Naem had learned a great deal about how to change an enemy to a friend. His father had been a good mentor in that respect, as strong of a king as there'd ever been. Haem had explained that killing was a waste of life, that everybody was needed to keep their people strong, because the wraith took too many and their people had grown too few.

His father had also taught him that having a full prison was dangerous, because it showed a lack of leadership. If a king couldn't control his people, he didn't deserve to wear the Crown of Autumn, the circlet of yellowed leaves that represented the promise between the royal family and those protected under that rule. A promise that he'd memorized as the first lesson he'd ever been taught.

In the days of Spring,
My watch has begun,
In the days of Summer,
I shall protect from all harm,
In the days of Autumn,
There will be another,
So that the days of Winter shall never come.

Each king made the vow upon taking the throne, each promise a sacred pact, and Naem had come perilously close to failing. The wraith, first, then Sheppard's people, and yet, if he could harness Sheppard's power, bend his strengths like the broadleaf tree that gave to the wind, then Naem would be able to not only keep his vows, but leave a new legacy for his people.

Sheppard would be free to make contact again with his people, and having accepted the responsibility of the crown, he would be in position to gather weapons and safety that Naem could not. Surely, the material losses and one life were little enough to ask for a safe future for the many?

All these thoughts ran through his mind as he listened to Sheppard stir in the chains. Naem knew the ache, he'd been there before, when his father was displeased with things he had done during his training.

Never fail to teach; it was a pact each member of the royal family took with his or her children, and with his proclamation, Sheppard was now of the royal line. He would have to guide the man carefully down the road of submission using every lesson Haem had used on him, and others, and it would be even more of a challenge, because unlike Naem, Sheppard was from another world, and the man would not be so easily broken from his past.

This was not the season for second thoughts, and Naem pushed them away. He had steered his feet to this end, and this is where the road would lead.

John…the name was strong, like the man. John Sheppard would make a fine king for his people. Naem would only have to be king enough to show him that.

He woke before his usual time, and slipped from his bed. John hung limply, not quite asleep but not fully awake, either. Naem went to the screened area, only for the basic of personal needs. He had a room for bathing separate, but this was for any immediate need during the night. Splashing water on his face, he patted his skin dry, used the toilet and left, leaving Sheppard for now. He needed to have breakfast brought to his chambers, and he needed Ascaria to begin preparations for John's lessons. He had neglected to realize that Sheppard was unable to read their written word, even though they spoke in the same language.

The cooking staff was hard at work and Naem gave his orders before moving to the animal room and greeting his pair of hunting birds.

"I have neglected you two, have I not?"

They were identical twins, bore from the same mother on the same eve, and said to be a good omen for his future. Naem had begun to believe it had been the opposite – but now, he knew he had chosen wisely. The birds and this Sheppard.

"I will have Karael fly you today, but as for me, I shall be busy." Naem stroked their feathered torsos and tossed them both a live rodent from the cage, watching indulgently as they tore into the small furry animals.

By the time he returned to his chamber, John was standing tiredly. His lidded eyes watched him with the same panther like grace he had admired and feared when he had first met the man.

"First, your Lumival," said Naem, moving to retrieve another vial. He stepped in front of John and waited, not ordering, because he had already told Sheppard what he expected.

Naem knew there were many levels of defiance. The only one he had broken was the surface. Sheppard opened his mouth, but his eyes, muscles, every inch of the man screamed this was taken under duress. But Naem also knew there were stages to breaking a man, and he had already won the first round.

Taking the empty vial, he sat it on the dresser where his servants would clean, refill and place it back in the drawer with the others. He took the keys and unlocked John, expecting the man to fall, like he did, his limbs unable to recover in time to keep him on his feet. Naem gestured to his guards to help John to the bed. He knew Sheppard was tired, exhausted, and now a new dose of Lumival would run through his limbs and make them weaker and slower. John had not eaten in over a day, he had only water given to him, and now Naem felt it was time to start the next level.

"You are hungry," he said.

Sheppard rolled on the bed, still trying to recover from the pain caused by the release of his bonds. He shivered on silk, doubled over and tried to not let his anguish and discomfort show, but Naem did not miss anything. Not the raised bumps on flesh, nor the tight lines on his forehead and mouth.

Sighing, he strode to the bed and pulled the coverlet over John. "You are also cold."

"You left me hanging without clothes and I haven't eaten in over a day," John replied dryly, but he did not shirk away from the blanket.

Naem sat, waving at the guard to bring over the tray with food. "I understand this is unpleasant, John, but you are a strong man, which is why I have chosen to spare you your friends fate. I need an heir, and I do not trust you to be left in the town at your own device. But I also know you will not so easily give up what you were, therefore, you must understand the quandary before me. This --" he gestured at the chains hanging from the beam, the vial on the dresser, "it is to ease that journey. Trust me when I say it can be worse."

