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“And you do want to get married? You’re sure? Because the last times weren’t exactly-”
“Weren’t exactly of my choosing. Yes, Maha’ad, I am sure.”
Maha’ad keeps his arms folded, but nods. He doesn’t actually look out of place in the tent, the beige fabric looking rather fitting with his robes. Atem’s suit however is dark and very modern against his Priest’s clothing, though the excess of gold somehow bridges the gap in a way that seems very fitting to Atem and his unique situation.
“I still don’t know why you want to marry him-“
“Yes you do.”
“He’s rude, he’s arrogant, he’s impossible to reason with-“
“As am I.”
“If you were marrying for status, I would understand, he’s clearly well placed in that regard, however you have always-“
“Wanted to marry someone I love.”
“Yes!”
“Which I am doing.”
“…Yes.” Maha’ad finds himself admitting.
Atem looks entirely calm, looking at the fabric flaps that serve as a door, moving gently in the slight breeze. The only thing that betrays his emotion is his standing on tiptoe, that Maha’ad hasn’t seen him do since he was a boy of eight. It creases the leather of his shoes (ridiculous as they are on a fine day like this) and he considers mentioning the fact, but decides on balance not to. Whatever relaxes him.
That’s always been the trouble with Atem. Part calm, considerate and dutiful King. Part child with barely restrained wildness, anxiety and anger. Somehow this man has balanced him.
He doesn’t know how, though.
Of course he knows the man loves him, even he isn’t fool enough to deny it. One doesn’t just travel to the Afterlife to bring back an acquaintance, much less travel repeatedly, at great personal peril, and upon finally returning to the world of the living together, return several years later to give their friends a wedding invitation.
But the man is… difficult. He has seen them fight like a cat and a rat, watched him become quiet and taciturn, or else shout and gesture, irascible over a perceived slight. Maha’ad sees a lot of Set in him. Maybe - just perhaps - more than actually exists. He tries to be fair, he does, but he worries.
He understands that Seto Kaiba keeps himself to himself. That their affection is private, not out of necessity, but preference. That they talk in a language he doesn’t understand, not with words, but with their eyes.
Perhaps he’s even jealous.
Atem seems more… at ease than he ever did before, no matter how hard Maha’ad has always tried to ease his way. No more burden of rule, equal friends, The chance to steer his own life, and someone who understands the rises and falls of his emotions.
Yes, Atem is right. Maybe he does know.
“So, I shall just follow you up and then sit to the side.” Maha’ad clarifies.
Atem nods stiffly. Yes, definitely nervous.
Maha’ad isn’t sure if this is tradition in their culture, or another element that the two of them have made up, and he still doesn’t know if he has the right to take part in it. But Atem insisted that if anyone counted as his family here, it was him, and he has never had the heart to deny his King anything.
There’s the sound of a young man chattering quickly and excitedly, followed by a rustle as Seto Kaiba and his brother enter from the side, taking their positions.
“-Still not a single one, tabloids are gonna be screaming about missing this for years, and you thought this was going to have to be on the space station, nope they’re just as confused by a small forest, it’s the lack of attention-span, oh you two look amazing!” He holds up something white and small to them for a moment, grinning broadly at it.
“You’ve already seen both of us today, Mokuba.” Seto says, brushing some non-existent dust from his white suit.
“I know, but it’s different now you’re all nervous.”
The pair glare at him, which only makes him smile wider, and then share a look. Atem drops back on his heels slightly sheepishly. Seto holds out his hand for a moment so Atem can see it shaking, then resumes his brushing.
“If I forget the words…” Atem says quietly.
“Then the wedding is off, the guests go home hungry and the world will probably end.”
“Fool.”
“Nerd.”
Maha’ad decides that actually he doesn’t understand anything, but he probably doesn’t need to. Then there’s music and movement and he’s got other things to think about.
The ceremony all goes well. There are an almost startling amount of tears from the other half of the tent, a woman handing out tissues to the men who are trying hard to suppress their sobs. The one who looks so much like his King cries too after standing and giving them their rings, but does so silently, as if he doesn’t want to miss a word.
