Chapter Text
Bakura was waiting for them, arms crossed and all-knowing smiles, when they finally arrived at the Palazzo.
“You are late.” A deliberate pause. Then she grinned, “Magistrate.”
All the color drained from Yugi’s face, then suffused with it as he dropped his gaze to the ground, his head bent over in apology. “Forgive me, Bakura, but I didn’t lie to you.” Yugi shot up then, determined not to let his white lie ruin the friendship they’d built, especially with such a powerful ally and a potential friend. “I ask all those I consider a friend to call me Yugi.”
“You consider me a friend?” Bakura arched a curious brow. Her smile did not change.
“Yes,” Yugi nodded, enthusiastically earnest. “I do.”
The woman’s expression broke with a laugh. “Good. We’ll be needing a clever miss to make sure this house runs smoothly: I can’t do it all on my own. Oh, come now! Don’t look so shocked! I figured it out once your little escape sent the boys into an all-out panic. Ha, have I been entertained like that in years! Oh, Yugi, please stop looking at me like that, really. I’m not upset. I’m just thrilled Timaeus married someone competent!” The normally foul-tempered woman’s expression was positively blazing with the joyful triumph of the situation; bright-faced and wide-eyed, she laughed a hearty laugh, its screech a throaty, guttural pitch of her voice—perfectly suited to an elated, mad woman.
“Is she always like this?” Yugi asked Timaeus, a bit unnerved, but found the other just as stunned.
“So it’s true, then?” The question was a surprised but delighted gasp that Timaeus’ widening eyes only magnified. “You’re fond of him.”
The laughter stopped, replaced by an indignant snort. “I’m fond of many things,” Bakura boasted. “You people are always so surprised.”
“With good reason,” Ryou’s mellow, airy voice came up behind her with a radiant smile. “You’re fond of many things, but you adore very few.” He winked playfully, making no effort to hide its affection.
“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.” Bakura pondered for a moment, not even fazed by the action—which, earlier that day, Yugi suspected might’ve set the woman’s nerves on fire. Something had absolutely happened in the hours since his departure; once realizing it, Yugi didn’t even try to hide the smile beaming across his face.
Beside him, Timaeus’ look of wonderment transformed, brandishing a brilliant, awestruck pride in Yugi’s direction. “I’m…impressed,” he gasped out, barely able to contain himself. “She is not easy to please.”
Timaeus’ hand squeezed his and Yugi thought his heart was going to burst. Pride fluttered in his chest with a warm, almost uncontainable joy.
“Yes, yes, he tamed the cantankerous cook, we’re all impressed,” Bakura swooped behind them, her sarcasm and stern sass resurfacing once more, and urged them both inside. “Now make haste! Supper won’t keep and I worked very hard making it special for you both since Ryou was kind enough to inform me our Magister was also back.”
They both stopped to ask what she’d meant, but the woman was insistent and refused to let them stop. Ryou offered a sympathetic smile, the sincerity of which was completely marred by a sly wink in his eyes. “It’s a surprise,” he whispered in Yugi’s ear.
It was a surprise indeed.
The whole household had gathered to celebrate the Magister’s return, unsurprised to find their Magistrate with him. Food platters began pouring out into the Great Hall, along with wine and conversation. It was a celebration nowhere near as grand or as lavish and lively as their Redamancy feast, but there was still just as much laughter and chatter—as well as the welcome addition of Bakura’s delicious food. Yugi had not failed to notice the entire plate of lemon cakes at their table, nor the plate of flat patties fried brown and crispy that carried the same creamy, nutty taste as one of his favorite dishes from Kemet, nor the thick, meaty chunks of fish swimming in stew surrounded by vegetables, smelling heavily of spices. The wine was an earthy, ruby color akin to pomegranate seeds, and had a sweet, fruity and rich cinnamon smell that went splendidly with the lemon cake desserts. There was also an eggplant dish that Yugi recognized as the dish he’d sampled earlier at the stand in the Sister of Salt and Bone. To his surprise (and not so much once he thought about it), the eggplant was Timaeus’ favorite dish: he did favor a more a savory palate.
They devoured everything together, Bakura having prepared all their favorites; how she knew his, Yugi could not fathom. Never had he had such delectable food—so warm and rich and savory—and never had he seen such a similar look of pleasurable delight on Timaeus’ face as he ate, even watching him snatch one of the lemon cakes to sample. Yugi could not thank the beaming cook enough. Good-hearted snickers of her stroked ego were whispered among the evening staff as they cleared away the tables, but the woman’s happiness was the satisfaction that only a day of hard work doing something one loved could bring. With the night’s end, she returned to the sanctuary of her kitchen, Ryou hanging on her every gesture, and Tim noting it would be good to leave them be.
Yugi agreed, but upon spotting Rhebekka amongst the crowd, he excused himself to go after her. Timaeus watched, bemused as Yugi fished something from his pocket and handed them to her, whispering their purpose. Her eyes widened with a delighted gasp as she held up a pair of emerald earrings as bright and green as her own eyes towards the light. She spun to Yugi and hugged him, then demanded Mokuba help her put them on. He did so, and Timaeus saw him mouth the word “gratitude” before Yugi nodded, a pleased smile born only from performing an act of kindness for a friend gracing his features before he returned to their table.
Instead of sitting down, however, Yugi leaned over the arm of his throne and whispered, “Meet me in the garden. I want to give you something,” before stealing away like a phantom up the steps and to their room.
Timaeus grinned and excused himself, grabbing a plate of pomegranates and a few extra lemon cakes, and followed after him, excited and eager for his little one’s surprise.
X X X
The box sat inconspicuously on the bed, just as Yami had promised.
Unpacking the day’s treasures, Yugi set the letter-writing supplies on his desk, and the River and Woodland masks on the mantle above the hearth—all with a sort of giddy impatience. He couldn’t wait to see the costumes Nima and Yami created for them.