"What if I don't want the journey?"

John was watching Naem from his position on his side, only his face and hair visible under the coverlet. He looked young, vulnerable, and Naem felt a pang of regret as he answered, "Kings are never given a choice."

Without waiting for John to respond, Naem pulled a bowl of porridge off the tray, knowing a stomach without food for over a day in addition to the Lumival, would need something bland to begin with. "Until I say otherwise, you may only eat from my hand. This is an exercise in trust and obedience. If you want to eat, you need only ask, but it will be from me to you. If I find you have eaten in any other way, the food will be purged from your body."

The man had tensed, his face growing inscrutable, blank. Naem supposed it was better than rage in the face of his announcement. He told John to sit and scooped a spoonful, holding it out to him.

When John did not sit, or move to eat, Naem's eyes hardened. "I will give you one more chance, John, and if you refuse to sit or eat, that will be your decision, but I do not think you will like the consequences."

Sheppard stared stonily at Naem, the spoon remained hanging in the air between them, and then when the man reacted, it was only to slap the spoon away, sending porridge splattering on the bedding, Naem and the floor.

His father had counseled him on patience, care. You did not raise hunting birds without all of the above. Haem had worked with men, Naem had only observed, never having had a reason for direct experience, but now he fought hard to find the calm inside that he had seen his father portray in the face of such open defiance. Naem picked up the spoon and placed it in the bowl and ordered his guards curtly to take it away and get a servant to clean up the mess. He left John on the bed, and washed his face and clothes, going to his dresser and pulling his formal tunic and pants. He had needed to change anyway. But when he turned back to Sheppard, he felt the heavy weight of what he had undertaken.

"I will try again at dinner, until then you will not eat, and you may find the Lumival will sit increasingly poor on your stomach the longer you go without food. Also, I must fit the Bracelet of Remembrance on your thigh. It is a painful tool to encourage obedience and will be worn for a full day every time you openly defy me again, do you understand?" He kept his voice cold, devoid of any humanity, because John had to know he would do what he must.

The bracelet was made of leather, with small studs bearing a sharp tip. When standing, it was uncomfortable. When sitting, it would draw blood from the small punctures. He had seen his father use it on subjects before, including his mother when she had disobeyed his order to not coddle Naem as a child. He had worn it, as well, so when he ordered the guards to restrain Sheppard, not wanting to give the man more opportunity to accrue extra punishment, he strapped the leather on mid-way between knee and hip, tightening it enough that it pricked skin but wouldn't dig too deep or restrict blood flow.

Naem watched as Sheppard's eyes grew dark and deadly. If it weren't for the Lumival, the guards, his weakened state – Naem would fear for his life. As it were, he moved away with a quicker step then he intended, inwardly seething. "Ascaria waits. You will get dressed in the new clothes I have for you. Do not fail to learn today, or you will spend another night in chains."

Without giving John another look, Naem stormed from the room. He needed to see Karael about his birds.

OoO

John had met a lot of people in his life. Some he'd hated, some he'd respected, and some he'd feared. Naem fit into all of the above, although, the respected category came with a caveat – he respected the part of this man that knew exactly what to do to get Sheppard to do what he wanted.

It'd gone against every ounce of his being to take the dose of Lumival without even a protest, but his mind had flashed to Teyla's stiff body against the wooden pole, shirtless, and her back bleeding from the strikes she'd suffered because he'd fought it yesterday. With a lot of mental screaming, he'd opened and swallowed it, loathing Naem for it the entire time.

Then, he'd been released, his limbs unable to function, and truthfully, he'd lost a little bit of awareness to the roaring in his ears when the pain had flooded his nervous system and shut down his senses for a brief moment in time. It hadn't lasted long and when he sorted his senses out, it was to realize he was in Naem's bed, the warm silk cover draped over his aching body.

When the mad king had gone into the lengthy explanation about how he'd eat, Sheppard had felt a new surge of anger that all but dwarfed what he'd felt before. In his years, John had met more than a few fucked up individuals, but Naem made them look like amateurs.

The thought of having to accept being fed like an invalid from Naem's hands sent rage coursing through his blood, hot and heavy, and John couldn't shake it, not even the vision of Teyla's torn flesh. Sheppard wanted to wrap his hands around Naem's neck and snap it, one quick motion, but the Lumival made his arms and legs swim through air like he was coated in molasses and he knew his grip wouldn't be strong enough even if he got a hold before the guards intervened.

When Naem held the spoon in front of him, he refused.

