Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. Characters property of Henson & Co
Rating: PG
Summary: My response to the Rygel challenge of SC23. This takes place not too long after the events of Peacekeeper Wars.
Thanks to Sunshine and sarahjane for initial feedback. This is mostly unbetaed this time around. Mistakes remain mine.
The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdom
~~~from The Hollow Men by T.S. Eliot
1.
"So…um…when we get to Hyneria…" Chiana lounged in the corner of his quarters, leaning back on her arms, head tilted at an angle. He busied himself with packing.
Offal…such offal will never offend my eyes again when I return to Hyneria.
How long ago had he uttered those words? Certainly before this girl had appeared on his horizon, all loose joints (among other things), certainly before he'd godfathered a hybrid child, and most certainly before B'ishan had finally admitted the mistake of his own arrogance.
He paused midway between the storage locker and the bed, studied the items that he'd strewn across the golden coverlet—jewels collected and traded, bartered for food at some points, procured at others for future use. They hadn't adorned him in cycles, and he'd always saved the very best in a small case under his bed. The case still rested there, waiting for the moment when he'd alight from the transport pod, a Peacekeeper on one side, the Human on the other, and this one, this girl, following behind, the guardian of his possessions.
Oh, yes, the baby might be there, his own almost child, likely squalling as only a Crichton could. No, of course the child couldn't have possibly possessed the stoicism of its mother.
The thought brought a slight smile to his face, and a twinge of memory in one of his body cavities. To this day, he still wasn't sure where he'd actually carried the child; there was no doubt that he had absolutely no interest in dwelling on that biological fact.
His clothing was looking shabby, of that he had no doubt at all. The purple robe was frayed on its gold trimmed edges, small threads askew. The sheen had worn off some of the shinier threads and he could see a bit of hem undone.
Perhaps if he sat at a certain angle, perhaps…
"Ryg!" Chiana's voice was insistent. He realized he was hovering over his bed, the items in front of him not quite registering anymore. All he saw in his head was his home, the home of his birth and his birthright, the home of his ancestors.
Water, so much water, clear blue skies in daylight, then night skies, the brightness of stars that would illuminate his palace if all the curtains were thrown open…which they often were at his command, broad and heavy burgundy drapes made of a material he couldn't even name, created by seamstresses whose ancestors had done exactly that same thing for the house of Rygel over the centuries…
Opulent walls of deep turquoise, reflecting the colors of their seas…portraits of each Dominar Rygel, from I to XVI, his own commissioned when he'd ascended the throne, the favorite of his mother.
"Rygel." Chiana laid a hand on his shoulder and he slid away from her touch. "Ryg…I just hope you're not getting too…you know…um…worked up. Excited. Yeah."
"Don't worry, girl. Even you might have your fill on Hyneria. Not on Hynerians, of course, but there are colonies of young males…" He allowed himself a self satisfied chuckle.
She didn't smile. "I just think…" She waved her hand at the stuff on the bed. "I just think all this dren isn't going to amount to much when we get there."
"This dren? Absolutely not."
"You know that's not what I mean—"
No. He wasn't going to allow it. His people were still there, possibly some of his wives, those who'd been prescient enough to go into hiding when he'd been banished. His children—
"Leave me, Chiana, or you can forget about the colonies."
"Sure…" She dropped her hands to her side, shook her head, opened her mouth as though she was going to say something else, then turned and walked away.
Yes, it was dren, all the dren on the bed. And as soon as he took possession of his throne, as soon as he solved the problem of B'ishan with all the justice of a wise ruler, as soon as he gathered his allies, and his wives, and his offspring, all the smaller dren would fall into place.
The girl just had to have faith.
2.
"Give Don Corleone a break, Pip." John was changing the narl's diaper, one hand holding the diaper over the baby's crotch, the other trying to bring one piece of the cloth over to cover him up.
"Don't you see, Crichton? He's completely tinked if he thinks this is going to be like before." She back-handed him on the shoulder.
John turned to her, moving his hand away from the baby. The flap of the diaper fell away and , on cue it seemed, the baby pissed all over Crichton's back, a strong stream of urine raining through the air and landing on his shirt. He gave a yelp, the baby squirmed and she tried not to laugh.
"Dammit, Chi!"
"You're supposed to keep him covered, John." Aeryn emerged from the fresher, wearing something loose and comfortable, her hair wet and drawn back in a ponytail.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Know that, Aeryn. I have a little more diaper changing experience than you do, if you'll remember…"
"As in, you've changed your nephew and I've changed none. Yes, I recall this conversation." She glanced at Chiana and smirked. "Countless times, actually." She moved to her foot locker and looked through it, finally coming up with a fresh shirt for Crichton and a fresh diaper for the narl, both of which she handed to Chiana who, in turn, handed them to Crichton.
"So what's this about Rygel?" Aeryn asked.
"Oh, Chi's playing let's futz over Rygel. He's going home, Chiana. He's regaining his throne, assessing his stuff the way he likes to, making all kinds of plans. It'll be fine."
"Aeryn…" Chiana turned her attention away from John. "I think you need to talk to him. I don't think he's…well…I just think he's not seeing what's really out there."
"He'll be fine," John said. "Anyway, you can't tell Rygel anything he doesn't want to hear. And you do not want to piss off the godfather." John finished with the baby who was busy wiggling and smiling on the table where Crichton had laid him. He lifted the boy and raised him up then started with what Rygel liked to term "inane babbling." The same inane babbling Chiana had heard from Rygel himself when it came to that narl.
"Hmm…Whatever that might mean," Aeryn said. "For what it's worth, I think John's right."
