Title: What Fools These Mortals Be Part 2: Titania
Author: Su Freund
Email:
Website:
Status: Complete
Category: Angst, Drama (and Jack whumping)
Pairings: None
Spoilers: Message in a Bottle, Threshold, Meridian, Abyss
Season: First half of 7
Sequel/Series Info: None
Rating: PG-13
Content Warnings: Contains scenes that might be disturbing to some readers. Allusions to torture and what might be interpreted as activity of a sexual nature. Minor use of bad language.
Summary: While the rest of SG-1 desperately search for clues to their missing leader's whereabouts, O'Neill remains a solitary and tortured prisoner of unknown, strange, and incomprehensible forces with no real memory of who or what he is
Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2004 Su Freund
File Size: 54 KB
Archive: My site, Jackfic yes, SJD yes, Gateworld, FanFiction Net
Author's Note:
1. Thanks to William Shakespeare for the title, and the use of some of his words throughout. This is not a sequel to 'Hell is Murky' but could be considered as the 2nd of a 'Shakespeare Series' of stand alone fics.
2. Thanks also to AnnieB for the use of her wonderful illustration of Jack for this fic. She has done such a good job with the original screen cap of Jack. To see this lovely book cover created from her work by Fulinn28 go here.
Her original art can be found in the Various Creators gallery on the site.
3. And last, but certainly far from least, thanks to Bonnie for her beta of this fic. Her comments on my original draft version led to many radical changes which have definitely improved it for the better.
What Fools These Mortals Be Part 2: Titania
SG-1 retraced the steps they had taken with O'Neill, which happily led them towards the ruins Daniel hoped might help them. Progress was slow. They scoured the area as they walked, the two accompanying members of SG-9 team being the additional pairs of eyes they hoped might help them meet their goal; clues to the Colonel's location. The remaining two from SG-9 waited patiently, guarding the gate and their retreat from danger.
They had found nothing on their way to the ruins and Daniel was hopeful that they would find something there. Carter was less optimistic that it would help but said nothing of her fears, keeping her own counsel just as the Colonel might in this situation. Morale was important, she had to remain positive.
Her CO always seemed to have faith that they would prevail; if he didn't have the answers to their salvation, someone else on his team would. He never doubted it and was sorely disappointed when his belief was shaken. She felt sure that inside he must been as full of doubt and fear as the rest of them; he was only human after all, even if he sometimes appeared to be so much more than that.
His determination, encouragement and faith had probably saved them many times over. Even his bad moods acted as a spur, if only to spite him and prove him wrong. She wondered if he used that ploy deliberately sometimes, confident that he was much more that he tried to make himself appear; cunning and devious perhaps, but quite brilliant. He would be the last person to acknowledge that and many were fooled by the façade he maintained.
While deriding his own intelligence, he bolstered that of his team mates and appeared reliant upon it, meanwhile his brain worked overtime, thinking his way out, looking for a weakness to exploit to their advantage. It was also effective camouflage against their enemies, making them over confident and prone to the error he awaited; the little chink in the armour that he could widen into a gaping hole, using their arrogance against them. He was not a man one should underestimate. That was a lesson she'd learned early.
Carter admired that about him, respected it more than he would ever know or was likely to find out. If she ever became half the leader he was she would be very proud. And if she did, it would be due to what he'd taught her and she would be forever in his debt; as if she wasn't already.
Daniel studied the ruins and was delighted when he found writings, exploring them curiously as if he should be familiar with the language, and making a pictorial record with the video camera as he worked.
"Well Daniel, how long?" Carter asked, impatiently
"Have you any idea how much you sound like Jack sometimes, Sam?" He retorted, his ire at her impatience spoken in his tone.
Sam threw him a nasty look and he wondered why people thought he could work miracles. This was an alien language he was looking at here. Why didn't they ever give him a break? Didn't Sam understand he was just as worried about Jack's welfare as she was?
"Come on Daniel, times a wasting."
"Sam, I'm doing my best, ok? More haste less speed and all that." He shrugged.
"Huh, don't say it, it'll take as long as it takes, right?"