The king was calm as he reasserted how it was going to be, and Sheppard fixed his eyes somewhere else, looking through Naem, because Sheppard knew he was in trouble. Really, serious, honest to God, deep shit kind of trouble, and as hungry as he was, what Naem asked him to do…no, ordered him to do…John couldn't. There were degrees of capitulation. Some were just pleasantries, contrivances, and in the end they didn't mean anything. Taking a drug that'd be forced down him anyway, taking off his clothes – in the end, he knew he didn't have control, so giving up an illusion wasn't a hard step to take, and in the end, it didn't cost him any of his soul. But this – this was different. This was a step further, intruding into his being, who he was. A man capable of feeding himself since he could walk and talk, and Naem was trying to take him back to helplessness in order to assert his dominance over Sheppard.

With careful precision that took a lot of effort, John slapped the spoon away. He watched as the thick, pasty food fell in clumps; on the rug, the bed, on Naem. It probably tasted like crap, anyway.

The man had control, John had to give him that. He didn't punch John, didn't yell, or react in any outward way, simply put the spoon in the bowl, called for the mess to be cleaned, and went off behind the privacy screen to get cleaned himself. Then he dressed in his formal clothing while Sheppard stared away, and told John about another source of pain and discomfort to make his day that much more hellish.

The bracelet pinched his leg but John kept his reaction to himself. He hated the feel of Naem's fingers against his skin, hated being forced into this, and the only thing that kept him from snarling something that was bound to get him more trouble, was thinking about his team. At least they were being spared this. The thought of Teyla, or Rodney, Beckett – not so much Ronon, because he was a soldier, like John – it made his blood boil. No, he could do this. Naem could play his little games, and Sheppard could handle it.

Released from the guards, his new clothes handed to him by a servant, John stood reluctantly. His stomach did flip painfully, and Sheppard knew Naem wasn't lying about the effects of the drug on an empty stomach.

He walked behind his escort to the library; exhausted, sick and hurting.

When he sat to begin his lessons, the bracelet drew blood, and John figured the reason for the red clothes. The shirt, pants, all of it was solid red. The only exception was embroidered vines on the cuffs and neck. The cloth felt like silk but it wasn't slippery, more like cotton against his skin, and it sort of shimmered in the candlelight that lit the bright library.

It was raining outside, he could hear it drumming against the glass dome, and the light allowed in was dim and gray, leaded. Perfect for his dark mood.

Ascaria pointed at a letter and said, "This is a common combination, the sound it makes is aaaaaa."

Sheppard shifted, trying to ease the pressure against his thigh, but Naem had strapped it right where the edge of the bench met his leg. Son of a bitch. He frowned at the word and growled, "Two letters for one short vowel sound?"

"Actually, it is three, and Prince Sheppard, this is the easiest combination which is why we will begin here; surely this is not too complicated for you to understand?" She arched a disparaging eyebrow at him.

He wanted to snap that it was when you hadn't eaten in over a day, hadn't slept, and had a god damn bunch of stickpins pressing into your leg, but John pursed his lips together, studied the three letters she kept underlining on what looked like their version of beginner reader and grunted, "Next."

"This," she underlined a single letter, "Can make four different sounds, depending on what combination it follows. Kkkkkkk, t, d or fffffffffff. The t and d are short, you can not hold the sound in your mouth, the kkkkkk and fffffff should be held for a moment before released."

Sheppard was pretty sure he was going to throw up.

OoO

Rodney pulled the cart up the low grade incline, sweating despite the rain. His clothes were drenched, sticking to his skin, and the leather straps from the harness had rubbed raw spots on his shoulders. The small satisfaction he got from glaring at the guard walking in front of him wasn't enough to keep his body for aching from the physical exhaustion.

He'd been told to take this load of fresh fruit to the manse, and he'd leapt at the chance. He could catch a glance at the 'gate en route, because the road split into a fork when it met with the river. The left path went to the Stargate, while the right went up to the manse. What he'd seen hadn't crushed his hopes totally, but he knew it would make any escape more complicated. Naem hadn't sealed the 'gate, he'd simply toppled it, letting the ground do it for him. If Elizabeth had tried to dial back and send a MALP it would've arrived the first time, the backwash of the wormhole taking out a small tunnel, but redialing would've obliterated the MALP. Considering the situation she would've had Lorne ready to go with a rescue team and activated the MALP for an 'all clear', at which point there wouldn't have been a MALP and she would've assumed the worst and called it off rather than risk more lives. It was what she was supposed to do. And McKay wished like crazy she'd sent Lorne anyway, but the proof was in the fact that he was still here, still drugged, and still sentenced to a life of service, repaying a town for crimes none of them had committed.

