(Author's notes: there has been some confusion over Teyla's age, and concern as to if she is old enough for a physical relationship with Stephen. In earlier chapters, Stephen & Wong had mistakenly assumed a teenager was coming to Kamar-Taj for education; however, as the story has unfolded, I've been careful to give a clear timeline. Teyla attended high school & three college semesters while she lived with her father in Greenwich Village, and then returned to Hadeeth for six years, making her 26 (in Earth years).)
Stephen closed his eyes, letting the hot water beat against his weary body, relaxing for the first time in two days—two Earth days, anyway. Time had moved differently for him in the Gray Shadow Dimension—even with the Eye of Agamotto hanging around his neck—so that it had felt closer to a week that he'd been fighting to repair a rip between that cursed reality and Earth's own. He needed the shower's heat and the steam to work a much needed magic on his battle worn muscles, while the water sluiced the sweat from his flesh, along with the blood and little pieces of skin and flecks of bone which were all that was left of the dark creatures he had vanquished. Earth, the solar system, the galaxy itself was safe for now, although he had been unable to discover the cause of the rip; Stephen suspected a more dark and dangerous being had been behind the assault, but he had been unable to wrest that knowledge from the hive mind of the living drones who served it. Continued vigilance would be required.
Forty-five minutes later, he toweled himself dry, his skin slightly reddened and still stinging a bit from the hot water-a small discomfort well-worth the blessed relief of cleansing away all that muck. Stephen shrugged himself into a faded, gray cotton tee and a well-worn pair of blue & gray striped pajama bottoms, raking his fingers through his damp hair, and decided to skip the blow dryer tonight.
He sat on the edge of the bed, setting his alarm for earlier than he'd prefer to arise—a Sanctum Master's work is never done, he reminded himself-and briefly considered mediation as a means to segue into sleep, before deciding to give in to the urge to just let his head it the pillow. Focused on that sole desire, he nearly missed the rapping on his door.
"Shit," he hissed to himself, knowing he could not let it go unanswered. Yawning widely, Stephen swung his legs back over the side of the bed, and pinched the bridge of his nose-hoping the tension headache he'd been fending off for hours would abate altogether-while willing himself not to sound as irritated as he actually felt about being pulled from his hard earned chance to sleep. "Come in," he called out, the rough edge to his voice a mix of exhaustion and exasperation.
His call was met with a silence long enough to make him wonder if he imagined hearing anything at all. This better be something really important, he thought, grunting in resignation as he stood up to answer the door, bracing himself for whatever new demand awaited him on the other side. "Better be really important," he grumbled, reminding himself to be patient—for his unexpected visitor couldn't know what he'd just been through.
Stephen swung the door open, and found the most pleasant surprise awaiting him. "Teyla," he said, fully alert in an instant, grinning his delight, and reaching for her, "How did you know I was back?"
"I did not know, my love, but had only hoped to find you here." She bit her lip as it trembled, and blinked several times, as tears over spilled her eyes.
"What…what's wrong, honey?" He pulled her past the threshold, alarmed at her condition, "What happened?"
"I…I am deeply sorry to disturb you, Stephen—I know you are well beyond weary, but I did not want to leave without informing you." She wiped the tears from her cheeks, and gave a little shake of her head, working to regain her composure. "I have dreamed a most fretful dream…"
Stephen brushed past her to take a quick peek outside of his door, and then closed it. As he turned back to her, Teyla gently assured him, "I came by portal, directly to the hallway outside your door. And I was careful, Stephen; no one marked my arrival."
He shook his head slightly, realizing from her appearance that their secrecy was no priority in this moment. How pale she looked, in the low light of his room; pale and shaken, but unbowed by whatever worry now preyed upon her. He noted that she wore the shapeless, gray robe she had worn at their first meeting, though she had left her straw satchel behind in Kamar-Taj. "You're returning to Hadeeth," he surmised, laying his hands on her shoulders, watching her nod solemnly. "Why, honey? What did you dream?"
"Oh Stephen," she exclaimed, the shadow of fear tingeing her dear features, "Darkness…an unnatural darkness covered the land. Forests and fields, village lanes and city streets." Teyla's voice cracked, and the need to shelter her in his arms overwhelmed him. He held her close, feeling her quake against him, as she buried her face in the crook of his neck. "Fire rained from the sky…"
"It's okay, Teyla…I've got you," he told her, smoothing a hand against her hair, wanting to still her trembling and ease her fears, "Are you sure this wasn't just a nightmare?"
