Title: Through My Eyes
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst, Daniel/Sha'uri ship
Summary: Sha'uri reflects on her life.
A/N: I don't think there are enough stories from Sha'uri's point of view, she is a much neglected character in the Stargate Universe. This fic will look at her thoughts and feelings throughout the movie and series. No promises it will get finished anytime soon, though ;).
I was named for the desert roses that bloomed the season of my birth, signalling the end of a drought that had plagued Abydos for as long as many could remember. The oasis was replenished, and the sha'urai grew along the banks, spilling their red blooms and sweet fragrance across the desert. My mother hung them above my crib, and sang to me with the voices of her ancestors, the voices of her people and my father's. She sang to honour Ra, whose brilliance shone down on us from the heavens, who had gifted to her a daughter. I was the first born of the House of Kasuf, and according to my mother, a sign of the good fortune, of a new beginning.
It was a bountiful harvest that year, our few crops replenished by the end of the drought. Ra smiled upon us, and the men did not have to toil so hard in the mines. They came home to their wives early, and many children were born in the next few seasons. My little brother was among them. Named for my great-grandfather, Skarra was quick and impish, even as a child. I remember holding him after his birth – no more than a child of four myself – and seeing myself reflected in his shining brown eyes. My brother and I were always close, even as we grew. He was always protective of me, and I of him. The others my age never seemed to understand me – I was different. But Skarra was like me, was the only one who I believed truly knew me.
That is, until the strangers came.
There was no real reason for me to be at the mine that day, other than to bring news to my brother. Despite his protests to the contrary, he was a natural gossip. It pleased him to hear of the latest scandals among the women and their men, and since it took me out of the city for a while, I was happy to oblige him. Looking back, I would say it was fate, though my husband dismissed such notions. But I still believed, and I know there was a reason why I was at the mine, why I was the one to offer him water. He didn't look like much from a distance, in the ill-fitting, unattractive garments all the men wore. He was covered in sand and the strong scent of the mastage hovered around him.
But when I went forth and offered him the pitcher, my opinion changed. He was pale, so unlike my people and even different from his companions. I understood immediately he was not like them. The other men were so cold, but his eyes – his eyes were as bright as the Abydonian sky on the clearest day. I knew I should've shown the proper respect by keeping my head bowed, after all, one does not hold equal gaze with a god or his consorts. But his eyes – his gentle, warm eyes – held my gaze and I could not pull away. Different feeling were building inside me, small but nonetheless hard to ignore. They frightened me.
I had never had high hopes for love, no matter what my mother told me. I was never one of those girls who sat under the stars and pined for a lover, never prayed to Ra to bless me with a handsome and brave husband. It all seemed like foolishness to me. When I was still a young girl, my mother would tell me the story of her courtship with my father. He was young, no more than twenty, and had just become an elder after the sudden death of his father. She was from the people of the Cordai dunes, a mountain people far south of Nagada. They had never met before their marriage, she had been chosen by Kasuf's father on a trading expedition there. After his death she was sent for – it was, of course, unspeakable to have a Chieftain without a wife, without a bloodline.
She told me, with the firelight dancing in her eyes, how she dreamed of Kasuf, and prayed to Ra that he would be a loving and kind husband. She spent the journey – many moons by caravan, sewing together her wedding dress. It was a skill I had never been able to master, by it was one of my mother's many brilliances. To honour her new husband, she told me, her dress was the red of the desert roses. There was a story of my ancestors, that when Ra created our people, he gifted to the most loyal member of the tribe the first seed of the rose toplant in the desert. The colour of my mother's dress was the colour of my family's devotion. As long as they bloomed my father's line would be prosperous, would be favoured in Ra's kingdom. These were the roses that symbolised my family's line, the roses for which I was named.
My mother told me of her pride at this garment, the detail in the embroidery, the style of the stitching and the overall beauty of its appearance. The pain and handwork, the many sleepless nights she had spent on it, was all forgotten when my father looked at her, she told me. Kasuf saw beyond the beauty of the dress, she said, beyond her perfumed hair and made-up face. Her husband saw her, her husband loved her.
It was something I never doubted, the love between my father and mother. It was just I had more realistic hopes, I had my father even practicality as opposed to my mother's idealised romanticism. Marriage was a duty, that much I believed, to marry well and bring honour to my father's line. I never expected, or even hoped, much for the love I saw between my parents. But there was something in the pale one's eyes, hidden behind the lenses of glass, that brought about feelings I had never before allowed myself to have.
It was on the walk back to Nagada that I believe he first noticed me. Skarra and his friends were pestering him, more interested in the stranger than their duties of herding the mastages. I couldn't help but be amused at their antics, even more by the stranger, oblivious to it all. He was staring all round him, at the dunes and the sky I had seen every day for my entire life with a displaced wonder. But then he looked at me, and I was filled with a feeling I couldn't quite describe. He had only glanced at me before, but now he was staring at me with the same fascination he had held for the landscape. The feeling I had felt at the mine flooded back to me, but this time in greater intensity. I tried to look away, to ignore it all, but my gaze was drawn back to his, as if by some unseen force. But our unspoken communication was soon broken by the appearance of my father at the stranger's side. My face flushed and I quickened my pace, away from the stranger. But I felt his gaze, and that of my father, follow me.