Carson was staying with Teyla, doing light field work. Ronon was taking on the more physical chores for the day, and Rodney had volunteered for the trip to the manse. As he neared the lower entrance, McKay began to search for any sign of Sheppard.

The guard pointed him towards the kitchen and waited at the door. Seeing his chance, and temporarily free of an escort, Rodney dropped off the food, before ducking into the main hall. He was wet, and filthy, but the halls were mostly empty, and he could duck behind doors if someone was coming. He needed to see John, to make sure he was okay.

McKay had been learning how to do the military thing, and he used every ounce of it now. He peeked down the main hall after leaving the kitchens. The corridor was wide, easily the size of two grown men laying head to toe across the cobbled stone work that made the floor. Large woven draperies hung from the ceiling to the floor, covering the stone walls and working to keep away the dampness and chill. On alternating walls, torches hung in sconces, burning brightly, but for all the light they gave, the darkness of the gloomy day invaded.

Easier for him to get around, Rodney figured. He stepped into the corridor and hugged the wall, stepping cautiously forward. He'd gone about halfway when he heard voices ahead, coming through a door on the left. A woman and a man. Saying a fervent prayer, Rodney snuck forward, pushing the wooden arched door open to look inside. Sheppard!

He was sitting at a bench, dressed in rich red clothing, similar in style to Naem's, and Rodney told himself that made sense, because of the game the king was playing. Please, making John his heir? The man was definitely insane. The only thing Sheppard was heir to was an ATA gene that he'd gotten from the benefit of backyard breeding. And there wasn't anything on this planet to make that stand for anything special.

A woman was pointing to a book and saying sounds slow, then looking to Sheppard and waiting for him to echo the sound. Teaching – she was teaching John! Rodney frowned, and moved a little, hoping it would catch Sheppard's attention in the periphery of his sight.

Sheppard's head turned, and when he caught sight of McKay, his eyes widened. He grimaced and shook his head, but Rodney jerked his head towards the hall. If Sheppard was this guy's heir, he had to have some freedom, and McKay didn't see any guards standing near this door, though there was one on the other side of the library with his back to Rodney.

He slumped against the wall, shivering in his damp clothes, when John strode out, grabbing Rodney's arm and pulling him along the corridor roughly.

"Hey!" McKay protested.

"Shut up!" John pushed open a door they came to on the right, and shoved Rodney in, before following and pulling it closed behind him. "Are you nuts?"

Sheppard paused at the door and listened for a minute before turning his back to it. His face softened as he stared at Rodney. "How's Teyla?"

Rodney sized him up, noticing the pallor and tiredness. "Recovering. How are you?"

"Being treated like a prince," he cracked.

McKay heard the hollowness, and it bothered him. "I see. Normally, red suits you, but --"

"Prince Sheppard!"

John stiffened, and moved over McKay, covering Rodney's mouth with his hand and whispering, "Shhhh."

The voice continued to call, then more feet started running by, and Sheppard tensed, swearing. "Damn it, McKay, you shouldn't have come here looking for me," he hissed. The hand dropped away from Rodney's mouth and he breathed in, pulling away. The sound of feet faded.

"We were worried." He straightened his wet t-shirt and shivered more. Rodney went through all the trouble and risk to see if Sheppard was fine, and all he got was shoved around for it. Jesus. "Sorry if some of us are enduring less than quality conditions and feared for your safety!"

"Well, I'm fine," John retorted. "But you won't be if they catch you here." Sheppard stared at the closet they'd ducked into, searching the shelves for something. There were household cleaning products – brooms, mops and some sheets and towels. A bucket on the ground, and some scrub brushes. Picking up a sheet, Sheppard shoved it against Rodney's chest. "But since you're here, what's up with the confession? What the hell happened that night?"

Holding the sheet, not sure what he was supposed to do, McKay glared back at John. "I don't know. I went to bed and woke up in the cell, feeling like someone had drugged me, and I'm pretty sure someone did – then Naem comes and threatens your life if we don't do as he says."

"So you did," accused John. "Do you have any idea what you started?"

Rodney gripped the cloth tight in his fists. This wasn't going how he'd planned. "Yes, I know," he snapped. "I started our survival until the Daedalus can arrive and rescue us!"

Sheppard looked at him funny, before turning back towards the door. "They're looking for me. I told Ascaria I was going to the bathroom. I'm going to leave first; after about ten minutes take the sheet and act like you're doing a job. Chances are they won't notice you once I turn up."

Stung by John's harsh response, Rodney didn't say a thing as the colonel slipped out the door, and back into Naem's world. All he had left was the sheet in his hand, and Rodney flung it to the ground with a curse. Son of a bitch.