"Scissors, paper...?" He quipped, deliberately reminding her of the often child like behaviour of their missing team mate, and they both laughed, easing the tension. The two members of SG-9 looked puzzled, not understanding the exchange, while Teal'c understood every word but remained stone faced.
"MajorCarter is correct, DanielJackson," he contributed, "time is indeed pressing. O'Neill eludes our grasp and the longer this remains true, the less likely it is we will find him again."
"We'll find him Teal'c, we have to." Carter replied, with more confidence than she felt.
"Furlings." Daniel said.
"What?" Carter asked.
"The language; it's Furling."
"This was a Furling planet?"
"I guess so."
"So where does that get us?" She enquired.
"Ummm... precisely nowhere right now, but it might. It's something, isn't it?" He said hopefully.
"Yes Daniel. It's something alright. Maybe the Furlings took him."
"But they aren't here anymore."
"Maybe they are still here. We know nothing about them Daniel. We've seen stranger things. The ascended are incorporeal, you know that more than most, " She smiled, pleased that Daniel was with them once more and actively on their side, "perhaps the Furlings are too?"
This was turning into the sort of exchange that got their creative juices flowing and finding answers. That pleased Carter, happy while they were still able to do something constructive in seeking their CO.
O'Neill tried to suppress his despondency, knowing that they were bringing that gloom down on him and it was not self inflicted. It was harder than he hoped. He seemed trapped in thoughts of her embrace, the loss of her exquisite company.
Standing to look around, he idly wondered how much time had passed. It was impossible to tell and he didn't really care. He would live only for the moment that his love came to him again, whether she bring him agony or ecstasy; whatever she chose. He was hers to obey. He existed for her whim and he gloried in it.
At least he knew why he was here now. To serve her, worship her, love her. He suddenly felt deliriously happy that this was so. A good reason for existence. He could ask for nothing better. What he had to do was important; be hers and only hers. Titania! Given the absence of an alternative, calling her that seemed as logical as anything. He still wondered about the big circle, though, and its significance.
Realising he had the opportunity to see himself he thought to look into the lake but was fearful of what he might find.
"What do you see? What? Do you see an ass' head of your own, do you?" He said aloud, quoting from the play that kept springing to his mind; Bottom's words.
If he was to be Bottom to the wonderful Titania he guessed he ought to know about it, so he looked. This was him? His grey hair was wet so he could not see its true colour. He studied the face. It looked well worn and rugged. He thought his guess at 50 or so was probably accurate and wondered whether he was handsome, figuring he wasn't too bad looking.
He had decent eyes; dark chocolate brown. His cheekbones were chiselled, which he thought seemed ok. Lines were etched into his face showing both age and experience. That was fine too because it was as it should be. He was curious as to whether his lips were sensuous and pouted them. What the hell, Titania obviously thought so and that was all that mattered; she wanted him.
He realised he had a haunted look. Why? He was happy. He could stay here forever. Is that what he wanted? He began to question it. At one point he'd believed there was something important to do. Surely he must serve a greater purpose. Was there a greater purpose than pleasing her? He had wanted to find the circle, knowing it was also important. Had he given up? Had she entrapped him?
Rising from the water, he sat on the bank, feeling chilly. A fire, he'd make a fire. Despite his wetness he put on his clothes figuring he shouldn't be wandering around naked. Although he seemed to be totally alone, one should be prepared. Being naked didn't seem prepared for anything much.
He wandered into the surrounding woodland to find suitable wood to fuel the fire, and something to use as tinder and kindling. How the hell did he know what he was looking for? What the heck O'Neill, just accept that you know and get on with it.
He had a few matches but, if he was here long enough, would have to find an alternative when they ran out. So he decided to keep an eye out for something suitable to make a fire-plow, unless he was lucky enough to find some flint. He might be able to get a spark from his knife. A fire-plow was a lot of hard work; rubbing a hardwood shaft against a softer wood base. It was kind of like rubbing two sticks together but more sophisticated, and it worked; after a lot of hard effort.
