A/N: Thank you all for being patient. Here's a chapter that hopefully will reward some of that patience. :)
The first part had been easy.
There had only been two guards when they'd made their way through the portal—a small cave area, and McKay had been right, it looked like the sanctuary planet—and beyond that a village in a clearing. Two female guards appeared to be standing watch, but they had their backs to the entranceway and were quickly taken out by Ronon's gun.
He'd kept the gun set to stun; a brief discussion with Teyla had reminded him that while he'd love nothing better than to take out a few of the Immarian soldiers, female or no, most of the villages might be peasants unaware of what their soldiers were doing off-world.
Despite Sheppard's eagerness Ronon insisted on moving ahead, if only because his team leader was wearing an expression he'd never really seen before. There was something buried in Sheppard's eyes; an intensity that unsettled Ronon and reminded him of the stories of Sheppard taking out sixty Genii on his own without blinking an eye. Only Weir and McKay knew anything of that and neither of them talked about it. Ronon knew Sheppard's strengths, but most of the time he was so laidback and easygoing it was easy to forget there was a reason this man was the head of the Atlantis military and a legend among his soldiers.
It seemed a smart move, because no sooner had the warriors fallen than Sheppard and Lorne's team brushed past them, as though taking them out has always been a part of the plan. The rest of the marines followed.
The soldiers at least knew the difference between offenders and innocents, for as they moved into the village that was housed in the center of the ring, no shots were fired. A general cry rose from the people inhabiting it, many who darted into tents and shanties; others broke for large archways to the left and right of the village marked in the language of the Ancestors.
"Truth and Justice," McKay murmured, apparently referring to the writing above the doors. "How poetically ironic."
"Fan out," Sheppard said, indicating teams towards the archways. Lorne moved to the left, while another of the soldiers led a group to the right. Sheppard glanced over at him and Teyla. "Stay with McKay; question the people here and see if they know where Elizabeth is. First indication, you radio me. Watch your back."
Ronon nodded. Sheppard nodded back, looking up through expressionless eyes. "And Ronon? Do what you have to do."
He and the rest of his group started forward, towards the archway set to the back of the circle. Teyla watched them go, her own face without expression, then turned to some of the cowering villagers who'd gathered near a fire pit. That surprised Ronon as well—he fully expected her to protest the seemingly dangerous path Sheppard was taking. But she seemed content to let him have his way; or perhaps, somewhere deep within her generally peaceful soul, existed someone who could seek vengeance if necessity called for it.
McKay was also watching Sheppard as he and the marines strode forward, fanning out in perfect marching order.
"You think he meant that?" Ronon asked.
McKay glanced over at him, tapping idly at the life-signs detector in his hand, a half-frown on his face. There was something in his expression, too, that indicated this wasn't the first time he'd encountered something like this. Maybe rumors of those sixty Genii were true. "Yeah. He meant it."
Ronon switched the setting on his gun.
--/--
Elizabeth paused at the archway exiting the Halls of Record, leaning against the stone wall, one arm carefully wrapped around her aching middle. Her forehead brushed the cool surface, and she struggled to maintain calm, to find something positive to hang onto.
Across the way, a few hundred feet beyond the village, lay the portal. Guarded by a community of common people and a few guards.
Home.
She had few options left. She could keep running; hope that the guards had already searched the Halls of Justice thoroughly, and return to her and Sita's original plan—through the archway, out the door. Which meant she'd have to keep hiding, scared animal moving from hole to hole and shadow to shadow until she found a way to wriggle free.
Or she could do something she'd not done since being dragged to this world. She could stand up and face them, toe to toe, with dignity and authority and the will to do right. She could take her official place as the leader who was proclaimed in the Testament, the one they were legally bound to follow.
It wouldn't be successful. She was more than sure of that. Honor and dignity did not supersede bias and bigotry; nor would they protect her from false judgments or the power of those who'd made them. They could not save her from death.
But at this point, what could? She had nowhere to run, nowhere to go. As much as she was certain Atlantis had tried to find her, they had failed. She was going to lose her life in this place.
If she accepted that, then, by God, she was going to do something worth the value of it.
It was time to act in a way that would not make her ashamed of herself. That would make her people proud. Elizabeth Weir had been through wars, had survived Wraith attacks and replicators infestations. She'd negotiated treaties and stood face to face with leaders that would quite literally eat her alive. She had not given up when everything seemed hopeless and she never backed down from a challenge.
That was how she fought. It was not with weapons or with the same kind of honor and courage that John, his team or his marines fought with. But it was a battle nonetheless, one that had to be won with words, with the changing of minds.
If she believed in that system at all, then she would have to do what John would do—stand up to monster and fight with every last weapon she had. Go down fighting, even if it meant sacrificing herself in the process.
