Yu-Gi-Oh! Fan Fiction ❯ Silver-rimmed Eyes ❯ Chapter 1

A/N: This came from listening to Sting's "Fields of Gold" one too many times. It's such a gorgeous song! Please listen to it, it'll put you in the right mood for the fic! *^^*

Disclaimer: No own YGO and no own Fields of Gold. Kazuki Takahashi and Sting are the owners, respectively; no profit is being made from archiving this here fan fic, and BY READING PAST THIS POINT YOU ARE UNCONDITIONALLY AGREEING NOT TO SUE THE AUTHOR OF THIS FAN FIC OR PRESS CHARGES OF ANY TYPE.

Summary: AU OOC TWT shounen-ai language angst implied darkshipping implied angstshipping implied wishshipping possible heartshipping possible irateshipping: Here we have a short, rather mellow Bakura angst and an implied one-sided Yami no Bakura x Yami no Yuugi ficlet. (or IS it? mweheheh… *cough* sorry, couldn't resist!) One-shot; one-shot! Hayashiba-chan lacks the necessary motivation to make this into a series.

-_-; *sigh* Anywho, that ought to be enough unsubtle hints as to what the story's about… might put some side-stories in…later…

Otras Notas: Done to Sting's "Fields of Gold." It's an amazing song, please listen to it! Though this isn't a songfic; it's pretty darn close! YOU MUST LISTEN TO "FIELDS OF GOLD" BY STING! If you can't find the CD or MP3, then find a midi!

In fact!

http : / / www. fastmp3 download. com / getmp3 / 1859 / Sting-Fields _ Of _ Gold. Htm

remove the spaces. If that doesn't work:

http : / / www . grammy . ru / mp3 / Sting % 20 - % 20 Mtv % 20 History % 20 - % 20 Fields % 20 Of %20 Gold. Song

Okay? Remove the spaces!

And if THAT doesn't work, do a Google search for "sting fields gold mp3 -list -lyrics" and if EVEN THAT doesn't work, do the same thing on altavista's mp3/audio search! Okay! And, finally, Hayashiba-chan will be following SJ's example, and spelling Ryou's name without the `u.' she's spelled it with the `u,' with an `h,' and even considered using and extra `o' before, but never really simply screwed the `u' all together. This ought to be interesting.

And, last but not least, Bakura makes a few references to Ancient Egyptian Gods and Goddesses in here. Hayashiba-chan's knowledge of these is very, very rusty, so forgive her if she makes a mistake:

Montu = God of War

Khonsu = Moon God

Isis = Supreme Mother Goddess

Anubis = God of… Embalming? He weighed the hearts of the dead…

Seth = God of… what was it again? -_-;; crap, well, he's like the Christian devil or the, um… he's the ultimate evil, yea?

Nut = Goddess of Night

Pharaoh = Reincarnation of Horus, the God of Kings…?

Ra/Amun-Re = Sun God and perhaps the most worshipped

*points up* too lazy to look up the truth/specifics, sozzy. Just don't go by those definitions and you ought to be juuuust peachy.

*^^* Now ONTO the ficcy!

~*~

"Silver-rimmed Eyes"

01/01

~*~

/ They say falling in love is like heaven

A wild roller-coaster ride

And that the feelings it gives you

Are like a drug high

Then why do I want to cry

When I think of him?

And why does his smiling face

Make me cringe?

Yesterday I watched him walk

Down the street; right past me

And those deep-set eyes

(O so lovely eyes!)

Glanced right through my head

Oh, it's like a dream

This thing called love

And a nightmare

Disguised as a dove

And it hurts,

This thing called love

It's obvious he's

From some place above

I wish he was in this dreamland with me

I wish he could feel my pain

How I wish, though he'll never see

I've officially become insane

Lost in this dreamland

This dreamland of pain

Oh, oh, oh, oh

I think I've come to hate it

And the feelings that represent it

While I'm still locked

In that cage called love

Icy drops of rain

Yeah, it's like a dream

This thing called love

And a nightmare

Disguised as a dove

And it hurts,

This thing called love

It's obvious he's

From some place above

And I wish he was in this dreamland

With me

I want him to feel my pain

Sad that I wish

When he'll never see

I'm most definitely insane

Lost in a dreamland

A dreamland of pain

Within this dreamland

Sweet dreamland

Beautiful dreamland

Bright dreamland

My dreamland of pain… /

--"Dreamland of Pain", done-in-English-class-a-really-long-time-ago-back-in-junior-high, ((and the bastard teacher gave Hayashiba-chan a frickin' 3 out of 5!! The bitch! THAT WAS A *TWELVE* OUT OF FIVE!!! ESPECIALLY FOR A CRAZY 6TH GRADER WHO LACKED THE NECESSARY SANITY TO WRITE A PROPER SONG!!!!! DARNIT! *cough* okay, sorry. That's been bottled up for a few years now. Had to get it out…))

- Bakura's POV -

He's beautiful.