Maha’ad can’t see his fellows behind him, but can only hope that they’re not making too much of a scene. He can hear Kalim whispering “Our little boy” to his neighbour, and soon all of them are mumbling it, or making happy noises. Disrespectful? Perhaps. He doesn’t know the boundaries anymore. Hopefully his King will understand that they have always wanted to see him be able to enjoy his marriage, and after so long of thinking that such a thing was impossible, they are a little over-excited.
Vows are exchanged. Too specific to each other to be anything other than their own choosing. Maha’ad watches Seto say his piece unflinchingly, despite his usual reticence. To admit the depth of your feeling in front of everyone you care about is an act of bravery, and he finds he wishes this act was part of his culture’s marriages as well.
There are rings, proclamations, a chaste kiss, and then a cheer erupts behind him. Everyone follows Kalim’s lead, the other side of the tent too, and Maha’ad feels so hot with embarrassment at his friends’ exuberance he feels like he might have accidentally spelled himself on fire.
He wants to apologise to the two, but they don’t seem to have noticed at all. It’s the first time he’s seen Seto Kaiba smile like that. The tall man bends to kiss Atem again, as if he can’t help himself, which causes another swell of noise and crying, and Atem laughs. Maha’ad thinks it might be the first time he’s ever seen his King smile like that too.
Then something needs to be signed (this bit Maha’ad is familiar with, even if it isn’t a document about some kind of trade agreement), and the not-twin of his King gets to his feet to oversee, while the second one, the straw haired crying man, has to have his name said repeatedly before he stumbles out into the aisle, blowing his nose loudly. When he gets to the front, he wraps Atem in a hug, and then grabs an unsuspecting Seto with his other arm, declaring “You’re stuck with us now!”
Everyone starts to filter into groups, but Maha’ad can’t stop watching them. He’d like to say it’s guarding instinct, but he knows it’s curiosity and that he’s quite as bad as the rest of them.
Finished signing their names, the two are standing quietly by a wall together, clearly having an important conversation. He doesn’t try to listen, particularly because he knows Atem, and is quite sure of what is about to happen.
A person may have many names - a King in particular. Names convey a certain amount of power, and there is one that only Atem and his parents would have known. Only one person in this realm knows it.
Atem pulls him down and whispers something to him, pressing something into his hand as he does.
Now two people do.
He shouldn’t be watching this. Should talk and become distracted like everyone else, but he can’t help himself and needs to see what will happen next. This culture doesn’t have an equivalent, he is sure of that - they don’t have true names or protective names, just names.
The tall man takes something from his own pocket, hands it to Atem, bends down and whispers something.
Or perhaps Seto Kaiba does.
Outside the sun is strangely gentle on the skin and they are shuffled around by Mokuba for photos. A ‘camera’ that take images of them exactly as they are now, kept on screens or put onto paper. It’s rather like making a pool hold a reflection after the subject has moved, but with far less energy required. Again, technology has made his magic obsolete.
There’s elbowing, calls to smile, awkward shuffling. It’s all a bit tense to begin with, but once everyone’s allowed to do some …less regimented pictures, Atem seems to relax again. Huddled under a pile of his new friends, all making some sort of sign with their fingers and grinning widely. Or all of his old ones gathered around, Mana springing onto his back and Isis smiling more at the woman with the camera than at the camera itself.
Kalim nudges the straw haired man and gestures, after a second he nods in understanding. Kalim then whispers to Shada, and the man to his friend, and they all start sidling up to Atem. With a shout followed by loud laughter, he watches them grab Atem and lift him into the air, and Maha’ad watches them throw and catch him as if he were a child, while Mokuba takes pictures. There was a time when Kalim could do that all by himself.
He sees Mana looking quite serious for a moment, as if she’s psyching herself up for something, and is about to warn her off any magic when she suddenly sprints towards Seto, standing under a tree, and launches herself at him.
He grunts with the air knocked out of him, but automatically grabs her. Maha’ad could tell him he needn’t bother, she clings like a wet cat.
“I think I had a nightmare like this once.” He says, her face an inch from his.