At this particular moment, exhausted, head pounding, with ribs aching and a heart that felt like stone, it was much easier said than done. She wouldn't be truthful with herself if she didn't admit this one of the most frightening moments she'd ever had to face.
She needed to find the courage to face it.
One step at a time, Elizabeth.
Her legs felt like lead, but she took a step forward, into the open air of the meadow. This would be no easy task, but she was determined to face it as the leader of a city as great as Atlantis would.
--/--
Sita drew near the group of warriors headed by Dravan, attempting to keep her expression neutral.
Aska, one of the fastest of the young warriors, entered the Guild Hall. "She has not been spotted anywhere near the village. We believe she may be hiding somewhere within the Circle."
"This is as we hoped," Dravan said. "Ilonti, take four of your team and cross the field to Justice. Check all the crevices within the circle. I will follow the same path here. Do you approve of this, Sita?" she turned, her green eyes piercing.
"Yes. This is wise," she returned.
Dravan eyed her for a minute, then dismissed Ilonti's team. Sita watched them go, her heart pounding. If Doctor Weir had not remained in the Hall of Elders, she would very shortly be in great danger.
"Sita, are you alright?" Dravan asked, coming up to her. "You seem distracted."
"I am bothered by all of this," she confessed truthfully. "It does not feel right."
"Not feel right? She broke our laws."
"And for this we condemn her to death? How is this our law?"
Dravan frowned. "I will admit it is unorthodox. But we must do what we must to protect our people."
"I fail to see how executing one weak woman protects our people," Sita snapped. "She threatens no one."
"Our council has willed this," returned Dravan. "I am a warrior. It is not my place to question this—nor, will I remind you, is it yours. Take care, Sita, that you do not cross boundaries from which you cannot return."
Sita watched her go, catching sight of Karon as he stood near the entrance to the Guild Hall. He looked distracted, his arms crossed, waiting for her to exit.
She took in a breath, marching towards him with fluttering in her stomach. He smiled briefly. "Dravan seems confident."
"She believes the Lantean to be somewhere within the Circle. It may only be a matter of time before she is caught."
"She is not Lantean," he returned harshly. "She is not worthy of being called such."
Sita met his gaze for a moment, her heart sinking. "I must go."
He reached out and grasped her arm as she walked past. "Do you not agree with me?"
She did not turn to face him, but pulled her arm gently from his grasp. "No, Karon, I do not agree with you."
"Why not?"
"Because I do not believe death is necessary. Not in this case."
"You know why this must happen."
"I do not." She raised her eyes to him. "I have seen death in my lifetime, Karon. Much more than you. I have caused it. For me, there is never a good reason for death, only a necessary one. And here, it is not necessary. In truth, if we hail from the Alterans as we claim, it should never be necessary by our own judgments."
"If we do not execute her, she…"
"What? Will threaten what we are? What we believe? And so what if she does? Is this the kind of world in which you wish to live? One where our elders snuff out life as easily as they snuff out a flame? What happens tomorrow when one of our people breaks the lesser rules? Do we execute them as well?"
He frowned. "Sita…"
"No." She set her spear to the ground, facing him. "No. For too long have I seen the iniquities of our society overlooked. Too many times have I defended our ways to people of intelligence and means. Too often I have held my tongue when I knew what was being done was wrong."
"It is not your place to speak on such things."
"Perhaps not," she said. "But maybe—perhaps—it should be."
"This is her doing!" Karon stepped back, his face twisted in a hateful grimace. "She has made you think this way."
Sita stepped up to him, placing a hand on his arm, a gesture she had always used to calm him. "No. No, Karon. Doctor Weir challenged our ways, yes. But it has been you—your treatment of her—that has opened my eyes. If I have lost you to the ways of the Testament, then I shall fight to ensure those who come behind you shall not suffer the same fate. No matter what the cost."
He stared at her in surprise, the dark expression fading into one of concern. "Cost? What cost?"
She turned from him once more. "I must go."
"Sita?" He reached out, grabbing her arms, forcing her to turn back to face him. He was surprisingly strong. "What are you speaking of?"
When she didn't answer his grip loosened a bit, his hands shaking. "You know where she is, do you not?"
"I…I am not certain."
"But you have assisted her." The grip tightened again, forcing her to turn back to him. The expression on her face was enough to inform him of the truth, he knew her so well. "What have you done? They will kill you for this!"
With a swift, graceful motion she broke his grasp, nearly knocking him to the floor. As he regained his footing, she drew to her full height, which exceeded his. "If it must be, then it must be."
He must have seen the intent in her eyes, for his expression grew soft, almost pleading. "Please…do not do this."