I don't think I ever truly noticed just how beautiful my nemesis is. Not in this time, in this place, anyway. Even Ryo agrees with me. Although, Ryo has Malik, so then, I don't suppose his opinion counts. Not that I have anything against Malik; it's just the blond moron is trying to protect him, when it's quite obvious Ryo doesn't need to be protected. Proud to say the least, I've taken good care of that.

And the Pharaoh's lighter side has found somebody as well: another blond idiot. That Jounouchi prat. Good for the little twirps, I suppose. As I understand it, they got together a little while after the end… that is, after the sennen items and a good chunk of my soul were destroyed, never to threaten this planet again. And with that rather large mental block of mine being snatched so rudely away, I have been allowed a few more memories: choice scenes that I now wish I…

…I don't know what it is I wish. I wish, perhaps, not to have these odd feelings every time I visit those memories… these images of back then, when the Pharaoh was at least four, maybe five heads taller than now. His eyes had been a depthless cerise color, not a guarded violet; his skin was a sun-kissed brown, not pale-peach; his hair, much more erratically colored. Flaxen bangs generally always breaking from their usual place to kiss his cheeks freely, raven-head shimmering in the sun, tipped with a blood-color even deeper than his eyes.

The Pharaoh does not remember how he looked. He does not remember just how beautiful he was, how beautiful he could be Now…

Yet, when it comes right down to it, he is just as beautiful Now as he was Then. Maybe it is his personality; perhaps the way he struts around like he owns a country or something is what makes him beautiful. Perhaps it is the way he manages to look down at you, even though you are most likely four feet his taller. Perhaps it is that place behind his eyes, that is what makes him beautiful.

Back in Egypt, it had actually been a crime to look in Pharaoh's eyes; looking, let alone touching, a demi-god was punishable by death. Getting close enough to cup his face would have been an impossible task, something nobody had done before and lived to tell the tale. I was, perhaps, 14 or 15… maybe even 13 or 16, when my father decided my thievery training had come to the extent where I needed a true challenge.

Steal the golden choker about Pharaoh's neck, said Father, and wave it at his pride. Then I would be a true phantom thief, one worthy of purging the Tombs where Gods and Goddesses roamed free. Laugh in Anubis's face. Shake Seth's hand. Push Isis down. Step on Ra's foot.

All under that sweet canopy of living Death that Nut pulled over the planet at the end of every day. That was the way of a tomb robber.

And I must say, with a pleased smirk, that it took no more than three hours to find myself in the Pharaoh's room that very night.

That, there, is one of my newly recovered memories; of gazing down at the boy no older than I, a young teenager, sleeping peacefully in the night. Bathed in Khonsu's light. Sleeping mere inches from Montu's Gates, as all Pharaohs tend to do. I remember running a brown finger down his brown cheek, from the edge of his left eyes to his jaw line, purposefully smearing the black liner there. It looked as though he had been crying that way; all right, with flax-colored bangs ruffled about his cheeks like some glow of Isis's kiss, and then his midnight hair lost in the darkness, leaving only the deeper than deep crimson about his head like some ethereal halo.

I cannot remember if I ever got the choker and waved it in his face, as my Father bid me do. I simply remember the serenity of Pharaoh, not innocent; never innocent, but oh-so-close to an innocence that would easily rival and over power that of Yuugi's.

And he's still beautiful.

Not Yuugi. That is, Yuugi certainly has the potential; grow some balls, grow some backbone; grow some feet… and maybe lose a few inches off those eyes. Yes, Yuugi certainly had the potential…

But this is about the other Yuugi, isn't it?

Pharaoh, in Egypt, was just as beautiful awake and in aurora as he was unconscious and in nighttide.

Another one of my olde memories.

I had to have been between the ages of 18 and 25, perhaps 19. That is my guess. As one would expect, I was in one of the bigger, more spacious (and gold-packed) tombs when, you guessed it: Pharaoh walked in. I looked up sharply and then shied away into the shadows, where, sadly enough (for the Pharaoh), the other Yuugi did not notice me. He did, however, sense another presence. I assume I was 19 because, in the memory, Pharaoh looked perhaps 18 or 19 himself, and I was but a week or a month or a year older than him; I certainly felt to be in my twenties.

Either way, pity points for the Pharaoh who detected another living entity in his father's tomb. He stood there, you know; stood there alert and watchful in the openway, with Ra's golden radiance slipping about his form and caressing it with utterly auriferous tendrils. He was just as beautiful a young man or old boy, just as he was a young teen or a mature boy.

And virile to the extreme, as would be expected.

My third and final memory, or full pictorial image I received not so long ago, anyway.