"I am sure of nothing, except for how real it felt," she drew a shuddering breath as she slid her arms around him and fit her soft curves against his strength, "As real as the dreams I had of your hands, in the years before I met you."
"Was it a true vision, Teyla?" Quietly urgent, he kept his voice low, "Maybe a warning of sorts?
"I cannot truly say if I dreamt of things to be, or of things that have already come to pass." She sounded and felt less frantic, but Stephen was loathe to loose her from his embrace. "But even in the heart of the city, the People's Citadel, where serve our lawmakers and ruling council, had been reduced to rubble, and the cries of countless injured filled the air." Teyla withdrew slightly, shedding the panic that had brought her to him, and looked him resolutely in the eye, "I must go, Stephen. Whatever the case, my place is with my people…with…with…"
"Your mother," he nodded, knowing that despite the danger that might await her on the far side of a portal to Hadeeth, there would be no dissuading her from the journey-but then she wouldn't be his sweet, brave Teyla if that was not the case. "I'm going with you, honey." As Stephen expected, she started to shake her head in objection, so that before she could utter a word, he asserted, "If things are bad as you described, you're going to need an extra set of hands—at the very least."
And though she had been determined to strike out on her own, he felt her gratitude fill him so sweetly that the exhaustion he'd been feeling seemed to evaporate, while she kissed his cheek and whispered her love for him against his ear. As she backed out of his arms, Stephen was garbed in his tunic and breeches in a flick of his wrist, the Eye in place around his neck, and Cloak settling across his shoulders. "Give me a minute or two," he told her, "I just need to let someone here know that I'm headed off-world—and to keep a watch for us, in case we're gone too long."
Teyla had conjured the portal to Hadeeth herself, as she could visualize their destination far more easily than Stephen—though he insisted on passing through the portal first. Bright, clear daylight greeted them, fresh air and a gentle breeze, with not a single sign of the turmoil they had anticipated. She had brought them to the city's edge, for safety and discretion's sake, but the few who saw them didn't seem to mark their sudden appearance as out of the ordinary.
Advancing several steps, Teyla stared at the modest domiciles that marked the outer boundary of her home city. Stephen lagged behind a bit, allowing her the moment to behold that all was indeed well. She tilted her head back as she studied the colorful spires rising in the distance, at the city's center. He came up beside her and laid his hand between her shoulder blades, feeling her breathe evenly, simply waiting for her to decide how they would proceed.
Bright-eyed, she turned to him, smiling amidst tears of relief, "I had feared the worst—yet all is exactly as should be. I am grateful and relieved, but I do not understand the message of my dream." She searched his face for some glimmer of enlightenment, "What can this mean, Stephen?"
He smoothed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away her tears and hoping to soothe her apprehension. "I don't know, honey—but it's a good thing. If all is well right now, your dream had to have been a warning. And the sooner you deliver it, the better off we all will be."
Reassured, Teyla nodded, "Yes, that is the best thing to do—and the only thing that matters right now." She cast her eyes down humbly, and then looked up at him once more. "Will you stay with me, Stephen? The members of our ruling council are sure to have greater faith in my words, should they see a sorcerer of your renown at my side."
"Oh, honey, you don't need to ask." He leaned in to kiss the crown of her head. "You're stuck with me through whatever lies ahead. I believe in you and I'm certain that your leaders will too."
"First, we must seek out my Mother. She will surely grasp the likelihood that what I have dreamt may be a true threat to our world." They were walking on a pedestrian path, which ran along a wide, cobblestone street. Stephen had known from his study of the Ancient One's records of her visits to Hadeeth, that theirs was an agrarian based economy; that Teyla's people had made a choice centuries ago to eschew the sort of technology that was commonplace on Earth, in favor of simplicity—rather like the small communities of Shakers and Amish with which he was familiar—though the comparison ended there. Hadeethan mores were nowhere near as austere as that of Earth's isolated religious communities, for the humble spirituality of Teyla's culture was based upon longstanding philosophical considerations, rather than the belief that they were adhering to a higher power's commands.
Stephen was also well aware that the practical use of magic was as integral a part of Hadeethan daily life, as any scientific discipline. He found the concept of such a culture appealingly fresh, compared with the constant need to keep Earth magic hidden from view; and in observing the citizens going about their daily activities-as he and Teyla traveled to the center of the city-he could easily see that her nature was a positive reflection of her culture.