He turned back to the box, threw off the lid and lifted the treasure into his arms. The flowing purple gown with the gossamer sleeves was just as lovely as he remembered, and he eagerly pulled himself free of the simple green dress, sweaty and stained from the day’s adventure, to try it on. The garment flowed like water over his arms and had been cut and trimmed so the flowing skirts pooled about his ankles, which were exposed by the slits running up both sides. Examining it from all angles as he spun, he saw that the gossamer train boasted beautifully-embroidered flowers and butterflies in shades and colors of blue and green and gold.
Excitedly, he pulled out the mantle he’d bought for the sole purpose of seducing his husband. It would be cruel to wear the dress without it, and crueler still to wear it without the dress. He slipped the plush fur over his shoulders like a royal caplet. Then, he fished Timaeus’ seal from its place upon the bed and secured it in place. He spun around once again. Catching himself in the polished copper, he grimaced and quickly ran a brush through his wind-swept hair, slipping off his shoes as he did so. One last check in the looking glass to confirm he looked his best, and Yugi pocketed his surprise and slipped through the secret stairs to the garden.
As promised, Timaeus was waiting for him.
Unsurprised, Yugi found him sitting at the table by the balustrade dressed smartly in a soft green tunic and light brown breeches with a long, emerald cloak trimmed with silver thrown charmingly over one shoulder and clasped with a ruby (how he found time to change without Yugi noticing baffled him). What did surprise him, however, were the two half full glasses of honeyed wine, and the plate where the split heart of a pomegranate sat, its ruby jewels contrasting with the white frosting and yellow sponge of the lemon cakes that were bunched around it.
“I mentioned your fondness for them to Bakura,” Timaeus explained without being asked as he rose. “She found some saved from last—”
He stopped, stared. A breath froze in his throat as his widening green and white eyes absorbed every detail of Yugi’s sensual confidence, the beauty of it emphasized by the clothing he wore: the breathtaking violet color of the gown that brought out the purple in his eyes; the gossamer blowing beside him like wings; the smart silver-furred caplet that complemented the gown and Yugi’s honeyed skin perfectly; and the pin at his heart.
He stared at it a moment too long, mystification and recognition bulging his stunned eyes.
“Yugi…is that?”
“The blacksmith told me about it,” Yugi confirmed, his earlier façade melting into a shy, sweet smile; his fingers traced the embossed details as he climbed the steps to join him. “He said that it was your seal and I….I wanted one for myself. Because I’m your consort.” His expression brightened when Timaeus’ gaze softened.
“I love it,” he said and leaned down to kiss Yugi’s forehead, admiring the adorable way he blushed pink with pride, his smile ever radiant. “It suits you.”
Yugi’s grin widened. Tracing the patterns, he asked, “Will you tell me what they mean?”
Timaeus thrust aside his cape, offering Yugi a seat. Yugi slid beside him and tried not to shiver when Timaeus’ long fingers traced the pendant over his heart. “The blue field represents the ocean, and the five mountains surrounding it are the five parts of Atlantis, my home.” He pointed to each one, moving clockwise from the top. “Locri, the capitol, the center ring, the east, and the south. The words speak of the three posts I serve. I am the Wind: the Trierarch. I am the Mountain: the Magistrate. And I am the Eye: myself, the Dragon Knight.”
“What about the dragon with the sword in its mouth?” Yugi asked, tracing the beast, sparks sizzling between them as their fingers touched. “It reminds me of The Eye.”
Timaeus grinned, an exuberant pride brightening both eyes. “That is because the dragon represents me, or rather…” A cheeky, cocky sort of smirk tugged at the corners of his lips. “Do you recall my youth as a pirate?”
“How could I not,” Yugi snickered, but let him explain.
“Well, the captain who took me in was a man from lands farther north than any I have traveled. He often liked to boast about his homeland and of the draconic creature from whose imagery he’d styled his own ship, even going so far as to name the thing The Dragoness. Such was the depth of his obsession.” Timaeus laughed. “I suppose I am just as terrible considering that, when I became a Dragon Knight, I did the same.”
“That reminds me.” Yugi slipped his hand into his pocket, and bashfully revealed the dragon-headed brooch. “I…bought this for you, earlier…as a shabka.”
Timaeus stared at the object in Yugi’s trembling hands, saying nothing.
“You…bought this…for me?” He sounded stunned. “As a…”
“Yes,” Yugi squeaked out, suddenly nervous. “You…you’ve already given me so many wonderful things so I wanted to—”
Yugi gasped, suddenly swept up into a warm, fierce embrace. “Thank you.” The words were spoken in a soft, deep whisper, and he affectionately nuzzled Yugi’s hair. Timaeus let go only to take the brooch from him so he could replace the ruby one he currently wore. It sparkled in the moonlight, its emerald eye and silver scales almost alive in the shadows.
Once it was secured, Timaeus swept Yugi up in his arms and spun him around. Gasps and shrieks of laughter followed until they fell back against the feathery couches. Looking out over the landscape, Yugi saw the city below; he saw lanterns flickering in and out like twinkling fireflies as moonlight shimmered over the lagoon. The inky surface of the sea reflected a whole world of glittering silver stars that sparkled in a deep blue sky, brighter and more beautiful than any he’d ever seen from his window in the House of Amun.
It felt so long ago and yet it felt like no time had passed at all.
A press of something cold and sweet against his lips broke his musing. Timaeus lifted a pomegranate seed to his lips, the fruit cupped in his other hand like a bowl of rubies Yugi opened his mouth and savored the sweet treat, rolling onto his back, and smiled up seductively at Timaeus.
“You know, Fiona told me an interesting story about pomegranates.”
“Oh?” Timaeus asked, all mock curiosity and sultry grins. “Did she now?”
Yugi nodded. “She told me the story of the Dark Lord and the Iron Lady, Hades and Persephone.”
“How she became Queen of the Underworld by eating six seeds of the pomegranate and must now spend at least six months of the year with her husband?” Timaeus continued, “I am familiar with the tale, given the culture of the West is based in its entirety upon the relationship.”