I assume we were in our twenties or thirties; between 26 and 36 somewhere. Very much so adults and erudite to the extent that we knew half of what All was, but still children in the eyes of the Gods, and in the eyes of Man.

I had been marching in to town to do a bit of good ol' fashioned pick-pocketing, and the Pharaoh (with his army) had been marching out of town to do some good ol' fashioned sword-fighting. He passed right by me on a horse so white it was almost painful to look upon; so close, I could have reached out and grabbed his ankle. His head had been held high, fingers curled lazily about the sword at his waist or the reigns of his war-beast, eyes focused not on the crowd of His people but on the rump of his General's mount.

I saw only his profile, outlined against the writhing mass of soldiers about him; not drowning in the moon nor glowing with the sun, but itself and the Pharaoh, himself, as he was.

Beautiful.

And I never did hear his voice; now, as I sit here, I wish I had; I want to remember what his voice sounded like back then. Back when he was the Pharaoh, Master of Egypt; not now, now when his is the Yuugioh, King of Games. Surely, it would not be the grave distortion of Yuugi's voice? It would be… Perhaps, smoothly notched against the lowest of tenor and the highest of bass, with no definite rhythm yet still forced in-line by years of playing Leader. Does such a voice exist?

…will such a voice exist ever again?

I have been reflecting for some time, now. I must keep track of time better---the sun is already at its twilight. Ryo would think it dangerous to be where I am; sitting on the edge of a skyscraper on the end and in the beginning of Domino City, Japan. A cold place; far, far from my birthhome. The wind sighs dejectedly up here, alone, alone since the start of Being. Alone since before the start of Being.

I sigh dejectedly as well, closing my eyes. Certainly, I looked different back then, as well. Was *I* beautiful?

My back is against the concrete wall that marks the stairway door into the building I grace with my presence. One leg is bent down and taunting the ground so far below it, and one arm is supporting my weight against the stone I sit against; my other knee is pulled almost to my chest, right arm draped about it in feigned leisure. I look down.

Surely, within the refracted mirrors of Death, I would know the answers to my questions? Surely… it would not hurt to experience such a rumored darkness for so long? But I hate the darkness; I am the darkness; I was the darkness. Once.

In that cursed Ring, I was conscious; conscious of naught but my thoughts and consciousness. Never sleeping. Never eating or drinking---never really needing to. No muscles or thoughts to exercise, memories slowly being lapped away by the endless blackness… it had been an eternity. And now that I can once again feel the touch of another living being and make memories that would, for sure, always be remembered, and be bathed in the sun's yellow luster, I wish to trap myself in that nothingness again?

Foolishly, my Ryo has begun to rub off on me. I shall have to kill him for this, later. Later, when I regain my love for bloodshed. I used to love blood, you know; loved the way it looked, smelled, tasted, felt... yet now it no longer gives me that explicit feeling of euphoria.

I have decided what I wish, now.

I wish to hate him; I wish to hate that bastard for all that he's done to me.

I wish the King of Games to suffer, and love blood, and then never love it again, and be taunted by it.

I wonder if he was conscious, too? Over 3000 years trapped in a golden puzzle of blankness; he knew, of course, that it could never be solved. Perhaps he had prayed somebody to solve it and release him, and prayed nobody find it and the pieces be lost in the desert of time for ever. Was that beautiful consciousness of the Pharaoh twisted in to insanity once before becoming Yuugioh? Did he feel any sort of empathy toward those who lacked the strength to hold on for just a little longer?

Pity?

Anything?

Gods, he's so beautiful.

Pharaoh and Yuugioh both, and Gods be damned, but they're so fucking gorgeous it's not funny.

I should get going… it wouldn't do to sit up here all night, now, would it? I smirk. Ryo is staying the night with Malik doing Ra-knows-what. Actually, I know too, but can't bring myself to want to watch them. It's just too depressing; plus it gives me the odd feeling of watching a younger sibling, or a son, perhaps. A child. Not that I have a problem with it, of course; I simply don't care for it. not particularly.

There's nothing wrong with sitting here all night, I decide.

…there's nothing wrong with going to find a taller building, either. This one I have been using for the past week, and it's beginning to get boring. I shall have to get one that much taller; I love heights. I love the exhilarating rush I get when I plunge off the edge of some place so high up, and the feeling of absolute control as I twist easily and catch myself expertly, landing with a roll and tug at the shadows around me, only to try it again.

I do not know why I do this; come here at lunch and stay until far at night.

I contemplate things.

Things that will never be understood.

Such as when Time began and when It shall End.

Such as Ryo and Malik, and why I seem to care even the minute amount I do.

Such as the Sennen Items, banished for good, now.

Such as Pharaoh's beauty.

Such as Yuugioh's beauty. Hidden beneath a fake mask of youth.