"At this time of day, we will most likely find her conducting council business." Teyla set a brisk pace, anxious to find her mother. "And beyond sharing the portents of my dream with her, I must also deliver to her the sorrowful news of my father's passing." Stephen draped a consoling arm across her shoulders, noting the hitch in her voice at the fresh reminder of her loss.
Despite how strangely he was clothed, Stephen noted that they encountered very few stares along the way. He guessed it was a combination of general good manners, and a familiarity with the unusual things associated with the use of magic. As they walked, Teyla explained in greater detail the system of government in general use across Hadeeth. About twenty minutes from their arrival point, the stood in the shadow of the People's Citadel.
The stone-built Citadel-the tallest of the spired buildings clustered at the city center—gleamed in the mid-day sun, it's clean, white walls threaded through with veins of glittering pink and sparkling gold. Stephen guessed that the material was some Hadeethan version of marble, perhaps reserved for only the most significant edifices, and marking the Citadel as the all-important seat of government, or as a center of religious and social activity. A broad, flag-stoned square lay before it; brightly colored, canopied stalls and wagon-wheeled carts lined the edges of the square, prompting him to wonder if he and Teyla had arrived on the verge of a festival.
"No, Stephen," she told him, picking up on his thought effortlessly, confirming again the depth of the connection between their minds, "It is a market only, but one boasting the finest of wares to be found for many leagues around. Vendors must prove the quality of their products worthy to be showcased here, and the waiting list is a long one—so that permits to do business here are granted to each merchant for only three full cycles of our moons. But even in that brief a time, they often earn more than a full year's wages, due to the busy traffic here."
As they neared the stairs that led to the wide, arched entrance, Stephen noticed a breathlessness in Teyla's speech, bespeaking her heightened anticipation of reuniting with her mother—and of delivering the unpleasant news. He took her hand to slow her down, "It's okay, Teyla. Stop a moment or two, and just breathe. And lean on me, if you need to." He pressed his lips to the back of her fingers, and then rested them against his cheek.
She looked up at him and nodded, before closing her eyes and drawing several deep breaths. He felt a calm steal over her, and when she opened her eyes she told him, "Your wisdom gives me courage, my love—and you are the strength in my veins." Thus braced, they mounted the stairs together, and passed from the bright, warm sunlight into the cool atrium of the People's Citadel.
Teyla moved swiftly now, sure of her way despite a series of turns and several short flights of stairs that left Stephen at a loss for their true direction. They proceeded down a long hall, with archways into small rooms set at regular intervals. Teyla stopped at one half-way down the hall. "This chamber is Mother's—it serves as an office, of sorts," she explained, her voice hushed to keep from echoing through the length of the hall, "She prepares for Council sessions here, and often meets with citizens who seek her advocacy in matters before the Council." As they moved along, Stephen stopped to duck his head inside the entry, curious as to the character of the room. It was simply furnished, the most striking feature a square table laden with book and scrolls.
They paused before a set of floor length, light-weight drapes, adorned in a geometric pattern of ocean blues and grass greens, with random gold threads woven throughout. The simplicity of the design and the colors employed had a calming effect upon the mind, surely meant as a gentle welcome to those come to do business with the ruling council. Stephen parted the material, allowing Teyla to enter the legislative hall, before following her through.
There were few people inside the spacious chamber, some in conversation across a narrow, semi-circular table. Stephen counted thirteen seats of equal size set around the outside edge of the table. They spotted Moraine, as she concluded a conversation with an elderly man, before gathering several scrolls in her arms, preparing to depart the chamber.
"Mother," Teyla whispered, and sped from Stephen's side, eager now to reach her dearest of family. "Mother," she exclaimed aloud, a world of love and relief in that simple salutation.
Moraine looked up at the sound of Teyla's voice, letting the scrolls fall back onto the table, shocked for a few moments, and then smiling amidst her surprise. "Daughter…Teyla…" she managed a little breathlessly, spreading her arms wide to welcome her child home.
Teyla launched herself into Moraine's embrace, reminding Stephen of the deep bond between them, which had been so beautifully immortalized in marble by Walter Charles. He looked down, allowing the women their unplanned reunion, focusing instead on the mosaic of tiles at his feet, a repeating pattern of blues and greens, with metallic gold highlights, similar to that of the draperies at the archway into the hall.
Moraine held Teyla by her shoulders, gazing indulgently upon her face, "But, Daughter, why have you returned to us before your time?" Stephen would never have expected to hear such gentleness and patience from this imposing sorcereress and leader among her people—but such was Teyla's spirit, that she inspired that in all who met her. "Surely your training is not complete; I had not looked to see you for a season more at least."