Yugi chortled and rolled over in his lap, hands balanced unsteadily on Timaeus’ thigh. “She told me that, in some versions, Persephone herself was the one who came up with the plot and the solution to eat six seeds so she could spend six months of the year in one world and six in the other.”
Timaeus frowned. “That sounds like you, love: between Locri and Kemet.”
Yugi heard the question behind the words and had to ponder his own. “Well…yes, and no.” He saw Timaeus’ brow arch in curiosity and elaborated, “I do miss Kemet, sometimes, and I think I always will.”
“That’s understandable,” Timaeus nodded, knowing full well the nostalgia and loss of one’s childhood home. “It is your first home.”
“It is,” Yugi confessed, then looked up, his eyes stern and serious. “But Locri is also my home.”
Timaeus’ eyes widened, stunned. A secret thrill galvanized his heart at those words.
Offering a small smile, he fished a small handful of seeds from the pomegranate, offering, “Would you like six seeds?”
“No,” Yugi smirked, no doubt or hesitation clouding his voice as he dug his own hand into the pomegranate and stuffed them all into his mouth, ruby juice staining his fingers and dripping like a drop of blood down the corner of his mouth. “I want all of them.”
Timaeus’ stunned expression curled into a seductive smirk. Slowly, he licked away the juice, kissed the rim of Yugi’s mouth, and then tasted the pomegranate on his lips. Yugi returned the kiss, falling back against the couch and taking Timaeus with him. Their fingers laced together as one hand slid along Yugi’s collar and up to cup his cheek, deepening their kiss.
Yugi gasped when he took his next breath. Timaeus pulled away to gaze lovingly down at him, sea and starlight illuminating his outline so that his eyes glowed in the darkness and the shadows darkened the caramel color of his skin; but nothing could dull the angry redness of that scar.
The scar that sliced through his eye and lid like the swipe of some beast’s claw, or the strike of some enemy’s blade; the scar that had long inspired the mystery of this man, whose true heart was nothing like the being painted so savagely in rumors.
The scar that was so much a part of Timaeus and had become part of him that Yugi had long since ceased to notice it, and yet still reminded him of the existence of that secret between them that he was not yet privy to.
Worry was quick to dull his eyes as his smile weakened with a sad tilt. “What is it, love?” Timaeus asked, concerned as he sat back.
Yugi sat up, cursing how easy it was for this man to read his expressions, and sighed. “Tim…” Yugi bit his lip, words sinking on the tip of his tongue. The question was a heavy balm in his throat, terrified to be put out into the world, but ask it, Yugi knew he must. “Earlier today, Anessa…Fiona said you had a hard time.”
Shadows danced across Timaeus now stony face, his lips falling into a thin, neutral line.
Yugi did not look away. “What did she mean by that?”
Timaeus said nothing, only stared back at him, as if contemplating, before he rose and made his way towards the balustrade. He leaned against the banister and clutched the railings, his hands fisted tight; his shoulders squared with internal defiance and his back straightened with struggling resolution.
Yugi stood up quickly, ready to take back the question. But then Timaeus sighed, long and deep: his proud shoulders slumped and his hard gaze became soft, reflecting an ancient sort of grief that had not faded with the passing of time. The words were a long, resolute sigh. “I have not been honest with you, have I?”
Yugi froze in his step. It pinched his heart to hear Timaeus say it. His heartbeat quickened and his voice trembled. “I did not mean to pry! I—”
“No, Yugi,” Timaeus said, firm. Sadness drifted over his serene face, his smile a touch forlorn. His grip on the railing did not loosen—merely resigned—but there was a hesitance. “It is…difficult for me to speak about it. Even now.”
Yugi listened, saying nothing; he simply watched Timaeus turn and look out over the hills, the buildings, the sea, searching. A sad hesitance hung around him.
When Timaeus looked at him again, his eyes were sown with love. “I do trust you, Yugi. You have confessed so much to me, and it is my turn to do the same. So, I will tell you…what I can.” He stopped again, took a long breath, then sat down. Yugi took a seat beside him, brushing their fingers.
The comfort was small, but Timaeus needed it. “I’ve been many things in my life, Yugi: a pirate, a knight, a stowaway, a slave—not necessarily in that order, but I cannot tell one tale without telling the other.” Another pause. Another sigh. “I did not come to Atlantis of my own volition: I was brought here by King Dartz, and before that I was a Grecian slave…”
Yugi could not silence the gasp that escaped him. Timaeus did not pause.
“I was a very different man when I came to Locri than when I first came to Atlantis. I was…so angry, always angry. I was like a beast, half-wild and driven savage by fear and pain.”
His fingers rose to his scarred eye as his other hand, Yugi noticed down his arm, traced phantasmal touches that spoke more than a thousand words. Yugi fought himself to stay silent—to not ask the burning question that rose like bile in his throat.
A sad, snarky smile crossed the man’s lips. “I was not exaggerating when I said I was twice stubborn and just as ferocious as you were, Yugi. I was a savage, full of anger and hate and pain. I hated the king. I hated the court. I hated the servants, the people, the family that adopted me, if for no other reason than because I could. I had just escaped one master and I refused to bow to the whims of another. Worse, I could not stand the pitiful eyes of the court, the disapproval, the scoldings…” All of his indignant rage sank into those words. “Every single day, those fat, arrogant fools in their pretty robes who knew nothing of suffering had the sheer audacity to tell me how lucky I was to be a prisoner. They called it a ward, but I felt like a prisoner. They’d tell me every single day how much I owed them, and how I was obligated to obey them, and so I took great pleasure in terrifying them with my rages and my hate.” He slammed his fists down on the stone, shaking with the raw emotions those memories had wrought out of him, but Yugi did not flinch—only listened.