She smiled softly at him. "It is time I do what I believe to be right. What is good for all, which is what I believe the intention for our Testament has always been. If its ways have been corrupted, then they must be changed. So that we may have hope for the future."
"Sita…"
"Goodbye, Karon."
He held a hand towards her, moving to speak, when a high-pitched whistle trilled through the corridors. It was followed by five short bursts.
Something had raised an alarum.
The time had come.
She turned from him, refusing to look back, and rushed towards the exit. Their fates were fully distanced now and they would never again meet in this world as it was.
--/--
Elizabeth had only taken a few steps into the meadow when the first screams ripped through the air.
They came from the village, startling her, and she paused, pulse racing, as people exited the sides, bolting for the archways that promised the comfort of the Inner Circle. In response, a series of whistles echoed through the halls within the Circle.
After a few moments, she could see what had caused the uproar.
Black-clad figures were pushing out from the center of the village. Above her, faces peered from the lodgings set into the walls, moving onto high stone steps and ledges, trying to figure out what was causing the commotion.
The figures moved closer, fanning out towards the three archways set into the circle of stones, methodically observing their surroundings. Elizabeth took a small step back, uncertain of what to do. They didn't look Immarian, and yet they were most certainly warriors; everything about their demeanor suggested they were primed for a fight.
The lead figure was stalking towards her, head bent. She took another step back as a wind blew down through the field, stirring the grass and whipping around the man approaching her. The breeze ruffled up his jet-black hair, which glimmered for a moment in the sunshine and managed to maintain an unkempt appearance, even when the wind died down.
A distant memory of a conversation on the balcony, what seemed like ages ago.
I never could get it to behave. Stopped trying. Even the Air Force had to accept it, though believe me they tried everything short of shellacking.
Her breath caught.
He hadn't stopped walking towards her and as he drew near everything came into brighter focus—the black BDU's, the tactical vest strapped to his chest, the P-90 clutched close to face level. The slow, methodical approach he and all the men took, drilled into them through hours of training sessions, some of which she'd overseen.
Her eyes were suddenly burning, her vision blurring until he became an indistinct mess of colors. She blinked the tears away hurriedly, not wanting to lose sight of him and stepped forward into the meadow, taking one step, and then another, and then another, until her legs carried her forward at a full run, stabbing pains and all.
He paused as she approached him, eyes narrowing for a moment as he shouted out a warning. Her better senses told her to stop; that he'd only need a moment to recognize her, but she was afraid of what would happen if she did. This was too close to everything she'd been wishing for days; too much like the dreams she had in the cold confines of this frozen world night after night. Stopping might mean an end to all the hope she had left.
The tense expression faded as she drew closer, his eyes widening, mouth dropping open ever so slightly. Something escaped his lips that resembled her name but all she could focus on was how close he was and how real he seemed.
He seemed to recognize it too, because, for the first time since she'd known him, John Sheppard dropped his guard and his gun, rising out of his defensive posture to move forward, reaching out as she drew near him. Elizabeth stumbled the last few feet, falling into him and nearly knocking him over, ignoring the blinding pain that shot through her body as he wrapped his arms around her.
Her arms closed around his neck and she struggled to breathe, realizing, finally, that he really was there, that he was real and she wasn't imagining this. Elizabeth Weir had trained herself not to show weakness—not to cry—but something between a sigh and a sob escaped her lips at this moment.
John tightened his grip as everything she'd built up, all the strength and determination she'd worked so hard to preserve, suddenly escaped her. Her legs gave out, body trembling with a mixture of anxiety and pain. He eased her to the ground gently, using his arm to support her.
"Elizabeth?" she heard him say, and she opened her eyes, looking up into John's face, which, despite the disturbing dark circles and five o'clock shadow, glowed at her in relief.
"John…" She raised a tentative hand toward his face, barely brushing the edge of his chin with her fingertips. "You look…terrible."
His relieved grin grew, eyes suddenly sparkling. "Well, not everyone can come charging in on a white horse wearing puffed velvet. You're going to have to settle for a wrinkled uniform and a P-90."
"I'll take it," she whispered back.
"Good." His smile faded as he studied her, eyes narrowing at the purple bruising along the side of her cheek. She could read the intensity in his face; feel the anger tighten the muscles in his arms, though she knew he was trying to maintain control in front of her. "Are you okay?"
She set her jaw, trying to keep her lips from trembling. His eyes tightened, and she felt her face crumple just a little. "No," she managed softly.
John watched her for a moment, looking slightly uncomfortable, then bent forward, pulling her into a gentle embrace. Elizabeth relaxed against his shoulder as he awkwardly patted her hair and repeated something she'd heard him say only one time before.
"Don't worry. You will be."