Third Time's the Charm
by Miss Becky
Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course. If they were, I'd never give them back.
Summary: What happens just before our heroes ride off into the sunset.
Rating: G
Note: This is the third and final of my little fill-in-the-blanks stories for the film. Thanks to everyone who's given me feedback on these.
****
They ran from the destruction, and there were three of them. Three had gone in, but it was a different three who came out.
There was just no accounting for how the world worked, thought the fourth man.
He watched them approach, seeing their terror in how they ran, casting glances over their shoulders, arms flailing. They were brave and strong, but even the bravest were allowed to feel fear.
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, grimacing. One of the mummies had scored a blow, only a glancing one, but enough to force him to bind the wound. He had picked up a loose wrapping from one of them, but this was only a temporary solution -- the fabric was probably crawling with ancient, rotting filth. When he returned to the Med-jai, he would have a healer examine the wound.
As the three drew closer, Ardeth could see the blood on O'Connell's shirt, and hoped the American was not badly injured. He wondered if he would ever know what had happened in the City, and how they had freed Evelyn Carnahan and killed the Creature.
He wondered if they felt any sadness to think he was dead. Had they striven to make his sacrifice meaningful?
Sorrow made him close his eyes. The curator had sacrificed himself for his leader, and this was one thing Ardeth would never grow used to. But that was the burden of a leader: to take the sacrifices of others and give them meaning, even if every fiber of your being cried out against it.
They were almost upon him, and he watched as they first slowed, then stumbled to a halt, turning around to watch Hamunaptra's death throes. They didn't see him, and the Med-jai permitted himself a rare luxury: he leaned down and touched Jonathan Carnahan's shoulder, knowing full well it would scare the hell out of the man.
His people would be surprised. It wasn't often their leader smiled or showed any sense of humor at all.
They were delighted to see him, and he thanked them gravely. They would never be rewarded for what they had done, nor would the world ever know that they owed a debt to these three, but Ardeth knew. The Med-jai would know.
"May Allah smile upon you always," he said in parting. He turned the camel, heading north, away from the City.
"Stay out of trouble!" the American called, and Ardeth smiled to himself.
As long as O'Connell stayed away from Hamunaptra, he didn't think that would be much of a problem.
****
END
by Miss Becky
Disclaimer: They're not mine, of course. If they were, I'd never give them back.
Summary: What happens just before our heroes ride off into the sunset.
Rating: G
Note: This is the third and final of my little fill-in-the-blanks stories for the film. Thanks to everyone who's given me feedback on these.
****
They ran from the destruction, and there were three of them. Three had gone in, but it was a different three who came out.
There was just no accounting for how the world worked, thought the fourth man.
He watched them approach, seeing their terror in how they ran, casting glances over their shoulders, arms flailing. They were brave and strong, but even the bravest were allowed to feel fear.
He flexed the fingers of his right hand, grimacing. One of the mummies had scored a blow, only a glancing one, but enough to force him to bind the wound. He had picked up a loose wrapping from one of them, but this was only a temporary solution -- the fabric was probably crawling with ancient, rotting filth. When he returned to the Med-jai, he would have a healer examine the wound.
As the three drew closer, Ardeth could see the blood on O'Connell's shirt, and hoped the American was not badly injured. He wondered if he would ever know what had happened in the City, and how they had freed Evelyn Carnahan and killed the Creature.
He wondered if they felt any sadness to think he was dead. Had they striven to make his sacrifice meaningful?
Sorrow made him close his eyes. The curator had sacrificed himself for his leader, and this was one thing Ardeth would never grow used to. But that was the burden of a leader: to take the sacrifices of others and give them meaning, even if every fiber of your being cried out against it.
They were almost upon him, and he watched as they first slowed, then stumbled to a halt, turning around to watch Hamunaptra's death throes. They didn't see him, and the Med-jai permitted himself a rare luxury: he leaned down and touched Jonathan Carnahan's shoulder, knowing full well it would scare the hell out of the man.
His people would be surprised. It wasn't often their leader smiled or showed any sense of humor at all.
They were delighted to see him, and he thanked them gravely. They would never be rewarded for what they had done, nor would the world ever know that they owed a debt to these three, but Ardeth knew. The Med-jai would know.
"May Allah smile upon you always," he said in parting. He turned the camel, heading north, away from the City.
"Stay out of trouble!" the American called, and Ardeth smiled to himself.
As long as O'Connell stayed away from Hamunaptra, he didn't think that would be much of a problem.
****
END