A few moments passed before Timaeus calmed down enough to speak again. He pressed his fingers to his temple, weaving his bangs between his fingers. “I hated their pity most of all. If the choice was being either pitied or feared, I always preferred fear. Even when the king scolded me, it infuriated me that he did not fear me, but neither did he pity me. Back then, I did not know what it was they showed me—or rather, I did, but I was too afraid to hope…
“Knowing what I know now, he was extremely lenient with me, given how I’d acted and what I’d done. He never strapped me or beat me, not even during times when—even I confess—I’d deserved it. The worst he did was send me to bed without supper, knowing well that I hated being locked in that room with its pretty furniture, though it was not by any means lavish. One day, in an act of rebellion, I tore the place apart and he told me I was not to leave until I cleaned up my own mess. He kept his word, too: even brought me my meals, himself, so he could grab me if I tried to escape—and I was always trying to escape.” The ghost of a smile crept up his cheeks, marred by sadness and a long-standing gratitude.
“He knew I was not afraid of physical punishments. I imagine it was because he knew I expected them. He knew I was seeking proof that he was no different from all the others who’d wronged me; he knew that I wanted that, needed that, because it hurt too much to hope and believe that what he showed me, what he felt towards me—what they all felt towards me—was not pity, but compassion, kindness, and perhaps even…love.” He gripped the banister again. “Anessa was the first person who made me hope. Do not misunderstand: I trusted her no more than I trusted Basilus, but despite all my pain, I could not bring myself to hate her. She was so…kind. Even when I did nothing to deserve it—even when I ground that kindness to ashes and threw it back in her face—she was kind. Well, she was hard on me those times, but she was always kind. When I asked her why she always treated me so, she responded, very simply, that kindness was not a weakness, and that compassion was a right, not a privilege. She told me that whatever anger I felt towards them was a right, too, and that even I was entitled to the same kindness and compassion as everyone else. I realized, then, that it was not pity, but empathy that they showed me, and that—” His voice broke on the word. His shoulders slumped and shook and his fingers splayed then clenched in a rhythm of terror and hope.
“…That terrified me more than anything else.”
No more was he Timaeus, Magister of Locri and strongest of the Dragon Knights; no more was he the fierce, fearless knight who dominated land and sea, commanded ship and siege, and ruled with iron honor, strength and compassion. No, he was Tim, the wild-eyed youth who’d hissed and growled and fought and raged with emotions so intense that they threatened to destroy him.
“I fought it fiercely, that revelation, because I couldn’t bring myself to believe it was real and not some attempt to trick me into servitude. I looked for any excuse not to trust it, even when I’d become so tired of fighting; I knew deep within that I wanted it more than I’d ever wanted anything—more than I even wanted to breathe…I wanted to hope again. And even when I started to trust in it, the fear still stayed. Where once I was angry, I was now afraid—afraid that this good man and this good woman who took me in and made me part of their family would see me for what I was, and realize that I was not worth all this trouble. Then, I would be alone and abandoned once more without even a chance at hope. This fear continued even when I began to love them in return and allowed myself to feel happy again for the first time in what felt like centuries. There would be nights where I would wake up screaming, plagued by nightmares that none of this was real, and that my newfound happiness was but a beautiful dream my imagination had spun to protect itself from the hideous truth that all this was a lie. I was afraid that I would wake up back in that house—in that prison—alone and unloved and with the savage who stole me for company. I knew, I knew, if that was reality and the dream was not real, I would rather I’d never wake up at all.” His voice took on an aged quality as if reliving the darkness of those memories, the mere thought of them, had exhausted him beyond the limits of his will. He slouched visibly, his shoulders hunching with weariness. “They were long and hard, those first few months.”
Yugi came up beside him and did not hesitate to place his hand over his. “Then speak of them no more.” The gesture was small, but the comfort it provided was profound.
A phantom smile grew upon Timaeus’ weary face, and with a contented sigh, he finished, “Eventually, I did grow to trust them, care for them, and to love them as I had not allowed myself to love in almost two years.” He stopped, then frowned. He squeezed Yugi’s hand, sighed and said, “I confess, it was during that time that my friendship with Cristina became…more than friendship. But I realize now that it was not love I felt for her: it was gratitude. For so long I saw myself a beast, a monster, a dragon undeserving of love or affection; however, she was determined to show me that I was not, and I will always be grateful to her for that.”
“In that case,” Yugi spoke suddenly—to Timaeus’ surprise, he was smiling. “I am grateful to her, too.” He leaned into Timaeus’ side and Timaeus knew Yugi had meant it.
Smiling, Timaeus turned about and kissed Yugi’s forehead, but pulled away before the taste of his skin intoxicated him and he lost his resolve to continue.
“I did not to come to Locri until years later: by then, I was a seasoned knight, trained by the King, himself, and I’d earned the respect of my fellow Magisters and Dragon Knights despite my youth.” His eyes closed then, and his face grew serene and distant with memory, recollection and longing. “Before that, I was a pirate, but before that a stowaway…”
His gaze drifted off and focused outwards, the sea and sky reflecting in his eyes: one, the shifting, deepening shades of midnight blue and violet in the swirling emerald depths, and the other the shimmering silver and smoky gray of the moon against the starry sky.
“I was not a child when I…” he stopped, his tongue twisting over the word before settling on, “…lost my parents, nor was I old enough to be an adult. I stowed away on a ship, hid in the cargo hold for all of three days before they found me. I fought fiercely as they dragged me on deck, just as fiercely as my mother had taught me.” This time when he stopped, it was to chuckle, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
Yugi said nothing of this, only listened. “I expected them to throw me overboard. Instead, the trierarch claimed that I had to pay them back for the food and water I must’ve pilfered in my hiding, and so I became his cabin boy.” Timaeus paused to snort, a smile filled with memories—happy ones. “I misliked that.” He emphasized the syllables. “But he said it would be a waste to lose someone so clever, and we were three days deep in the sea. For now we were stuck together. So he made me a deal: I would work until we reached the next port, and if then, I still wanted to leave, I was free to do so, but if I did not, I was welcome to stay—provided I work, of course. Obviously I chose to stay.”
Vaguely, Yugi recalled Timaeus telling him of his wild youth as a rogue aboard a ship, and of how he misbehaved far worse than Yugi ever could have in the early days of their bond.