While he searched for the wood he thought about other things he might need to survive out here. Perhaps he should take advantage of the wood and collect some choice pieces while he could, plus something to carry it with, or in. What if he woke up tomorrow and he was somewhere else? He had a knife, always useful, and pretty sharp and lethal too, he'd determined. Bow and arrows? Spear for fishing? Or maybe some sort of line, make some hooks? That wouldn't do him much good if he ended up in a desert tomorrow.
Once more he wished he had something to carry water in, the fundamental of any survival kit, and hoped he might find something that inspired him as he looked around. He kept thinking he should have a gun but wondered why he would carry one of those day to day? What had he done before he came here? How did he know all this stuff? He hated that he had more questions than answers.
"Well if it's Furlings it can't be that bad right?" Daniel posited, "they were allied with the Asgard."
"This means nothing DanielJackson," Teal'c responded, "because we know nothing of them now. Why are they no longer allied? Perhaps they were expelled from the alliance because they turned to the dark side."
"Dark side?" Daniel retorted, "this isn't Star Wars Teal'c."
"That you choose to demean my argument does not make it any less valid."
"I wasn't trying to demean your argument Teal'c..." He got no chance to finish as Carter snapped at them.
"For Christ's sake stop arguing you two. Until we know otherwise, we assume the Colonel is in danger. Alright?"
That intervention checked both men into silence as they could not help but acknowledge the truth of it. Teal'c literally bowed to her common sense and Daniel looked shamefaced.
"I'm sorry Sam. Of course, you're right. None of us will be happy until we have him safely home with us."
"Right!" She said, satisfied, "So what do we do with this information?
Both men looked perplexed, unable to find an adequate answer.
His thoughts turned to Titania and he started to tremble. He wanted her. Come to me my love, he whispered to the breeze, but there was no response. She was his only friend and solace from woe, and he craved what she could provoke in him. He firmly believed that it was like nothing he had experienced before, although he had no firm memory that could confirm or deny those thoughts.
Was she here lurking in the wood, watching him? The notion thrilled him and he looked around hoping to see... something.
"There sleeps Titania some time of the night, lull'd in these flowers with dances and delight," he quoted aloud, half expecting to come across Titania asleep in her bower behind every tree, her entourage watching over her.
The prospect of her touch made his body quiver with anticipation and he tried to turn his mind away from his desperate longing by concentrating in the task at hand. Come to me. Want you, need you. No, no, no! Struggling within himself for the will to control it, he won a brief respite.
After a while he returned to the clearing by the lake and lay down his haul of wood. He would need more but this was sufficient for his immediate purposes. This place was exposed and he figured he would have to find some proper shelter soon, if it existed. He needed a better means to protect and defend himself but he was not sure it was worth it. If he fell asleep he could wake up anywhere. Fearing what would become of him if he slept, he considered trying to stay awake, but knew it would send him insane in time. Of course, his logic told him that he was already insane and that, even if he wasn't, she would break him eventually.
Efficiently he built a fire and lit it. His stomach rebelled against it's emptiness and he felt light headed at his lack of proper nourishment. How long had he been here, and since he had eaten? Apart from the energy bar he had no recollection of food ever having crossed his lips, but he didn't have memory of anything much. Loneliness overcame him, along with a feeling of powerlessness and gloom. He tried to push it away but it sapped his already depleted strength.
'Are you worthy? Are you worthy?'
No, no, no, please! He begged, whimpering pathetically. The knot of fear within him grew and tears of anguish washed his cheeks once more. He had no control and that prospect was more terrifying than anything.
'Are you worthy? Are you worthy?'
The sobbing was forlorn, taking control of his body and convulsing and contorting him. There was nothing else. Torture, depression, tears. Was this his life, all it was? Was he condemned to eternal loss and loneliness, depression and bitterness? That sunk him still further. His hunger tried to fight it, force him into action, but it was useless. He was firmly in the grip of blackness and despair.
Teal'c, Carter, Daniel. The names popped into his head but meant nothing. He tried to grasp them as if they might rescue him from this place, pull him away from the dark abyss. But he couldn't hold onto them and sank still further into the dark and lonely place that was inundating his senses.
"God help me!" he cried through the tears, "Someone please help me!" He knew he couldn't live like this and considered walking into the lake, taking his knife and slitting his wrists open, or running it over his own throat. A quick end, not this torture. He found himself getting up to do it.