OoO

Naem sat rigidly in his private office. The main audience chamber was only for greeting and dealing with his people; his office was where he reviewed the law, prepared speeches, listed births and deaths, reviewed his servants lists of harvest and usage. And it was where Ascaria came to report on Sheppard.

"He excused himself to use the bathroom, Majesty, but when he was gone too long, I went to find him."

"And?" He had hoped for better, but expected it nonetheless. John would not be an easy man to shape and mold. And he respected him more for it.

"He was not there, Sire. I retrieved Joros and Baela to search and we found him back in the library less than half an hour later. He would not admit to going anywhere other than the bathroom, even when I confronted him with his lie." Ascaria's hands pushed against her hips. Naem read the anger vibrating through her. She had fought his appointment as Sheppard's teacher, having lost almost half a field of food in the attack, but no one denied Naem, and he had only reminded her of who he was with a simple, "Your king will have you whether you wish it or not."

But John's cooperation was less than enthusiastic, and it was up to Naem to see that John was prepared for his lessons. Such was the role of every king to his prince. The bracelet had apparently not served as a strong enough reminder, and it bothered Naem. He had hoped this battle could be won with less pain on John's part.

"And you could not find where he went?"

Ascaria's face darkened over her failure. "I could not."

The quill in his hand almost snapped, and he set it on the desk carefully. The old wood was polished and smooth from centuries of use, and it smelled of winter, leather and wax. "Very well, I will see to his punishment, of course. How is his mind? Is he quick with his letters?" Naem was convinced of the answer, but asked it anyway.

"He is very capable, Sire. Prince Sheppard learns with amazing speed, and if he would apply himself, I believe he would be capable of reading at a mid-level degree by the end of the week."

Hearing it, even though he had suspected as much, caused a thrill of pride to run through Naem. His father had always said he had an eye for animals, people and situations. Naem had always been able to see through to what mattered, and what was needed; be it a training hand to his hunting birds, or to bring his wife to love him. He had needed the least amount of training as a prince, his father had boasted. And he had seen in John, not only the danger, but the promise.

Ascaria's enthusiasm for the positive news was a good place to end, and he dismissed her with a word that tomorrow the prince would not attend. She showed a mixture of disappointment and relief, before she curtsied and left. He would meet with his men, assign duties, and take the steps to increase John's progress.

OoO

Carson smoothed the final bandage on Teyla's back, and straightened, his own back complaining. A long day bent over small shin high bushes, pulling off balls of cotton, and pushing them into a bag worn slung over the shoulder and only dropping to waist high – it meant they had spent the majority of the day bent at the waist, and stooped.

The bedroom was the same one they'd shared before, two beds on opposite sides of the wall, the floor was smoothed wood that hadn't been cut that way, only the years of use had worn down the uneven edges and rough places until it was darkened from dust and age. The blankets the previous owners had made were rainbow colored, patchworked together, and words sewn into the corner. He could only guess it had meant something special to the people. A small wooden dresser, unfinished, stood under the window and between the beds. Curtains of white hung limply down. The walls were made from the stone and mud wattle, but the roof had thick branches and straw.

All things considered, it wasn't terrible, but it wasn't luxury, and if they weren't stranded, unfairly sentenced, and being forced to live a lie, Carson could think of many things worse. Being sucked dry by a wraith, of course; though this town had been culled right before they'd found them and made the trade agreement, it didn't mean they were safe for any amount of time, so it was always possible that death by wraith could still happen.

"Carson?"

He sighed, and pulled Teyla's shirt down over her bandages. "All done, Lass."

She pushed herself up, grimacing as the movement pulled on fresh scabs. "You are worried."

Beckett listened to Rodney grumbling to Ronon in the main room, the clanking of crockery and the flames hissing and spitting in the fire. He closed his eyes and imagined Atlantis, Elizabeth, his staff and his bed, before opening them again and admitting softly, "Aye, I'm very worried. We're cut off from our people, the ruler is a mad man and no one seems to realize it except us, and Colonel Sheppard --"

"Is in danger," Teyla finished firmly.

Despite McKay's unsettling news about Sheppard, Teyla had argued vehemently that Sheppard was not being treated well. Carson felt inclined to agree with her. He'd seen Naem watching Sheppard the night they'd arrived, and every time he remembered it, he got a cold spot in his belly.

"We are doing all we can."

She stood, only slightly shaky, from the drug and the hard labor of the day combining with her injury. "Ronon believes otherwise."

