhere.

(Ryou could have sworn he saw them move. But that was his imagination, of course.)

Deciding at last to actually enter one of the rooms, he pushed open the nearest door and coughed as a cloud of dust billowed upwards at the movement. With a fascination that seemed to disregard completely the warning signals going off in his head, Ryou entered the room.

It seemed to be a ballroom; it had great windows that stretched from floor to ceiling edged with the same velvet curtains in a deep burgundy colour, a huge chandelier dripping with diamonds and cobwebs hung from the ceiling, and the floor- what he could see through the dust, that is- was a smooth wood clearly intended for dancing. Ryou could even see the small stage at one end which would have held the band- his vivid imagination going into overdrive, he visualised the beautiful ball gowns swishing against polished wood, couples laughing as they swirled around the floor, music filling the room…

There. He'd seen it this time for certain.

The shadow had moved.

"Hello? Is anyone there?"

For the first time Ryou felt fear spike in him; he knew there was someone there, someone must be creating the shadow that was moving-

Where had the child gone?

"Hello, Storyteller."

And out of the shadows there suddenly stepped a man dressed in simple peasant clothes, with messy white hair- a man with a scar running like a seam down one side of his face that seemed to draw attention to his crooked smile.

(It was a smile full of pointed teeth. It was the smile of a predator.)

A man with the eyes of a child.

"I must admit, I admire your bravery. No one has had the courage to visit my castle for such a long time…" his voice dropped to a purr as he moved one step closer to Ryou.

"Bravery?" Ryou swallowed, stepping backwards instinctively. "I call it stupidity."

The man threw back his head and laughed a low, barking laugh like the cry of a wolf. "You're not like the others. They're usually begging me for mercy at this point."

Ryou's eyes flickered from side to side as he desperately tried to judge the quickest way to the exit. "Oh, really? And why would that be?"

The man grinned slowly as he gazed around him. "You've heard of the Monster that haunts these woods? Surely you know the tales? The legends of the winged thief that steals souls, or the Feline Trickster? How about the Shadow Man- that one's my favourite, you know, it always makes me smile-"

"I've heard of them," Ryou replied, unwavering. "I'm a Storyteller. That is my trade; I wouldn't be doing my job if I couldn't tell those stories. But, you know-" he eyed the man up and down with a raised eyebrow. "I don't see any wings, or cat ears for that matter. I suppose the Shadow Man theory is possible- looking at the state of your house… But I say the Thief Child most aptly describes you."

The spark of mirth in the man's eyes suddenly dulled. "I hate that name."

"It suits you," Ryou said, quietly. "It is you, isn't it?"

It wasn't a question.

"Are you not scared to be in the presence of the Monster?"

And Ryou, the weaver of tales and lies, suddenly could only speak the truth:

"No."

Ryou was fairly sure that several days had passed by the time he next saw the Thief Child. He wasn't certain, but he had counted at least two sunrises and falls; from inside the castle, of course. He had been trapped there since he entered, not necessarily because he couldn't leave but because he just couldn't bring himself to. He thought the Thief might forcibly prevent him leaving if he chose to do so, but they both knew he wouldn't.

There was something magical about the castle; the strange, strange place that was completely deserted and yet seemed to become brighter and cleaner by the day. He could have sworn that there had been dust everywhere when he arrived but now it was virtually spotless; the floor in the ballroom was suddenly a beautiful polished wood, the dolls that lined the halls were no longer covered in that thick layer of grey dust and on the diamond chandelier there wasn't a cobweb in sight.

But it couldn't be happening, Ryou's mind must be playing tricks on him, there wasn't anyone there to clean-

Ryou decided at least once an hour that none of this was real and that this was some nightmarish dream he would eventually wake up from. But the birds singing in the forest outside, the food that mysteriously appeared on the dining room table three times a day, the warmth on his face as he sat in the enclosed courtyard enjoying the afternoon sun- it was all so real. My imagination's good but not that good, he thought wryly.

And as for the Thief Child- this supposed 'monster' that Ryou had heard so much about- he was nowhere to be seen. After that fateful night where he had granted Ryou shelter he had completely vanished for two whole days and Ryou's daytime wanderings were a vain attempt to find him in the maze of rooms and corridors.

Then, on the evening of what Ryou thought was the third day, he reappeared. Ryou was sitting on the windowsill of the ballroom- it had become his favourite place of them all, and he spent most of his time there- when he had turned and there he was in all his dangerous glory.

"You're still here."

"I can't leave."

The Thief had smirked, before leaning forward and pressing a single gold coin into his palm. "Why not? You now have money to buy food and shelter in the world outside this house. Why can't you leave?"

Ryou stared at him, levelly. "Who is cleaning the house? Who is feeding me? Why is everything I ever knew suddenly different here?"

The Thief's smirk became one of thinly veiled anger. "That I cannot answer."

"Then I cannot leave. This mystery, this magic- this is what my stories are made of." Ryou turned back to gaze out of the window and continued softly. "This is what I left home to find."

The Thief suddenly jerked forward and grabbed his shoulder. "You know the legends about me. You know what happens to people that stay in my castle for too long."

And although Ryou knew he simply shook his head, smiled and said: "I still can't leave."

The Thief had traced one finger down Ryou's cheekbone and whispered, "I don't want to destroy you, Storyteller."

The legends sometimes say that it was spoken in the voice of a lonely child.

(Some say it broke the Storyteller's heart.)

The tales that tell of the Thief Child recount the stories of how he lures young men and women to his castle, enticing them to stay within the increasingly beautiful and magnificent palace for four days.

And if they still remain after four days he plays a game with them. They can never win. They can never leave.

He steals their gold, their silver, their very souls.

Ryou's four days were up, and he knew what would happen.

(Some say that broke the Thief's heart.)

On the evening of the fourth day it wasn't the Thief who sought Ryou out with his heavy heart to play that final game that he always played, the game born from the bitterness in his heart. Ryou found him.

"I'll make a deal with you."

The Thief laughed from his position bent over a small table. They were in the topmost tower of the castle, the cards were spread out on the wooden surface; everything was ready.

"You don't make deals with me, Storyteller."

"I'll play your game with you- but only if you let me tell you a story first," Ryou smiled.

The Thief straightened up and eyed him with new curiosity. "Why? What difference will that make?"

Ryou took a step forward and stared into the Thief's eyes. "They call you the Thief Child, and every child loves a good story. If I impress you, maybe I can change your mind. Maybe I don't have to play the Game."

The Thief leaned back in his chair with a sad smirk and eyes that clearly said: No one has ever changed my mind.

So Ryou drew his hood over his head as he had so many times before, took a deep breath, and began.

Didn't you ever hear about the Thief Child … ?

If there is one legend the people who whisper the Thief Child's name agree on, it is the story of how it was enchanted by the wonders that the young Storyteller drew out of the air; the beautiful words and tales this travelling, homeless boy was able to weave as his face lit up under his hood, totally engrossed in the story.

Some say the Storyteller managed to use his gift to escape the game this Thief always played, to save his soul from the darkness.

Some say he was rewarded for his talent with freedom from the Thief's castle and the spell it had cast over him.

Some say he chose to remain.

Hope you enjoyed it, thanks for reading! :D