No, no! Fight this! I don't really want to die, please don't make me die, he pleaded. Where was his love when he needed her? My darling, please help me.
He tried to make himself angry, to battle against his foe. They were forcing these tears from him, deliberately manipulating his depression. He was uncertain whether he truly did anything of his own volition anymore, but he had to hold that hope, the possibility that he could win in the end, if he was determined enough.
He started to curse himself for his weakness. He had let her distract him from his main goal, getting home, wherever that was. He must be stronger and resist both the torture visited upon him and the ecstasy of her embrace. So he suppressed his despondency with total ruthlessness andfelt the depression start to lift. However, it left him drained, his muscles aching from the sobbing. He was filled with nothingness.
Realising that the fire was dying down he mechanically put more wood on it. The flames started to flicker and dance, thawing his frost. It was still light and he continued to be hungry. He had to take action; relieve that gnawing ache in his stomach that told him it was way too empty. His actions required no thought and like an automaton he picked up the wood he had chosen to make into a spear and took his knife to shape it thus. It was as if someone else was completing these tasks, not him. He was an empty shell, a husk.
Wading into the clear water, he stood patient and still, waiting for the fish to get used to his presence. They swarmed around him invitingly. The spear was effective, and his aim was true, although he could hardly recall making the movements that impaled the fish onto his makeshift weapon. Careless that he was wet again, fully clothed this time, he returned to the fire and prepared, then cooked, the fish, salivating at its smell as its flesh was engulfed by the flames. He almost couldn't wait for it to be cooked but was vaguely aware that half cooked fish might not be good for him.
It was worth the wait, tasted excellent, and he certainly needed the food. The skin was burned but the inside tender and moist and he felt replete and contented. The fire had warmed him for a while but the chill was starting to bite again. He thought once more about finding some form of shelter for the night but was weary. Adding fuel to the fire he watched the flames dance a graceful ballet, and the pictures they brought to his mind.
Thoughts of Teal'c come to him. Did he really know someone with a gold tattoo on his head or was it a fancy? Then Carter and Daniel Jackson, the blonde short hair of one, the glasses of the other. Faces, he could remember their faces, but they still meant nothing to him. He couldn't connect them in his mind to anything else. There was nothing else to connect them to, although the large circle continued to haunt him. It had writing on it but he didn't understand what it meant and he wondered if these three people he imagined were in some way connected to it.
The voices woke him up.
'Are you worthy? Are you worthy?'
How the hell should I know? He shouted mentally, then aloud, standing to 'face' them.
"For crying out loud, I don't know! Don't ask me! I don't even know who I am!"
Yes I do; I'm Colonel Jack O'Neill, leader of SG-1, he thought. Only trouble is, I can't recall what SG-1 is. But I'm getting there. It must have something to do with Teal'c, Carter and Daniel, right? Were they collectively SG-1? Yeah, that was it, a team called SG-1. He led them. Led them doing what? Garbage collection? G could stand for garbage, right? Seattle Garbage Collection 1? SGC? He laughed at the notion but for all he knew he was right on the money.
'Are you worthy? Are you worthy?'
A searing pain burst through his head and he fell to his knees. Another burst of agony hit and he gripped his head. Christ! What are you punishing me for? What have I done wrong? Don't you love me anymore? A soft caress across his face told him that she was there, but the torment continued unabated. His brain was on fire, a lump of molten rock in his head. Charred and totally useless. Lightening bolts flashed across his eyes, or that is how they appeared. As they flashed they sharpened the anguish still further. There was no enjoyment in this, no rapture. Stop! Please help me my love, he prayed, but she didn't.
He was going to die, he knew it for sure. His brain couldn't take any more of this. It would explode inside his head, which sounded nasty, but quick. Please let it be quick and let it be now. Please! I'll do anything, anything you want. Again, at his promise, it stopped, but he was no surer about what he had promised this time than he had been before.
He lay short of breath trying to recover from the assault. Almost immediately it was followed by another. This time it was his stomach. He curled up, clutching that part of him but it was not going to help. Nothing was going to help.
'Are you worthy? Are you worthy?'