Beckett stood and followed her from the room, finding McKay and Ronon sitting at the table that could hold up to six people, but there were only four chairs. They both took a bowl from the wooden counter built on thin logs and scooped some of the soup before joining them. After Teyla had broken a piece off the loaf of bread and taken a bite, she explained, "The Lumival does not affect Ronon as much as us. They did not account for his size and weight." She dipped the bread into the broth and took another bite.

Carson looked over at Ronon for confirmation and the runner spooned a large mouthful and shrugged. It made sense, Beckett felt like chiding himself for not considering it earlier.

"Are you going to finish that?" McKay pointed at Ronon's bread.

"Yeah."

One word, but the look that accompanied made Rodney pull his hand back and say, "Fine, I was just asking."

"You were saying, Teyla?" Carson prodded her, throwing McKay a shushing look.

"If we time our escape in the early morning hours, before the next dose is brought to us, then Ronon will be nearly normal in his abilities, and we will be as close to it as possible. We can escape into the woods and with Ronon's experience as a runner, stay alive and rescue John."

A large log popped, sending sparks from the hearth and onto the floor, falling short of the one threadbare dark green rug. Beckett looked uneasily where they'd fallen and pointed out the one flaw. "What if Naem kills the colonel?"

"He's promoted Sheppard to his heir," Rodney pointed out, talking around a mouthful of soup. "I admit it's a risk, but other than looking tired, he looked fine."

"Then we will try before dawn."

Teyla's declaration was firm. Carson wanted to say what was the rush, but looking at the faces around him, he supposed they weren't used to waiting after coming up with a plan. He decided if they were going to disappear into the wilds before morning, he'd better go get another bowl of soup and enjoy the heat coming from the fire while he still could.

OoO

Ascaria hadn't gone merrily back to John's lessons like he'd hoped she would. He should've known not look for any help in those cold eyes. Still, as he sat on the bench and tried to read a passage, he hoped maybe she'd come back and pick up where they'd paused when he'd made his excuse to escape and talk to McKay.

When she'd found him back in his seat, she'd demanded to know where he'd been and then flinging, "You are lying" at him when she didn't buy his answer. She'd stormed out the thick library door, probably off to rat him out to the king.

The bracelet bit into his leg, hunger gnawed at his gut and fatigue made the words on the page blur into even more meaningless shapes than they all ready were.

When she arrived back after tattling on him, the guards told him to get up. He did, thankful at least for the release on his thigh. The blood had dried and he was sure the little edges were permanently stuck in his skin. It'd be hell to come off.

He was taken back to Naem's chamber and left there. Sheppard looked down at his leg and figured what the hell, he was already in trouble, might as well take the damn thing off and lie down, get some rest while he could.

The silk pants clung to his leg, and he had to move to the bed and sit to get them off without falling; the drug was hell on his balance. The bracelet was buckled, and it wasn't hard to get it off, but hurt like hell had been an understatement. It was like pulling off a long piece of Duck tape stuck into the thickest of his chest hair…faster or slower, either one was going to make his eyes water.

A guard watched impassively and didn't try to stop him.

By the time it was off, Sheppard felt like passing out. He had been allowed water, but nothing else. His stomach ached from hunger and he wanted to sleep. The only thing keeping him from doing just that, was that he was worried about what Naem was going to do when he came back. And then he got pissed at himself for being afraid. John didn't like to admit he was ever afraid; it didn't fit the image he portrayed to everyone, including himself.

He'd heard Beckett talking to Elizabeth when he'd been infected with the retrovirus. Sure, he'd been afraid then, his body was turning against him and he hadn't been able to do anything about it, but the fear had rapidly disappeared in the onslaught of impulses he couldn't control.

Here, there weren't any impulses other than the one screaming at him to escape, and looking at the guard, Sheppard knew that wasn't going to happen. Despite trepidation, John did slip into an uneasy doze.

He was woken by Naem. The king stood over him, arms folded, face hooded behind the hard mask he was coming to recognize. John tried to push himself up and found his muscles failed him. "If I would've known you were coming, I would've had the guards get me ready."

"You were not to remove the bracelet."

"Why not?"

What'd he have to lose? Naem had made it pretty clear what he was out to do, and Sheppard knew unless he could hold on for a month, maybe longer, he wasn't going to win, but before he lost, he was going to do his damnedest to make this entire process difficult for the king, and hopefully, manage to keep the part of him sane that needed to stay sane, so that when Caldwell got to play Knight in Shining Armor, John would be able to come back from this place he knew waited before him.

"Because I put it there," Naem said calmly.

Sheppard tried again to sit, and this time he made it. "Why are you doing this?" He didn't know why he asked, because did it really matter what Naem's motivation was? The end result was the same.