Moraine then looked to Stephen, "And what brings a Master of the Mystic Arts to our humble city? If you had sent word ahead, I would have arranged a greeting more befitting a foreign dignitary."
Stephen shook his head, embarrassed at the flattery, "That wouldn't have been necessary, even if this trip had been planned, Mistress Moraine. I'm here because…well, it's best if Teyla explains."
Moraine raised a brow, and turned her full attention back to Teyla, "What explanation can you offer, Daughter? I see worry in the set of your brow." She cupped her palm along Teyla's cheek, a tender gesture that matched her patient query. "Tell me, please, toura lela*-–what troubles you so?"
Teyla looked to him, wide-eyed, as if searching for how to begin. Go on, honey, he thought to her, giving her the barest of nods, trust yourself; you've got this. She squared her chin a bit, her resolve bolstered, and he guessed that she could feel his faith in her, and perhaps the import of his thoughts. Her small, soft smile confirmed his guess.
"I dreamt most dreadfully, Mother. Of danger from the skies, of destruction raining down upon the people. Calamity, disaster, and despair." Teyla, stood, petite and dainty before the regal grace and strength embodied in her mother, and though there was barely a resemblance between the two women, Stephen could see that Teyla's mettle was more than an echo of Moraine's.
For ease of speech, she went on to explain to her mother in Hadeethan, and though he couldn't understand her words, he followed the story she relayed, just by the growth of dismay upon Moraine's face. She questioned Teyla closely, and appearing convinced, hugged her daughter tightly. They turned his way in unison.
"I thank you, Master Strange, for so swiftly bringing Teyla home to warn us of these ill omens. It will be some time until my fellow council members answer a summons to return to the Citadel," she advised him, "It may, in fact, be well past nightfall before all are gathered here."
"Whatever help I can provide is yours, Mistress Moraine," he told her, moving to stand across from her, along the inner curve of the table, "And the resources of Kamar-Taj are at your service, if needed."
Moraine nodded graciously, "I expected your kind offer, Master Strange, and as our need arises, we will be grateful to redeem your promise." She turned to Teyla, and tutted her gently beneath the chin, "For now, Daughter, let us offer what hospitality we can to your mentor. Please see him to our home, while I send for the Council to reconvene."
"Yes, Mother," she replied, sneaking a look his way, and smiling softly.
"A cold lunch will have to do," Moraine informed him, "I hope you can forgive this inadequacy, Master Strange—with more time, I might've provided you with more fitting victuals, and the company of leading members of our community."
Stephen smiled diplomatically, "No need for ceremony on my behalf, Mistress Moraine. I'm just grateful that Teyla's vision hasn't come to pass, and that I may play some small part in keeping your people safe from harm."
Moraine held Teyla aside for a bit longer, issuing her instructions in Hadeethan, some certainly meant for her to see to his ease. The very unexpected prospect of seeing Teyla in the coziness of her own home—and the brief span of privacy that would allow them—had him refraining from a delighted grin. The promise of food and drink paled beside the thought of taking her into his arms, once they'd crossed that threshold.
Teyla had remained a modest arm's length from him, while in her mother's presence, but once they'd left the Citadel behind them, she slid her arm through his, excited to show him the comforts of her home. Having shared the fears of her burden, she was lighter of heart, spritely as she narrated the sights along their journey, and wonderfully soft beside him—making it easy to forget propriety for just a little while. Once behind the door of the trim, stone cottage, set on a quiet cul-de-sac several streets over from the center of the city, Stephen swept her into his arms, kissing her breathless as she boldly clung to him.
But she only allowed a few minutes of this, before she slipped from his embrace. "You must not offer me such temptation, Stephen," Teyla warned him coquettishly, her eyes agleam with a desire equal to his own, "Mother has charged me with preparing a meal from the foodstuffs in our larder. Should she arrive and find that task incomplete—and the fire of your kisses reddening my lips and skin instead-her ire will be mighty."
He grinned, teasing her back, "Then please—give me something constructive to do with my hands, honey; let me help you set the table…or something…anything, really, just to keep them busy enough to keep from touching you."