The sound was deafening, the attack on his ears unbearable. He thought his eardrums would shatter and raised his hands to cover them but, as the noise was inside his head, this did nothing except make them echo more loudly.
At that moment the heavens opened and it started to rain. It came down fast and heavy, soaking Jack within seconds. Then he heard thunder, saw lightening. Real lightening this time. His physical torment was still relentless and he could hardly move; was totally defenceless. The raging winds whipped hard against him, buffeting his body with water. He couldn't even hear himself screaming above the noise. Why is this happening to me? Has my life always been like this? No, SG-1; he was sure they were real. Positive.
He lay helpless under the thunderous malevolence of the skies. The rain was unremitting, it's sharp drops like daggers on his skin, flaying him alive. This was no ordinary rain. It felt like acid burning at his skin tearing at his body and clothing alike. It would leave nothing behind but his skeletal remains. Colonel Jack O'Neill would no longer exist in this world, or any other.
He tried curling up in a ball to protect himself but its unrelenting violence seared into him. The lightening cracked, it's sound assaulting his ears. He tasted blood and dared to open his eyes, putting his hand to his mouth. Definitely blood, he could see it seep through his skin, was covered by it. He lay in a red tinged pool of mud - soil, rain and blood.
'Oh spite, oh hell!'
The words appeared in his head and he realised that they too were from Midsummer Night's Dream and laughed somewhat hysterically at this thought. Why that play? It was a comedy for crying out loud! What he was going through now? This was a tragedy. He was Bottom re-written as King Lear, minus the faithless daughters.
Fear gripped him once more and he heard himself scream even above the relentless noise of the thunder. The tears were forced from his eyes by his mysterious attackers and mingled with the blood, the salt stinging the open wounds on his face. I'm merely a plaything for the powers that own me, he thought, despair engulfing him and sending him to his nadir.
I cannot let them defeat me! Sheer force of will started to beat back his despondency. Mentally he took hold of the depression and despair visited on him by his captors and wrapped it up tightly into a small parcel within his mind, pushing it aside and opening another small parcel to replace it; the will to survive. You will not win! He screamed inside, pumping himself up to fight it. Fight your fear O'Neill, fight, fight! He had to overcome his terror or he was lost.
As the small parcel unfurled, it allowed him to force movement from his battered, bleeding, and tortured body. Shelter, I must find at least some small shelter. Blindly crawling in his hands and knees he willed himself towards the relative shelter of the surrounding woods. Maybe the rain would not be so unrelenting there.
Squinting through the blood and sweat that blocked his vision, he could see that the trees were still standing, undamaged by the power of the 'rain' that was burning into him. It looked like his only shot, so he took it, painfully slowly, with no strength to get to his feet and run the distance. With each drop of the bombarding water he flinched and quailed, but the small parcel he'd opened gave him the strength he had been lacking. Screw you! He believed he might have cried that aloud but wasn't sure.
Reaching the edge of the tree line, he forced himself onwards, further into the shelter he had chosen. The thunder and lightening continued unabated, but the impact of the rain was lessened by the thick branches and leaves overhead. If lightening hit one of these trees he might be fried, but he was dead anyway if he did nothing. This was the lesser of the evils that he could choose. He wasn't exactly overwhelmed by choices, and could only take this course, hoping it was the right one.
Deeper into the forest he crawled, agony shooting through him with each slow movement, blood leaving a trail in his wake. God help me, he thought, I don't want to die. I want to live, find out who I really am, find my way home, wherever that is. The circle was the answer, he knew that with certainty now. He had to find the circle.
At last he reached deep enough into the forest that few drops of the rain made it down through the trees. I don't get it, he thought, the trees should be dissolving with this acid rain that burns into my flesh. This isn't real, none of it is real. Only the pain and fear are real and I can defeat them. I can win! The adrenaline that his small parcel had provided to guide his way was depleted. He was exhausted and allowed himself to stop at last, in this sheltered place, collapsing in a heap of his own blood, but still holding onto a kernel of hope within his ravaged soul.
"I'm not giving up, you hear me?" He cried to whatever powers ruled in this place, the fairy folk, "You are gonna have to try a lot harder than that to kill Jack O'Neill!"