During the feast that night I tried my best to avoid him, the new feelings striking fear into me. I had always prided myself on my sensibility, on my practicality, although it separated me from others my age. I had few true friends growing up. I isolated myself from others, enjoying long walks in the desert, the solitude of escape. I did enjoy some time with my people, the gossip of the young, unmarried girls and the boisterous joking of the young men. But I still felt apart from them somehow, my personal pride and my status as the Chieftain's only daughter separating me.
It was something I had never admitted to anyone, not even Skarra, that I often visited the catacombs beneath the city. Most did not know they existed, but my mother had shown it to me when I was still a young girl, no more than ten. She was heavy with child then, almost too frail to walk, but I followed her insistent and tottering frame down into the hidden bowels of the city. The walls were covered in pictures, drawing and writings, everything I knew was forbidden to us. But my mother sat in the sand, exhausted but determined to show me the hidden wonders. My father's mother had shown it to her, and her mother before that. She said our ancestors kept this place when Ra outlawed reading and writing, as a reminder of our history. But over time, we had forgotten how to read the walls, to know what treasures the ancestors had left for us. It was my treasure now, she told me. My burden.
At the feast I sat in the shadows and watched the stranger. I was beginning to think he could not be a god – he didn't act like one. His excited gestures and strange, quick language was a contrast to the cool, detached nature I imagined a deity to have. It was almost comedic, to see him flapping his arms and making strange sounds after tasting our food. But I stopped laughing when he drew an image in the sand. I thought he must have known my secret, that I had kept the ancestors cavern open for so long. My father grew anxious, and called on the older women to prepare the stranger. I knew that my father had finally chosen a husband for me.
"I am sorry, my daughter" my father said, as the women oiled my hair and perfumed my skin. "You know it is for the best". I knew. I knew it broke my father's heart to give me in marriage to the messenger. All he and I could hope for was that he would be pleased with me, and prevent Ra's wrath from coming down upon us. I was the most precious gift he possessed, the only thing he had to offer the stranger. I saw tears in my fathers eyes as I was being prepared. "You mother used to dream of this day for you, Shau'ri" he told me softly. "It saddens me that she never got to see what a beautiful young woman you have become". He reached out to cup my cheek. "I regret that you never had a mother to teach you such things as these. I tried my best, but you grew knowing the politics and leadership of your father, and I fear you will not be prepared for this". His eyes were so sad, looking at me, sending me off to save our city.
It was true, after my mother died, my father was desolate. The child she carried had been stillborn, and complications in the birth had led to her death. He did not have the heart to remarry, to provide another mother for myself and Skarra. But he also did not know how to deal with us, without my mother to guide him. I spent my teenage years in council meetings, watching my father wrangle with the politics of Nagada, discovering the best way to remain loyal and prove our devotion to Ra, while providing the best life for our people. I learnt cooking and sewing from my aunts, but they had their own daughters to teach and I was often left to learn on my own. I did not blame my father for this, nor did I regret how I spent those years. I was his only daughter, had been a companion for him, and although I could never bring true happiness back into his heart, he loved me. It crushed him to send me into the protection of another.
I moved forward to embrace him, to say goodbye. He held me for a few moments and placed a farewell kiss to my forehead. He gestured to the women attending me, and they brought forth from a chest my mother's bridal gown. "It is all I can give you of her, my Shau'ri" he said sadly, before leaving the room. The women dressed me in the fine cloth, and I fingered the beading absently. They clucked and gasped and told me I was a beautiful bride, that I looked just like my mother. But I didn't say a word.
The stranger was sitting on the sleeping mat when I entered the room, muttering to himself. I told myself to be strong, not to be nervous as I pulled the veil over my head. He stared at me, open-mouthed, and I fought the urge to flee the room. I was Shau'ri, I told myself, daughter of Kasuf, and I was not afraid. Feeling more confident, I slipped down the top of my dress, exposing myself to him. Absolute terror slipped into me when he jumped up and pulled the material back over my shoulders, leading me towards the door. I couldn't face my father and the other elders, waiting outside, and I tried to resist, but he held me firm and muttered again in the language I couldn't understand. My father fell to his knees outside, asking the stranger what he could do to please him. But the stranger didn't seem to understand, instead putting his arms firmly around me, nodding and smiling.
My fear turned to utter confusion as he led me back into the room. If he didn't want me, why keep me here? Why pretend to accept me as his wife? I had never had any delusions about my looks. Many in the city thought me beautiful. My aunts and cousins were always gushing that they wished they had my skin, or hair or features. Perhaps it was just that I was not good enough for this man from the stars. Maybe in Ra's court the women were so beautiful they shamed us. But that did not explain the way the stranger had looked at me. I was so certain he found me attractive, otherwise why would he have stared at me in that way, the gaze of a lover?
He knelt on the floor in front of me, and I realised I was disappointed he had not accepted me. Now, so close to me, I could see his soft features more closely, the fine colour of his hair like gold, and those wonderful, deep eyes staring into mine.
"Daniel". He said, pointing to his chest. I could only see Ra's crest hanging there, and repeated the word questioningly. He shook his head, and his hands flew about in the air, then tucking the pendent under him shirt. "No. I'm Daniel". He said again, pointing to himself.
And I understood, and I mimicked him, telling him my own name. "Shau'ri". He repeated it softly, and mispronounced it slightly, but it did not matter. I did not care, because the stranger finally had a name. Dan-yel.
Danyel.