“I have a question.”
“I have a lot of questions. Like how can I get you off me?”
“By answering me. So, if you’re married to the King, does that make you a Queen?”
Maha’ad thinks better of his idea of prying her off him and pretends he’s invisible. Considers actually making himself invisible, just in case.
“No.” He says, through gritted teeth.
“I suppose he’s not King here any more, that’s why everyone’s supposed to just call him Atem. Would you just be his ‘wife’ then, you wouldn’t be a ‘concub-” He stops her mid-word with a finger to her lips, supporting her one-handed.
“Husband. Just husband. Call me that other word and I will drop you right now. And you won’t get any cake.”
“What’s cake?”
“Something you’d like very much.” At his words, Mana seems to sober up and try to concentrate.
“So you would be ‘the man who is married to the man’, ‘the man who is married to the man who is Pharaoh’?” She quirks her head, trying to make sense of the words in her tongue.
“Yes. Did that answer your question?”
“I think so. I’ll go and make sure everyone knows.” And with that she wiggles free and bounces off, leaving Kaiba to brush the creases out of his suit.
What actually is cake?
Cake is indeed excellent, and both he and Mana like it a lot. A good thing, given how large it is.
One thing that can be said for Seto Kaiba, is that at least he knows how to lay on a feast. Thank the Gods that not everything has changed in all these years.
He isn’t sure how traditional a roast pig is, judging by the excitement of some of Atem’s friends, but it certainly feels familiar to him, and he wonders if it’s for their benefit. Isis has plenty of things to eat that aren’t meat, and insists on trying them all.
And the drink is excellent. There’s something filled with bubbles that gets handed around, though Mana and Mokuba are told strictly “One” so Maha’ad assumes it must be fairly strong. They’re raised towards the two, in a move he copies, and everyone drinks. There’s a bit of spluttering from Kalim at the side of him at the sensation of the popping bubbles, but everyone finishes.
“Definitely can’t make a speech for you?” He hears Mokuba ask, and be rebuffed.
“A speech?” He asks Atem.
“About the person and their life, usually amusing, given by someone who has known them a long time.”
“I could do one for you. I’ve known you since you were running around the palace grounds with no clothes on.” It’s not that strange of a statement, it’s not typical for young children to be clothed at that age, even future Kings, but Atem blushes violently, while Seto looks at him like a cat at a singing bird.
“Oh well, in that case it seems only fair-“
“No!”
One whispered fight and an agreement later, both Atem and Kaiba are lying on the table, faces hidden behind their arms as Maha’ad shares the tale of Atem’s first attempt at magic, complete with a tantrum that had him evading half the palace guards, and Mokuba proves just how far back he can remember with a story about a paddling pool, mistaking a hose for a snake, and a reminder that everyone at some point has run around naked - his brother included.
Perhaps it’s the comfortable sensation of a full stomach, or perhaps too much in the way of drink, but he finds himself coerced into entertaining with some fire magic. It’s a bit more effort to make sure that things that shouldn’t be on fire stay that way, but he manages. Mostly.
He doesn’t notice that his King and his husband have slipped away until Mana asks him, none too quietly, where they’ve gone. He goes rather red.
“Well they’re going to, uh-“
“Duel,” Interrupts Mokuba.
Maha’ad is very glad he didn’t get to finish that sentence.
“Up on the hill. Want to come and watch?”
Everyone does, and they file out into the evening, following Mokuba’s lead and the sounds of roaring monsters and issued commands until they reach the clearing.
There’s suddenly a lot of murmuring behind him.
It isn’t magic, he could tell that by the feel of the air. But it is quite amazing. It’s odd, seeing dangerous creatures he knows well, in the form of an image - harmless to all, separate from the ka to allow anyone to wield them.
Nonetheless, it is strange to see the purple magician by Seto Kaiba’s side.
Almost as strange as seeing the white dragons fighting at his King’s.
When the duel is at last over, they exchange their items from earlier back, saying barely a word to each other.
Maha’ad may not speak their hidden language, but he knows what that fire in their eyes means.
Now, Mana, would be the time to leave them be.