One thing he knew for certain about himself was that he was a stubborn son of a gun, not a man who gave up easily or without one heck of a fight. The lack of memories from his life before this did not stop him from having this revelation. Somehow he realised that he had faced poor odds before, and won, and could do the same thing now.
The noise of the thunder died away, and the lightening ceased, along with the rain. It was gone. He had to ask himself whether it was his will that had defeated it, and believed the answer was yes. His own mind was his greatest weapon against these captors.
But his exhaustion weakened him too much and the small parcel he had made of his depression and despair started to open of it's own accord. He had used all his will to get to this place and could no longer keep it tightly wrapped.
Carter and Daniel continued to argue the toss, while Daniel peered at the writings, trying to decipher them. Teal'c felt he could contribute nothing so remained silent until he believed he could. Smith and Duncan, from SG-9 kept watch, and their own counsel, believing that SG-1 would find a solution eventually and they would all go home either with the answer, or even better, with the Colonel.
'He is safe. He is Safe.'
Teal'c heard those words and looked around him, wondering where they came from. His team mates seemed oblivious, continuing their speculations. Had they not heard it? Was this for his ears alone?
'He is alive. He is alive."
"What have you done with him, where is he?" He asked in his head, hardly expecting a cogent answer.
'Test. Test.'
"He takes part in a test?" Teal'c continued to probe for answers.
'Yes. Yes.'
"And what is this test?"
'Special. Special.'
"He is special?" It wasn't the first time he had heard this said of O'Neill and it came as no surprise to Teal'c. He'd noticed that when they first met, or he would not be here now. "What do you do to him? Will he come back?"
'Yes. Yes.'
Teal'c wasn't sure which of his questions this answered.
"You will return him to us?"
'Yes. Yes.'
"He was chosen for this test because he is special?" He decided one question at a time was safest.
'Yes. Yes.'
"What is the test?"
'Life. Life."
This alarmed Teal'c.
"Is he in danger?"
'Yes, you too. Yes, you too.'
"Tell me what I wish to know."
'He will be returned.' Once voice this time.
"Alive and well?"
'We know not. You will find nothing useful here.' Said the one voice again, then both continued, one echoing the other, 'Leave. Leave. Danger. Danger.'
"MajorCarter, we must leave this place." Teal'c had a sense of foreboding about those words.
"Teal'c?" She looked at him, surprised and puzzled.
"We are in danger. We will find nothing more here. I suggest we hasten back to the gate."
"Teal'c? Why, what's happened?"
"They are here."
"The Furlings?" Asked Daniel.
"I know not who they are DanielJackson, but they are here and wish us to depart. They have spoken to me."
"Ummm... spoken to you?"
"Do you disbelieve me DanielJackson?"
"Of course not Teal'c, but why didn't we hear them?"
"They were inside of my head. Make haste."
Carter and Daniel both thought Teal'c looked slightly perturbed, if not a little spooked. This was unusual for the stoic Jaffa. They knew better than to ignore his words. Teal'c spoke infrequently but when he did it normally meant something.
"What about the Colonel?" Asked Carter.
"I will inform you as we progress to the gate, Major Carter."
"Ok, lets gear up and get out of here. Got everything you need Daniel?"
He nodded a response, carefully placing the video camera in his rucksack, and they started to walk as quickly as possible towards the gate while Teal'c related his brief and strange conversation.
You are totally alone and helpless; you are dying here, he thought, scared to open his eyes again to see how badly he was damaged; to face the blood he knew must lay thickly all around him. Every inch of his body was on fire with the pain. Did he have any skin left? All hope stopped there and only desolation remained. Let me die right here and now. No more of this, no more.
A whisper of comfort brushed against him gently. No my love, I cannot let you go yet, it said. It was her; Titania. Help me, he begged again, please help me. The wisps of mist caressed him, slowly easing his aches and anguish, and he was suddenly enfolded in paroxysms of pleasure.
The stinging at the surface of his skin turned to a tingle of delight, and then it moved deeper within him making him gasp aloud. Yes, my love, yes! A warm glow grew within him from his feet up through the rest of his body, turning into a glorious fieriness which overpowered his whole being. He reached out to try and grasp his ethereal lover wanting to enclose her in his embrace, face lit with a smile as she teased and danced within his arms.