"Write it down, Chi. 'John's right.' You heard her say it with your own ears." He handed the baby to Aeryn. "All we can do is wait and see how it all lays out when we get there."
Chiana shook her head. "Okay. But don't say I didn't warn you. He's not gonna be happy."
3.
Darkness. That was the first thing he noticed when he descended from the transport pod. Darkness, two squadrons of black clad sentries, the lowest of the palace guard, standing in a haphazard formation beneath a moonless sky.
He squinted out into the black, the only light issuing from the pod behind him. He hovered over the middle of the steps, one hand raised to his head, the other settled on the arm rest of his chair. Crichton's heavy footsteps clattered behind him, then nothing, as Crichton came to rest immediately at his back.
"What?" Crichton said. "Rygel. We're here."
Rygel shifted the chair away from the Human, still staring into the dark. He'd landed in this place hundreds of times, had always seen the lights from his cities illuminating the dark skies and merging with the stars. During a full moon, night would seem like day, and the smell of water would cling to the air, heavy in his chest, commingling with the flora.
This smelled like dust and decay, like every stinking, dying planet he'd encountered in the last four cycles. Where his cities had once been all encompassing, all he saw now were specks of light like candles dying in an open clearing.
"Dominar Rygel XVI!" The voice bellowed from the steps below as the squadron snapped to attention at his presence. "His highness B'ishan grants you welcome and safe passage to the seat of Hynerian power."
"Seat of Hynerian power? Where is that bastard B'ishan, that he's been allowed to do this?" He spread his arms wide and gathered them in to himself as if he could gather in his entire world.
"Rygel!" John hissed at his back. "Play nice! You're a diplomat, remember?"
"I'm a Dominar." His throne descended to just above eye level of the standing guards, all of whom tried not to stare at him. At least that, then.
"We are to escort you and your cortege to the palace," the paladin said. He called out commands to his retinue and they turned in unison, with almost the same snap that Rygel remembered.
Almost.
He didn't turn to face his companions; they'd have to follow his lead, possessions and child in tow. He was a Dominar; it was their duty.
"Lead on," he commanded.
4.
"Ryg?" The girl's voice was a whisper in his ear. They were in the palace hall. He closed his eyes then his ears pricked at the sound near him, the guard standing close, the clink of armor as they moved from side to side; in his day, over one hundred cycles ago, they would have moved in unison, a whisper like Chiana's voice. Not now. Now they were a cacophony of tuneless metal.
"Cousin! Welcome."
Rygel opened his eyes, bringing his thronesled up so that he rose over them all. B'ishan approached on both feet, no thronesled, his robes the pale green of his line. The bastard smiled up at him, face hopeful and earnest.
Rygel snorted and turned towards the guard below him. "Remove this traitor from my sight. I don't want to see him in this hall again."
"Cousin Rygel!"
"Rygel!"
"Ryg!"
Three voices like one, Crichton, Chiana and B'ishan. Rygel waved one hand and the guards grabbed B'ishan under each arm, pulling him backwards.
"All of you," he said. "Leave me." He hovered over them, saw from his perch how Chiana left his treasure box under the thronesled, gave him a weak smile and turned to follow the guard.
"Rygel," Crichton said again. He was holding the baby who had remained asleep during their trek to the palace. Rygel glanced at the sleeping child and felt that familiar stirring again.
Children. So many children that he knew he'd lost count at some point.
Crichton's eyes searched him out, worry creasing his brow.
"Not. Now," Rygel said.
"Fine…then…fine. Where are we supposed to go, exactly? Not that it's the first thing on your mind but—"
"John." Aeryn's voice broke the stillness. Rygel glanced at her. Her face was blank.
Crichton looked from her to Rygel, nodded slowly. "I'll get Chiana and we'll do some exploring." He looked down at the sleeping child. "Okay with you, little guy?" He didn't wait for a response as he turned and walked heavy footed through the crumbling hall.
Aeryn stood apart, thumbs hooked through her gun belt, feet spread slightly in parade stance. Her eyes searched out the hall; through them, he saw what she did. The heavy drapes were torn from the rods near the ceiling, just above her head. Cracked stone tiles with pieces missing. The moist air streamed through broken stained glass windows.
"You know this planet was under siege during the war," she said.
"I don't need a history lesson from you, Peacekeeper."
She moved toward the entrance to the great hall, looking like a sentry. No one would get past her either in or out. Her gaze moved towars the two chairs behind her, heavy hewn metal, built to withstand time itself.
He turned slightly. Two empty chairs, the emblem of the house of Rygel still embossed in both, one for him, one for his consort.
"They're all dead, you know." He stayed in the space between the entry and the chairs. He felt unable to move either way. She wouldn't stop him if he tried.
"Possibly. Yes."
He chuckled. "Ah, Aeryn. Ever the realist, aren't you."
"If you wanted comfort, Chiana could have stayed behind. Or even John."
He nodded.
"You have a choice, Rygel. You can turn now, like a coward, or you can act like a Dominar. It really is up to you."
Two empty chairs.
"There are quarters," he began. "Or there were. Have that bastard lead you to them."
She nodded and turned on her heel, leaving him alone.
He took a deep breath and moved toward the head of the room, maneuvered the thronesled and slid off and onto the chair.
Once, he'd sat here with a wife beside him. Sa'ra, the most favored. They'd sat, side by side, their children beside them. His favorite son, the loudest, much like Crichton's offspring, crawling over thick pillows, eating everything in sight.
The girl had been right. None of this dren mattered. He took another breath, closed his eyes. The humid air filled his lungs like water, a smell fresh and familiar and gone for so long.
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