“I learned many things under his tutelage: about ships, leading, laughter. I learned from the other crewmates as well. The cook taught me discipline and that I had no hope of ever mastering the culinary arts.” Yugi swallowed a snort. Timaeus only chuckled. “The crewmates showed me how to tie the mast, rig the sails, to not be afraid of such dizzying heights, and how to not die in a storm. And so, through the chores, the map-reading, the tying and hauling of ropes, and the isolation and close quarters of the high seas, we slowly learned the language of family. And for many years of my life, they were my family—the only family I had. The ship…and the sea. That was my life.”
He stopped again, hesitant. His eyes fell darkly on his hands.
“And then?” Yugi pressed gently, a hand at his sleeve.
“And then,” Timaeus began, his words a long, heavy breath, “they were taken from me.”
Behind his shut eyes, memories played vividly—memories of the sails burning and the mast splintering under the heat and crashing into the deck and rail, scattering sparks like red rain. The air was hot and suffocating like an open oven as pillars of smoke rose and curled all around like the thick, sooty fingers of some monstrous hand trying to capture them. He recalled the silhouettes of his friends and comrades fighting, the sharp metallic shing of metal striking against metal, the wet sloshing, the sickening sound of swords slicing through flesh, the screams of the dying, and the victorious, vulture-like cackles of the slavers. The stench of fire and smoke, scorched wood, blood, and burning flesh—he saw, heard, smelt, and felt it all, as if his spirit had projected itself back into the body of its predecessor.
“Slavers,” he explained as the flames burned around him, the screams echoed in his head, and the nauseating smell of smoke and blood threatened to unmend him. “They attacked our ship, bombarded it with torches, and set our sails aflame, then attacked us all while we scrambled to put out the fires. Those who fought back were killed, and those they suspect they could make a profit from—like me—were beaten unconscious and took prisoner. To this day, I don’t know if any of them survived. All I remember before my world went black was the ship burning, and my own hesitance costing me any chance I may have had to escape or being of help.”
He stopped again, seeing the horror and the grief in Yugi’s eyes.
“When I awoke again, I was chained and bound on another ship, destined for some fate far more terrible than any I could’ve ever imagined.” He hesitated as he moved his hand up his arm to his shoulder, acknowledging the cruel mess of scars hidden shamefully beneath his clothes.
Yugi remembered those deep, ugly brown scars with horrifying clarity. They were ghostly pale, like physical phantasms of haunting pain, and brown and brutal like animalistic claw marks —all in various stages of healing and yet perpetually gruesome: brands, reflecting old wounds that would never truly heal, and carried with them a memory that could never be forgotten. Again, Yugi viewed the scar over Timaeus’ eye. The scar, red and perpetually angry, was but a reminder of what he had lost. All of what he had lost…and of the irreparable damage that had come with the loss of not only his right eye, but everything else that had been so shamefully stolen from him: its sight, its color, and all hope of possibility.
“And then what happened?” Yugi asked, eyes downcast and shoulders squared to keep himself from shaking. The answer made itself clear as his mind conjured up monstrous images of chains, whips, blood and tears; brutish shapes were laughing as a young boy, alone and afraid, had his hand clenched over a single bleeding eye. He wanted nothing more than to rage and scream and fight away those images, to shake his head and hide them away like some scandalous secret he didn’t want to acknowledge. He wanted to pretend that they weren’t real, that they weren’t true, and that if they could remain unknown, with no words to confirm the truth of their existence, he could believe that they did not happen.
He could believe that it had never happened.
“Tim?”
He stiffened. His hands fisted. “Does it matter?” The words came out a harsh, bitter bark of sound.
Yugi straightened. “It does.”
Timaeus growled. “It does not.”
Yugi stood his ground. “It does.”
“No.” The word cut through the air like a blade, freshly sharpened, as he spun to face him, eyes wild and face contorted in a furious mixture of rage and indignity, his every word a warning hiss. “It matters not.”
“It does because it still causes you pain,” Yugi cried out, voice cracking on that final word.
All the anger and color drained from the man’s face. He stared at Yugi, blankly, timidly, as though seeing him for the first time. A tremble swept through him. His suspended hands froze. Understanding swelled in Yugi’s own eyes.
Fear. That was the emotion, he only now recognized, the smallest traces of it flickering behind the wildness burning his eyes. Fear. Not of Yugi or his thoughts, nor the truth or the shame of it, but of what it represented: his own vulnerability…and a time when it had almost destroyed him. Now, it roared back to the surface, alive and able.
Fearlessly, unapologetically, Yugi cupped Timaeus’ face with his hands, meeting his terrified eyes yet reflecting nothing but devotion in his own. “You’ve never hidden your tears from me before. Why now?” The words and his tone were not accusatory; there was only gentle understanding.
Timaeus backed away from the touch, collapsing against the railing as if all the will and fight had drained out of him. “What do you want to know, love?” he exploded in a low voice choked with bitter laughter and repressed tears. “That I was a chattel slave? That I was owned by an odious brute who beat me, flogged me, starved me, subjected me to every possible humiliation—every shameful task and disgrace—simply because he could? That most Grecian lords treated their cattle better than they treated their own slaves, and that any complaint or rebellion was met with the most brutal of consequences, and I was not exempt from that same treatment?”
He was visibly shaking now, his hands gripping the banister so tightly his knuckles whitened under the pressure. “Yes, I was a slave, and yes, for every defiance and rebellion—for every attempt at freedom—I was subjected to some kind of punishment more horrible than the last. But it did not stop me from trying, over and over and over again. I bore it all. The Bloody Abyss, it could’ve been two weeks or two months or two years I was forced to serve him, but it felt more like two millennia.” He fisted his palms over his eyes in an exasperated expression of madness and grief.
“Yet worst of all was when he saw me—that look he gave me from the moment he bid on me. I knew, I knew what it was he wanted from me, and I swore I would kill myself before I’d ever let him touch me. I endured his insults, his blows, his punishments and humiliations, but his touch, his embrace, I refused. Oh, would make me promises: he’d promise that if I chose to be sweet, he would show kindness. I fought him regardless; but sometimes, when the pain became too much, the loneliness too great and the suffering too unbearable, I…I’d consider it.”