This was far more powerful than what had been before; more intoxicating and exciting. Great waves of elation and contentment overwhelmed him and he groaned and twisted in her warmth, unable to do or think anything but react to her touch. Love you, love you, love you, he whispered, want you, want you, want you and he trembled in anticipation of what was to come. God yes! I'm yours and only yours.
The sweet tension mounted within him bringing him close to resolution but she refused to release him, continuing her slow tease and seduction so he thought he might not be able to bare the strain any longer. She possessed him more utterly than ever before and it gave him a sense of overwhelming joyfulness. He could not say how long he hung at the edge of the precipice but it was a very long time. The agonising ecstasy was like a drug and he was fully addicted now. His breath was ragged and he could feel her own responding sigh in his ear, and then moving across his face and neck. Oh! This was so much more, so intense.
Suddenly she released him, sucking him dry. He lay helpless, stunned by the beautiful freedom she provided but once again wanting her embrace to continue. This time she held onto him as he gave his soul up to her. Safe, he felt safe in her arms and her comfort was a balm to his battered body and mind. While she was here he was no longer alone and lonely. This time he could almost imagine her lying next to him, holding him in her arms and whispering her love for him.
Once more, my love, she said, possessing him again when he thought he was depleted and could give her nothing. This time there was an exquisite torture mingled with the delirium and desire. He screamed with the joyful suffering that overcame him. Yes my love, he whispered, you can take everything, all of me, until I have nothing left to give.
The pain and pleasure were so closely intertwined that he could no longer distinguish them. It was wondrous; spectacular feelings coursed though him, each nerve ending, and every inch of him. It ended in a rush of pure white agony that left him drained of the last vestiges of free will and energy. Bliss; total and utter paradise!
Then he was left alone and dispossessed, once more unable to move or even think. Nothing. He was nothing, no one, totally alone, and he bewailed that fate.
When he woke again the sun was beating down on him, hot and powerful. It permeated his closed eyelids and warmed his defeated body and soul. Finally he plucked up courage to open them, holding his hand to shade them from the bright intensity. Sun! So such a thing did exist. It was not just a figment of his dementia. He knew he must be mad; this could not be real. But what was reality? He was at a loss and felt a crushing sadness at his lack of knowledge and understanding. He had remembered so much, his name, the circle, names and faces - but it was nothing.
Remembering the rain which had cut and flayed his skin, he was scared to look at himself. When he did, he was surprised and pleased to find himself whole. No bloody pool, no red mess of open veins and capillaries. He breathed a sigh of relief, and then turned to look at his surroundings. Desert; yellow sand dune after yellow sand dune met his eyes, never-ending. Christ! He had thought about desert sometime before. Was it yesterday? The passing of time eluded him. Had he wished for this, promised to be here during one of his pleas for mercy, his bargains with his captors? Had his thoughts of a desert brought him here?
Once more he was left with nothing but his knife and the matches. His mouth was dry and he had no means of quenching his thirst.
Think, Jack, think! Dazed and confused, he didn't know what to do. Then he was filled with a clarity once again. He must fight for control, for survival. If he did not he would either die, or become enslaved forever. He wanted freedom, to know who he was, where he came from. The way in which she liberated him was wondrous but he required his own brand of freedom. Thoughts of resistance freed him from his loneliness and a steely determination overtook him. He was Jack O'Neill; he would win and become himself again, whoever that was.
So when she came again to possess him, he fought her. The bliss tried to invade him. No! he cried, I won't let you take me this time. You can't have me. I'm not yours, I'm mine. I belong to me! His struggle was a long and arduous; hard fought. Her caress touched his soul to it's dark depths, filling him with desire and longing. No! He would not let it defeat him. Determinedly he pushed the feeling away, trying to suppress his instincts to give way to the ravishment. I won't let you take me! The blissful misery receded slightly but still maintained a grip.