The king stared at him, the eyes seemed to strip his soul bare, and Sheppard shifted uncomfortably. He remembered with painful detail their first meeting. Remembered thinking that he'd encountered something incredibly dangerous, and just when he'd been sure they were in a lot of trouble, Naem had turned left when John had expected right. He'd allowed himself to be lulled enough to let Elizabeth make the call on returning when he should've recommended, strongly, they stay the hell away from this planet.

And now he waited for pain; a punch, slap, something, but the depths of those eyes just cut into him, searching – and Sheppard tried to hide anything that needed to be hid further down, and the entire time, he was sure he was failing.

Naem sat beside John, nodding at the guards, who took their cue and relaxed into positions on each side of the door. "When you were brought before me, just over two months ago, I judged you for a greater risk to my people than possibly the wraith."

"You were wrong." Sheppard wanted to hit the man for even suggesting it. That's what this was about? Some imagined danger against his people? "We only wanted to help your people in exchange for some food." God, maybe there was still a way to talk Naem off the edge of insanity.

"Let me finish," Naem scolded. He looked over at the guard, "Baela, have dinner brought up please."

So, they were on a second floor, or third – hell, Sheppard wasn't exactly sure how many there were but from what he'd seen outside, he'd guess at least four. And the thought of dinner made his stomach growl loudly. Naem was amused but Sheppard wasn't. He hadn't forgotten this morning.

"I am the last of my line, with no successor, and a king of Arstaem is not born of only woman, but born of discipline, obedience, and guidance. My family has ruled since the beginning of our history and ever king has trained the prince, just as I will train you. These same lessons that you will be broken upon, I have suffered before. When I saw how my people responded to you, my fears were justified, but what could I do? Execute you and your people? I would be reviled, and rightly so, for it is a waste."

Naem stood, crossed the luxurious rug and poured a drink, then retrieved another glass and poured one for John, before bringing it over. Sheppard didn't want it, but his wants weren't coming into play a whole lot lately. Sheppard went to take it, wanting to hear more of Naem's reasoning for all of this, when the king shook his head. "No, John, open."

"I'm not a prince, and I'm not a kid, Naem."

John's words were like flint.

"You are my prince, you are strong, powerful, and you carry within everything my people need to survive, and when I am finished, you will be molded into a man capable of saving my world," Naem asserted. "You are what my son should have been if he had lived, and though I know you are dangerous, I also know of the two choices laid before me, I chose the one that made the most sense. If you would rather die now, I can arrange it, but it would distress me greatly." Naem's hand tightened on the glass and his lips thinned.

John chuckled bitterly. "So that's it? Go along with the training, or be executed?"

"If you learn quickly, the training will not be terrible."

Naem almost looked apologetic.

The surrealism of it came back to punch him in the gut just as dinner was delivered. Sheppard didn't want to die, God knows, that option was out, definitely. Death wasn't at the top of his list of things to do, but what Naem wanted – what he would force John to do…he really didn't know if he could. To give up that much of who he was and let Naem strip him down to nothing and build him back up. Would the man who was John Sheppard still be alive after this?

He tried a final time as the tray was carried over.

"I'm not your prince."

Naem stared at him, was that sadness?

"Yes, John. You are."

OoO

The beam was down, John shackled again, naked but for his undergarments. The next two weeks were going to be extremely unpleasant. Naem had cleared his responsibilities, and short of emergencies, had told Gaemal he was not to be disturbed. Even after he had explained, John had refused to take the drink and food from his hand. Truly, he had expected no less, but it did make him feel a pang that the suffering would grow worse before it grew better.

He, himself, had on occasion spent a week on the beam. Even as a child, and easier to train at a younger age, he had never wavered when he had felt his actions were justified. His only brother, before he had succumbed to the plague, had only lasted two days on the beam. Not Naem, though, he had fought to outlast his father.

Staring at John's defiance, Naem knew that, like it had been with him, the end result was always the same. As a child, he had thought the week had meant something. Meant that he could not be broken. Until he had been sentenced to the beam again, and again, and found that each time thereafter, he was only able to hold on for shorter periods of time until finally, even the prospect of one more night had been enough for him to tell his father he had learned the lesson well enough, and that had been the last time the beam had ever been required.

John had the same strength, the same resolve, and since this was not a child before him, Naem was going to push the man farther. He would be on the beam for two weeks. If he gave before the time was up, Naem would be able to see it in his eyes. Until then, John would be taken down only to use the bathroom. If he wanted food, he would take it from Naem or not at all. Water would be forced down, as would the Lumival. He had hoped to avoid this, but after today's game with Ascaria, Naem had realized he was only doing John a disservice by avoiding the inevitable.

He was going to miss his birds.