He collapsed to the floor, sliding slowly, and curled into himself; it was as if the memories were a tangible weight dragging him down into the darkness of his own thoughts. “May all the Gods help me I considered it. I was desperate to feel something, anything, other than pain. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.” He punctured that final word with a harsh declaration, taking ownership of it and himself with that single indomitable assertion. “I owed her that much.”
He pulled his hands away, and it was only then—when the light of the rising moon struck his cheek—that Yugi realized he’d been crying,
At once, Yugi felt his own knees buckle. In all the time they had been together, Yugi had only seen Timaeus weep twice in his presence—and both times, he’d been overcome with guilt. This was different. His stoic strength, resilient resolution, and ability to weather the worst of every situation with calm endurance were both a point of pride for him and what garnered respect from those who served under him. And yet this—this had broken him.
Without hesitance, Yugi dropped and flung his arms around him. The difference in their height was forgotten as Yugi dabbed at his cheek with the hem of his cloak.
Timaeus stared at him, his expression both blank and thunderstruck. Tears misted Yugi’s own eyes but there was no pity there: only sympathy.
“It was him…wasn’t it?” A loud sniffle accompanied the question, but Yugi quickly brushed it away. “Your eye…”
Timaeus shuddered with visible hesitation. He drew a breath, a hand rising to his damaged eye, fingers ghosting the welt that had never healed. “I knew what could happen to me, but I continued to run away again and again regardless…and every single time I would be dragged back to him to be punished. Eventually, he grew impatient with my resistance, my refusal to break, and my unwillingness to fling myself upon him. I, too, was no longer the terrified slip I once was: isolation and suffering had awoken a beast within me. That day, I fought him more fiercely than I thought myself capable, but his rage had driven him to madness and he held me down and grabbed a heated blade from the fire, saying he would ‘burn the insolence out of my eyes’.”
He heard the choked gasp that escaped Yugi.
“In our struggle, he’d missed. Instead, the blade slit down my face and across my opened eye.” His fingers trembled and his palm smothered his right orb shakily. “Never have I experienced a worse pain than I had in that moment. Even to this day, I can still feel it, still remember it…and the memory of it used to be so vicious, I feared I might die from it.” He paused in grim recollection. “And when I saw the blood on my fingers…” He shook again and couldn’t stop until he felt Yugi’s soft hands cup his cheeks again.
“What happened?” Yugi asked, his own voice muffled by unshed tears as the rising crack of emotion threatened to overcome him.
“He came at me again, convinced that he’d finally broken me, subdued me, as if I were some rabid dog that needed discipline.” Fury and disgust dripped from his every word. “Something did break, then. Whether it was madness or malevolence, I know not; I can only recall the feeling of some latent monster suddenly coming to life within me as I took that knife from him and plunged it into his chest, over and over and over until I was sobbing. I do not regret killing him, nor was he the first man I’d killed, and yet I knew something had died inside of me that day. I cannot recall what happened next: only shapes, shouts, and shadows. And when I had returned to myself, I was in a hall that might have been a throne room. Perhaps they wanted me to face trial, or perhaps they needed permission before they could drag me out into the streets and tear me to pieces. I fully expected to die that day…and then I did not. Because Basilus was there.”
He chuckled wryly. “To this day, I know not if it was mere coincidence that brought me to that room the very same day Basilius was to arrive and meet with their leader, or if the sea serpent goddess herself was protecting me and guiding me the same way Sekhmet guided me to you…”
Yugi’s eyes widened at that, remembering how he spoke of a presence that urged his racing steps through the avenue of stone lionesses, arriving just in time to save him from what would’ve been the absolute destruction of his life. Even now, he remembered the frozen horror on his face—the shock, the betrayal—and how it had evaporated into pure, uncontrolled, unapologetic rage.
Timaeus only sighed. “I have learned well to recognize the fickle will of the gods. When they spoke of what had happened—what I’d done—Basilus took one look at me and summoned his own physician he’d brought with him from the capitol to treat my eye. In all the years I’ve known him, I have never heard him so enraged: if the men who wanted my head took a step towards me, the Atlantean guards would be upon them. He turned to their leader and said if this was how they treated their servants, then they were unworthy of an alliance with Atlantis. He demanded me and my freedom as compensation, lest the man sought war with the empire. The coward crumbled in an instant.
“When I awoke again, it was in an infirmary on a ship bound for Atlantis. Basilus and his physician, Rhebekka’s grandfather, had nursed me back to health during the journey; and while he had saved my eye, I was told that my sight in it would never return. They were quick to console me, telling me that I should be grateful—and in truth, I was—but slavery had hardened my heart; and though they had promised me and assured me I was a free man, suffering had made me wild, and I could trust nothing and no one. At that time, I only saw their gifts as bribes to make me compliant, and their kindness as a weapon to soften my resolve.”
He broke off, shame coloring his face, his gaze downcast. “I am ashamed of that behavior even now, especially considering they never once held it against me: merely waited for my walls to crack. They saved my life, and I can never repay them for that kindness…”
His eyes slowly slid closed, two rivers of tears leaking from his eyes, then snapped open when two arms wrapped around him and wretched weeping broke the silence.
“I’m sorry,” Yugi wept into his chest, then lifted his face, his eyes wet with sympathetic grief that spilled over his eyes. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
The fierce embrace in which Timaeus held him surprised him. It was not like his other embraces, dominated by lust or gentle with care. No, this embrace was fierce and afraid, as though Yugi were a ghost or spirit that he dared not let go, lest he risked losing him to someplace beyond his reach, separating them forever.
Yugi endured the fierce embrace, returning it as well as he could, as he continued to silently weep the repressed tears this man had held for so long within his heart. Then, a finger tilted his chin, lifting his face as gentle thumbs brushed away his tears.