Go away and leave me alone. I won't be your slave, he screamed to his internal voice, I choose freedom! That thought brought another flash of memory into his mind. The man with the gold tattoo on his forehead that he had recalled before - Teal'c? He was struggling with his demons and Jack was at his side providing support. Another man was there, also with a gold tattoo, helping his friend to overcome the devils that he fought so hard to defeat. Teal'c had spoken those words, and won.
Jack was close to exhaustion with fighting her but would not let himself succumb, albeit that his body craved the drug she provided to fulfil his need and desire. This man Teal'c, he called him friend, of this he was sure. If he was here now he would be helping O'Neill to survive this, to fight. The notion gave Jack the will to continue his fight alone, overcome his fatigue.
'Freedom and pain my love?' She whispered.
An agony shot through him like fire. Crap!
"If that's my choice yes!" This time he screamed the words aloud.
Her gentle wisps of love touched him briefly, easing the pain and providing consolation and a short moment of total joy. Letting him know what he could choose, making him aware of what he was missing. Still he resisted and was struck with a jolt of pain that made his whole body screech in terror; she would tear him apart. It felt like she was doing just that. He was being ripped into small pieces and soon there would be nothing identifiable left.
The wonder of her gentle touch and the horror of her revenge for his rejection fought over him, soothing him with love, and bringing brief respites of ecstasy and great happiness; torturing him with agonising torments, battering him with relentless suffering and wretchedness. He was defiant. If I have to choose the pain to get the freedom, do your worst witch.
Stubbornly he tried to think of something else to help beat it back. He wanted her so badly, longed for her touch, and the pain was slowly but surely killing him. It would be all too easy to surrender and let her have him forever. It would be stupendous, wonderful and joyous but he would lack all free will. He couldn't allow that.
He kept the face of Teal'c in the forefront of his mind, and then conjured a vision of those other people he knew to be friends; Carter and Daniel. The images of the three fortified him as his mind flashed visions of the support they had offered.
He recalled again that hot and painful metal spear pinning him to the wall, but this time Teal'c was beside him, never leaving his side or wavering in his support and friendship. He thought of the acid that had burned through his body, rotting his insides, and Daniel beside him in a small cell, trying to comfort and support him against the pain and sorrow. It was a screwy vision, it seemed Daniel could not possibly have been there, but it was so real.
Carter. Somehow he knew she was special to him. She was not the blonde of his earlier sexual fantasy, he supposed that to be Sarah, a girlfriend or wife. But Carter had supported him through a number of years, his right hand and someone he would find it hard to do without. She was the Sam whose name he had recalled, alongside Sarah's. Carter had worked hard to bring him home when he was lost, held his hand in comfort, loyally followed his lead, even if she disagreed with his plans. She had saved his sorry ass a few times, whether he had deserved it or not.
If these three thought he was worth fighting for, worth saving, then he could think no less of himself. He would fight to get home to them, just as they would try to bring him home if they could. He concentrated on his vision of them. Their faces sat before his eyes smiling their support and friendship. He saw them clearly and knew that they would be there for him, would help him, if they could find a way.
"Death is freedom and I die free!" He cried, knowing he was near that final end, struggling for life.
Again, his words brought the big man Teal'c to the forefront of his mind, the towering strength of the man's determination to be free bolstering his own waning capacity for endurance and helping him beat back the terror. Rather die free than a slave, that was some thought to have at this moment and he silently thanked his friend for it.
These visions of his friends filled him with a force of will stronger than Titania's caress. She hissed in his ear as if he had hurt her. Go! He screamed inside, and she was unexpectedly gone.
Jack gasped for air, totally shattered and spent. Sweat poured from him as he lay there trying to recover. Hell! His heart sank at her absence, but he felt free and luxuriated in it. No pain. God that felt good!
"The course of true love never did run smooth." He whispered, again quoting from that mystical fable that Shakespeare had written so long ago.
Now to be truly free and go home, he thought eventually as he called on hidden reserves, and rose to strike out across the desert. The dunes seemed interminable and his pace was slowed by the shifting sands. His thirst was dominating and he knew he could die out there in the heat. There was no shelter and the winds blew sand in his face, causing the sun to beat down on him more fiercely, and he felt lonely and abandoned.
TBC in Part 3: Oberon