Teyla batted her eyes and drew an exaggerated sigh, and then took him by the hand, leading him through the dining area, to the small, neatly ordered kitchen. She pulled him along so quickly, that he barely noticed the hearth and the clay oven, before she opened the back door, revealing a garden filled with beds of flowers lovelier than any he had ever seen, and an ornamental pond shaded by several types of fruit trees. "This is beautiful, sweetheart," Stephen proclaimed, not at all surprised to find such a hidden treasure—for he had come to expect such delights where Teyla was concerned.
"Yes…yes, it is. A sanctuary of serenity and beauty. I have spent many happy hours here, beneath the ballon trees." Teyla scooped up a woven reed basket that hung beside the door, and tugged him to the closest tree, pointing out the pale pink fruit on the boughs. "Gather me a dozen of these, at least, and you will taste a sweet refreshment soon enough. Similar to fresh lemonade, but less tart when the ballon are in season, as they are today." Handing him the basket, she tossed her head prettily, certain of her charms, and left him to his task.
Dutifully, Stephen filled the basket nearly full, and then returned to the kitchen. Teyla had traded her gray robe for something lighter, bustling about the kitchen in a gauzy, purple skirt trimmed in lace, topped with a loose, sleeveless blouse. She had gathered her hair into a sloppy bun, to keep it out of the way while she worked, a few stray tendrils curling against the pale skin of her neck. Stephen indulged his imagination a moment, fancying how it would feel lay his large palm against the back of her neck, and tease his fingertips into her hair, to pull her close enough to kiss her endlessly and to feel the press of her firm curves against him through the thin cloth.
Teyla felt his approach, and gave him a sidelong glance, stilling her motion and casting him a gentle reprimand, "Did I not say we must behave, Stephen? I must complete these chores before Mother arrives, and your impure thoughts are much too distracting right now." She took the basket from him, kissed his cheek—unwittingly making him want her all the more-and shooed him back out to the garden, promising him as he went, "Patience now, my love—and later I shall have something astonishing to share with you."
Moraine arrived only minutes after Teyla had finished her preparations, and to Stephen's surprise, she helped Teyla set the table with dinnerware and the meal itself. She ceded the honor of head of the table to him, leaving the women to flank him, across from one another. The crusty, multigrain bread was the perfect complement to the lightly seasoned, smoked meat and the mix of fragrant greens garnished with some peppery, olive-sized, sort of vegetable. The ballon juice was as sweet as Teyla had promised, and Moraine complimented her daughter on her cunning use of keyanna nectar to balance out the saccharine.
Moraine was friendly and solicitous, inquiring about Stephen's experiences in Earth's defense, even before asking after Teyla's education—and once her questions were answered, began to fill her daughter in on noteworthy developments within the city. Stephen felt far more relaxed than he had expected to, put at ease by Moraine's hospitality, and coupled with his own exhaustion, he let his guard down beyond any of his intentions. Later, he would realize that Moraine had been studying him closely all the while, observing him even in his silences, and watching Teyla as well. As innocently as each believed they carried forward, a mother's keen, discerning eye did not miss the subtle clues to the secret between them.
Their meal finished, Moraine arose from table, speaking gently to her daughter, "Teyla, would you please clear away these things. There is a matter of some import which I must discuss with your mentor."
Teyla had already begun the task, answering her mother with love far more than duty. Moraine looked to Stephen, smooth in her request to him, "Would you join me in the garden, Master Strange? It is not meet for Teyla to be privy to this conversation."
Stephen inclined his head respectfully, "I am happy to be at your service, Mistress Moraine." She swept past him with a disarming smile, and he followed her out into the garden.
Moraine moved wordlessly to the far side of the ornamental pool, leaving Stephen curious, and awakening his sense of misgiving, as he followed at a small distance. When she was certain they were clear enough for their voices not to carry into the cottage, she rounded on him, her eyes narrowed wrathfully, so that—too late—he realized why her need for privacy had been so pressing.
"Tell me, Master Strange," she hissed, her polite veneer torn asunder, "Tell me that I have not entrusted you with my daughter's tutelage, only to discover that you are trifling with her affections!"
Stephen fell back a step or two, shocked at the venom in her voice, knowing he must gather his wits quickly now, and give answer enough to placate her wrath—and that he must not hesitate, lest Moraine draw a conclusion fraught with half-truths.
Yet how...how might he answer her without revealing the full depth of his feelings for Teyla? And more importantly, what could he say or do to protect his sweet Teyla from her mother's misplaced ire, over something that seemed to him now to have been destined for them, by years of Teyla's dreaming of his hands, and the wealth of coincidences in the pattern of their lives, well before they'd even met?
* Hadeethan endearment meaning 'little bird'