Timaeus gazed at him with a smile that cracked with the slightest hint of a frown, betraying a deeper, still secret sadness. It was so quick, so hesitant, that it was almost unseeable—but Yugi noticed.
“There is…more…to my story, than just that.” Timaeus began, his voice thick with every vulnerable emotion he’d held deep within the cage of his heart. “It is something I have never been able to tell anyone, but I…”
He paused, closed his eyes, breathed deeply. “I want to tell you.” He squeezed Yugi’s hand so tightly, the action tense and his smile tight.
“You do not have to if it is too hard,” Yugi reassured immediately, but Timaeus shook his head.
“Yes, I do.” Neither doubt nor hesitation clouded his voice now; he spoke only with the austere resolve Yugi had come to expect from his husband. “If I do not now, I know I will never have the courage to do so again.”
He closed his eyes, unable to meet the dolor filtering through his lover’s lotus stare. “Do you recall when your sister questioned my origins?”
Yugi did remember. He recalled with mild irritation how, in her fit of rage, Maat had accused Timaeus of being a savage and a half-breed. He did not repeat those words, but the disgruntled snort was answer enough.
“Before I became a knight, or a slave—even before my days as a pirate—I was but an ordinary boy with a mother, a father, and a childhood. Our house was a cottage built upon a cliff side overlooking the sea, and I would awake every morning to the smell of sea salt spraying on my face. Even back then, I was already in love with the sea.”
A dim warmth spread over Timaeus’ gaze as he recalled with fondness the days of his boyhood. Yugi tried to imagine Timaeus as a child, young and big-eyed and innocent as Yugi himself had been when he chased fish and fed ibises with his mother. The unfamiliarity of the idea crashed against the reality of the austere young man he was now.
“At the time when the Anatolian empire collapsed and Hellas became but fractured tribes, my father had been a scholar and my mother a warrior. They did not speak much of their lives before their marriage, but I knew it must’ve been difficult, as Spartan women are not known to marry outsiders—especially men of intellect rather than strength. Perhaps they chose exile by the sea for my sake….
“My father taught me to read and write, as he believed that knowledge would only be a vital weapon in the future to come. My mother, on the other hand, taught me how to hunt and fight, making sure I knew my way around the sword and how to use my fists; she taught me to always be ready to defend myself when wit and words failed. Where my father was calm and wise, my mother was bold and short-tempered; they complemented each other well—and they raised me well. Whatever reason brought them there, I loved that life: the cliffs and the sea, the hills, the woods, training with my mother, learning with my father, and our little cottage. It was not much, but it was home. Our home…”
He continued the narrative, uneasiness snaking into the voice. “And then it was taken.”
He could feel Yugi tremble in his arms as lotus blue orbs shot up to him, dismayed. Timaeus did not look at him.
“Hoplites.” He ground the word like it was dirt between his teeth. “That’s what they called themselves. Bandits! All of them! They saw our cottage and likely thought it an easy target. Instead they found two warrior who refused to be cowed and when we refused their demands, they burned down our house. My father stayed behind to fight them off, allowing my mother and I to escape…but we did not get far.”
He could feel fingers tightening in the folds of his shirt.
“As I spoke before, my mother was a Spartan. She knew how to defend herself, how to fight, and how to escape…but I was still a child, barely three and ten. She could have escaped on her own, but not with me. She knew that…” His voice broke on that statement. “So, she made a choice. She pulled me aside, looked into my eyes and told me to run, run into the forest where they would not follow me and keep running, and that I was not under any circumstances to look back…
“And so I ran. I ran as fast as I could even as my legs burned and my heart bled. But as I approached those woods, so close to leaving the life I knew behind…I could not do it. I could not take that last step.”
He paused, his breath choking with repressed tears.
“I looked back, and that was when I saw…” His next words, suffocatingly tight in his throat, stung his eyes hot with the tears he could not shed back then as he relived the moment that scared, foolish boy—that helpless boy who’d watched his house burn down and left his father fighting bandits—had yet to process the reality that the life he’d loved and knew could be no more.
“My mother was a warrior, a fighter, a Spartan…and no Spartan woman would ever submit herself to a man against her will. For them, strength is far more than physical might: it is their pride, their dignity, their discipline, their freedom. They would rather die than surrender it: that was the way of the Spartans. My mother was no exception. Even though she was able to fight them, she knew there were too many of them: they would certainly overcome her. And so she made the decision. She…she…”
Voice cracking, his tears flooded with memories. His vision was engulfed by fire, so much fire; and those bandits were still sneering, wicked intent blackening their eyes. He could see his mother, proud and resolute, standing fearless before them all, sword in her hands, the blade positioned not to strike but to slice…
“I looked back. I saw her take her blade—and plunge it through her chest…
“The worst part of it all is that, even now, I wish so much that she had fought. Even if there was no hope, at least then she would’ve stayed alive—alive with me—but how could I have possibly asked that of her? How could I have asked her to endure what would’ve followed for my sake? She’d already sacrificed so much for me, even her own life, and yet—!” Agony ripped mercilessly at his heart, unable to conceal the force of his grief any longer. “I wish so much that she’d lived.”
And there it was. The worst secret of his heart—the pain he’d carried and buried deep within the darkest recesses of his soul where its memory could remain, precious and untainted— had now made itself known. Tears spilled out over his fingers in hot streams down his cheeks as he pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, overcome with the grief, guilt, and dread of every child who’d lost a parent and desperately needed, wanted to believe that there was another way.
The tears continued to spill uncontrollably from his eyes and, for the first time, he allowed himself to weep for her—for them both. Shaking hands braced themselves to settle his trembling form. Sobs and half-shrieks tore from his throat and wracked his body as he clenched his fists against the ground.
And then two arms wrapped around him. A hand laced through his hair and pressed his face against a warm shoulder as the smell of lotus flowers and pomegranates enfolded him. There was an echo of quiet sobs in his ear and a cool dampness pressed against his cheek. He realized then that Yugi was holding him, comforting him, assuring him that it was alright to weep, to grieve, to be vulnerable. Timaeus lost himself in the warm embrace.
