"I was," Solomon said simply. He'd had to be very, very careful none of the King's Guard recognised him as Ailbe รณ Maolomhnaigh's son for several years after his father's death. They'd have executed him on the spot at thirteen, if he hadn't killed them first.
He snorted. "Whyever would you want to overturn such a dynasty, I wonder?" He shook his head. "That gives the phrase 'history is written by the winners' new meaning. How does one fight a system designed to make the common people fail?"
By making a deal with a worse threat, apparently. It was like fighting the Faceless Ones using real demons: it could only ever result in a pyrrhic victory. The problem was that Solomon didn't think Bakura would care, and if he would have, that part of him might already be lost. It wasn't only his ghosts who needed knitting together on a metaphysical level.
But Solomon didn't particularly want to dwell on old bitterness; not when it risked Bakura losing any sense of good-humour with which he'd begun the day. Their conversation over the consoles had been the least edged in weeks. "How did you discover Diabound?"
no subject
He snorted. "Whyever would you want to overturn such a dynasty, I wonder?" He shook his head. "That gives the phrase 'history is written by the winners' new meaning. How does one fight a system designed to make the common people fail?"
By making a deal with a worse threat, apparently. It was like fighting the Faceless Ones using real demons: it could only ever result in a pyrrhic victory. The problem was that Solomon didn't think Bakura would care, and if he would have, that part of him might already be lost. It wasn't only his ghosts who needed knitting together on a metaphysical level.
But Solomon didn't particularly want to dwell on old bitterness; not when it risked Bakura losing any sense of good-humour with which he'd begun the day. Their conversation over the consoles had been the least edged in weeks. "How did you discover Diabound?"