Disclaimer: I do not own Yugioh or any Yugioh characters depicted in this fic

Author notes: And here it is! The final installment! Please review and let me know if there was any aspect you particularly liked or disliked, comments and criticism are greatly needed for future authoring purposes! Thank you to all my reviewers for all your invaluable advice and encouragement. Hope you enjoyed the story :)

The River of Thought (Epilogue)

The Egyptian sunrise was not one that could easily be equalled; so thought the young Pharoah as he stood at the window casement in the Royal Infirmary, the filtering rays surrounding his motionless form, granting him an almost ethereal silhouette. He turned slightly, eyes falling upon the sleeping figure of the High Priest. Seth looked strangely vulnerable, his tall, imposing frame hidden by the sheets, face thin and worn from the prologued starvation he had been subjected to. Without his headdress, the chestnut strands in disarray against the cushioning, one was starkly reminded that there was a man who inhabited this embodiment of authority and command, one who could be injured, broken, killed, admittedly, far less easily than most. But no ordinary man, that Atem knew. There was a conscience, a powerful sense of compassion and duty behind the immovable exterior, a luminous intellect, a soul with greater depth than even he could fathom. Examining the profile of the High Priest, Atem gave a small smile.

Isis certainly blessed me with great wisdom the day I chose Seth as my Advisor. Whatever the fate of Egypt or our people, I am safe in the knowledge that I have you, my old friend.

With Atem's movement, a ray of sunlight bypassed his shoulder, casting a watery light on the face of the bed's occupant. Seth's eyelids flickered, rapidly assuming their native sharp, vibrant hue as he took in his surroundings, gaze finally falling on Atem.

"My Pharoah."

Atem was pleased to note that the voice that had barely emerged as a faint, hoarse croak when Seth had first arrived had gained both in strength and in some of the old character. He approached the bed.

"You sound improved. I'm glad."

Seth chuckled slightly. "I am too, I can assure you, my Lord."

Atem considered him for a second, deep in thought. "I have considered what you said to me. With regard to the Millenium Rod."

A silence greeted him as Seth glanced up sharply, taking in every detail of Atem's countenance. There was uncertainty there, one that Atem would not accept from a man as loyal as the one before him. He placed a hand on Seth's shoulder.

"Despite what some of the Royal Council think, I am personally of the opinion that your actions in the period of your captivity are beyond commendation. That is why you are my Advisor, not any other. Sometimes, a ruler is caught up with his own kingdom, with the needs of his own people and what is best for them. And that is often the downfall of great dynasties in our history. Each man thinks in terms of his own little universe, the farmer in terms of his crop, the tutor in terms of his pupil, the Pharoah in terms of his country. The world changes around us, my friend. Ages pass and what was once righteous then becomes folly. To not see beyond the sphere of your life, to not consider the soul and rights of another, to judge without deeper knowledge are all mistakes that people make on a regular basis. It takes one such as yourself, my High Priest, to faithfully stand by the truth as all see it, not simply a single man."

Still silent, Seth lowered his eyes, but not before Atem had seen the gratitude and affection in their depths. He smiled and seated himself near the High Priest's bedside, watching the morning steal into the room.

Thank you, my Pharoah. Thank you for believing.

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The river ran, clear as freshly blown glass near the bank on which he stood, swirling over the smooth rocks, convolutions and miniature currents causing small whirlpools amidst the gray, inert boulders. His hand glistened where he had dipped it in, cupping to take a draught as a means of easing his dry throat. His calasiri lay carelessly draped over the back of his horse; he had removed it to splash his heated body with the cool liquid. Placing a leg up on the rock before him, he leaned forward, elbow resting on his knee.

There will be no rest for me, not now, not ever, until I obtain what is rightfully mine. They will know no peace, no freedom from my vengeance until they acknowledge what was done.

A smirk toyed across the curling lips as his thoughts traveled to the High Priest. You, alone, my enemy, have a fraction of my respect, although I will never understand what it is that motivates your loyalty to a kingdom that epitomises the bloodshed you spend your life ostracizing. Maybe common sense will find you someday, maybe on that day you will have your faith shaken to its core and question your belief. I will be there, then, watching to see if you crumble or stand strong, whether you face me with dignity or shame. I will be watching my friend, and until then . . .

A laugh escaped him, rough, wild, captivating as a cobra's yellow gaze. He slung the leather belt over a broad shoulder, twirling the golden Rod between his fingers.

. . . Until then, you can be sure that I will find you and the use of the Rod will be mine. You will learn that truth is harder to acheive than you think. There is darkness in the soul of every man, how else do you harness the Shadows to do your bidding? And yet you fight the darkness, whilst I . . .

Sunlight gleamed on ivory hair, on the briefly exposed canines, the dark skin glistening with dampness, power rippling beneath like the restless sea, and then he was gone.

. . . I embrace the darkness. It is the lover who moves in unision with me, the guide who sets my path, my truth. I am the darkness, my friend, I am the shadow created in your image and you will not escape me.

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There is silence at initiation of the waters. The pause before creation, before the cry of new life, of new beginning. Fresher, purer than a lily bobbing its budding head in Spring, the waters flow through the mountains of laughter, of innocence and curiosity. Sweeping through the fields, the plantations of experience, past the men and women and the new hope that passes by word of mouth, the river swells, ever gaining in wisdom. The currents, sluggish with silt, the dark awareness within every man, every soul, carries its burden further, far from the light, the joy of the young. As depth grows, so does the consciousness of fate, the threads that draw and bind all men and women. The soul passes trial, it passes tempation, agony, despair. The river flows faster, slower, the ever changing pace reflecting the belief, the strength of a man's heart. Branches emanate like winding serpents, the paths that lead one astray, but the river forges on. The cities receive the mighty Euphrates, embracing the tides of change, the opening of minds to possibility, to faith, to acceptance. The river of thought, of knowledge, of discovery, flows to the sea.

THE END