“I’m so sorry…” He heard Yugi’s own quiet voice in his ear trying so hard to remain composed and yet unable to shake its empathy. “I’m so sorry that happened to you—that you witnessed something like that. Oh, Tim…” His arms tightened around his lover in a gesture of protection and love, wanting nothing more than to take his lover’s pain away. “You must’ve suffered so much…”
Arms enveloped Yugi’s small frame, clenching him tight with all the brutal strength of a bleeding heart, leaving him momentarily breathless by its intensity and strength. But he did not falter. Instead, he simply continued to hold him, to stroke his hair and press his cheek against his. He smiled warmly as the other pressed his forehead into the gap between his neck and shoulders and cried all of the tears he could not shed back then—back when his young mind, forced to mature, had denied his heart the full force of his grief.
“Thank you,” Timaeus whispered, no longer trying to keep his voice even as he looked at Yugi through the blinding haze of tears. “For allowing me to shed the tears I feared I never would.”
They lost themselves in the passage of time. Tight in the embrace of the other, they held and comforted each other through their loneliness and pain, spilling out their grief and empathy until there was none left. They both knew all too well that there was no way to silence the storm of grief, no way to cast it aside, nor a way to fight against it. They could only traverse through it until they reached calm waters on the other side, then allow themselves to be welcomed into the morning of a new beginning where there was still pain, but the heart would no longer be broken.
“Thank you, Yugi,” Timaeus whispered again, but this time he met Yugi’s red-rimmed eyes with his own. Yugi noticed that they did not look like the hard emerald and immobile pearl he’d first glanced on the day of their meeting; instead, they seemed to resemble the soft, sparkling green of serpent scales or papyrus in the spring, and the first twinkling light of new stars.
Yugi cupped his cheek, pressed their foreheads together, and whispered, “You’re not alone anymore, Timaeus. You don’t have to endure your pain alone.”
Timaeus nodded, understanding. “I will try to remember that.”
The silence between them now was filled with the music of the night: the strings of crickets chirping and the rattling of cicadas. They sat next together on the couch, listening.
“I bet they’re proud of you,” Yugi said. “Your parents.”
Timaeus chuckled. “I think so, too.” He squeezed Yugi’s hand and rubbed his nose against the pink cheek, pressing a kiss to it. “They would have adored you.”
Yugi blushed under the sweet sentiment. “I think my parents would have adored you, too,” he returned, smiling, and snuggled into Timaeus’ side. There was so much more that Yugi wished to ask him, but now was not the time to disturb such mollifying peace with the pains of the past. “Thank you, Tim. For sharing all of that with me.”
“Thank you for listening, Yugi,” Timaeus said in kind—and meant every word of it.
Another long moment between them. Above the night sky was a velvety star-strewn blanket, the sea its glossy mirror reflecting the fractured lights. In the distance, Yugi could hear the ripple of water, the salty breeze, and the soft crash of waves against the sand.
“Do you ever miss it?” Yugi asked in a voice distant with dreams.
A single brow arched in curious contemplation.
“The sea, I mean. You spoke so fondly of it before.”
At Yugi’s sweet-faced blush, Timaeus understood. “I do sometimes, I confess. I miss it more than anything.” He cast his gaze skyward, swept it across the horizon, the hills, and the city below. When it settled on Yugi, his eyes—both of them—blazed only with love: one green as Wadjet’s scales, and the other bright as starlight. “But Locri is my home now, and Atlantis my family. I really do love and consider here to be my heart’s true home.”
His hand laced with Yugi’s, squeezing it warmly. “Do you think that, in time, it could come to be yours too?” There was no pressure in the question: only a wistful hope.
Yugi met his eyes, then smiled. He swept his eyes across the rooftop terrace and the landscape below; he soaked in the streams where they’d played, the waterfall where they’d bathed, the flowers and the fields, the vegetable patch, the herb garden, and the orchard where they’d made love. He viewed the gondolas, shops and the Sister Squares in the city below, where the ocean lights of the orichalcum were just beginning to dim. He took in the harbor and the hills where the Iron Lady’s temple slept peacefully, and the mountains that formed the spiny tail of the Great Leviathan—the serpent who gave her body so that her people would have a place to call home. He cast his gaze outward to the rings and the capitol far beyond the mist, then to the calm waters of the outer ring, and then further away where he could make out the view of the sea beyond the harbor where starts glistened like fireflies and the reflection of the moon bloomed in its ripples, both fractured and whole.
Like lotuses, he thought, dancing in a sea of stars.
He turned back to Timaeus, took his face gently in his hands, and conveyed the sincerity in his words through this single touch. “It already is.”
Then he kissed him.
And as those warm lips tasting of salt and sunshine pressed so warmly against his, Yugi realized for the first time that it was undeniable: Locri truly had become his home. His true home. His heart’s home: by this man’s side and in their circle of friends.
Overcome by the joy and love those words had brought upon him, Timaeus lifted Yugi into his arms and deepened their kiss, then pulled away, looking deep into his beloved’s eyes and finding only love and desire there.
Yugi submitted to that fierce embrace, adoring every touch and kiss and spell this man cast over his heart and soul—this wonderful man who had long held Yugi’s heart in his hands, and held it gently, eager to kindle the beauty of its flame.
He truly was like Hades, Yugi thought as Timaeus’ eyes found his once more, one shimmering like the great green sea and all of its hidden depths, and the other a pale silver moon reflecting the light and warmth of his beloved sun. Yugi stroked his cheek. Timaeus took his hand in his, weaving their fingers together, and kissed each one.
He loved this man, this beloved ruler behind whose austere appearance beat the kindest and most generous heart Yugi had ever come upon: a ruler who did all he could for his people, even if he had to wear a mask to do so.
Just like Hades, Yugi thought, leaning up for another kiss, and soon he was lost in the warmth of the other’s embrace.
He decided then, vowing with all his heart and soul, just as he did all those months ago when he’d prayed to gods for something—someone—that would be only his…
If Timaeus was Hades, then he would be Persephone.