OoO

Ronon waved at McKay, and that was the signal he needed to grab the bundle in his arms and creep forward. They were scavenging all they could because when they were free of the town, their survival would depend upon their ability to make a fire, hunt, and build a shelter to withstand the winter weather that beckoned in the freezing nights. His feet crunched in the hoary frost on the grass, and he cringed, pausing. When he glanced back, Ronon glared and McKay shrugged. Wasn't his fault it'd gotten below zero last night.

He moved forward again, taking the time to make sure his feet stayed on the dirt path. The town was dark except for an occasional window with a candle burning, and all they had to do was avoid those. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the stars were brought into sharp focus by the crisp night. Mist puffed in front of his face with each exhalation, and Rodney tried to pull the jacket tighter around his body. They'd been given one change of clothes in addition to the ones they'd had with them, so all together, they had three, but the only coat was the uniform jacket, and that wasn't meant for these temperatures.

The frozen dew was slippery under his feet and McKay found himself thinking longingly of the warm bed he'd left when Teyla had shaken him awake moments before. They hadn't done anything to alert someone watching. No last fire and hot meal. It was only their third day, and Rodney had a lot of reasons coming to mind why he should've told them this was a bad idea.

Ronon moved silently past him to take the lead.

They crept out of the town like shadows, and Rodney even got a chance to glare at Carson for making the same mistake he'd made earlier, and crunching the grass loudly under his foot. Beckett had cringed and frozen, along with everyone else. They'd reached the outskirts and were almost at a point where they could make a run for it, not worrying anymore about noise.

The nearest home remained dark, and Teyla had waved them into a run. The Lumival was still in their bodies, but Ronon definitely was doing better. He ran almost normal, while the rest of them tipped, wavered and managed to at least maintain hard-earned forward progress. The constant jarring sent his head spinning.

They headed away from the 'gate, Ronon's idea, and into the depths of a thick forest that they didn't know a lot about. In their brief time on this world, not a lot of conversations had happened. But forest meant cover and plenty of places to hide. They'd need to take care of the basics first, then start planning on a way to get the 'gate up off the ground. Rodney wasn't looking forward to letting the rest of them know the odds of them being able to do it on their own, with anything they might make or find in a forest, well, they'd be better off spending their time building a two story room with a view, because it'd be never.

It was a silent escape that started with creeping, turned to running and staggering, then a long march. The day dawned, and the forest smoked in the morning thaw, evaporation rising off the cold ground into the warming air. It was hazy, and the tall broadleafs rose up, naked sentinels out of the mists into a blue sky filled with blue birds.

They'd made it. He stopped walking, ignored Carson running into him, and raised his face into the sunlight. "We made it!"

"Out of the town," Ronon said. He lifted a thick branch from the forest floor, unearthing it from the inches of leaves, and hefted it experimentally. They didn't have any weapons, only some knives. "Now the hard part begins."

Teyla simply nodded, but Rodney turned to share a startled look with Carson as he mouthed, "Hard part?"

OoO

John was losing it. Honest to God, he was falling apart. He hung from the ceiling, sure his shoulders were dislocated by now, and the pain had become more than his brain could keep up with. The hunger had taken over, and the Lumival had made him sick to the point he retched every time he tried to move his body. His knees ached with a vicious dullness that made him want to beg Naem to end this.

He'd been here for days…weeks, no…days. He hadn't eaten. His pride had kept him from it initially, then the Lumival had made him so sick he couldn't even care anymore. John knew the guards took him down twice a day to use the bathroom, he remembered water being dripped into his mouth, but everything else began to blur into one long thought of pain pain pain pain pain…so much PAIN.

His stomach, arms, joints, neck, knees, legs… "Stop," Sheppard mumbled through a thick tongue.

Naem was there, lifting John's face and peering into his eyes, but all Sheppard saw was a blur of the king's silvering hair and dark, very dark eyes. "Will you take food from my hand, John?"

He wanted to tell Naem he'd do anything, but the words wouldn't come, whether from stubbornness of just the fact that he couldn't get his brain to work anymore, John wasn't sure. How long had he hung here? Days…weeks…no, days.

Where was Rodney? Why hadn't they rescued him?

Water was dribbled in his mouth, and his shackles released, and Sheppard did cry out then. The pain overwhelmed him, and all he could do was curl in a ball and close his eyes against it, ride it, endure it, because it was all he had now, pain pain pain pain pain…PAIN.

"You have been here a week, John, with another week left – will you take food from me?"

Naem was pulling his legs away from his chest, rolling him to his back, and calling for the Lumival – God, not that, not the burning pain in his mouth, throat and gut. Sheppard tried to roll away but Naem held him effortlessly. "Open, John."

He did and he knew there was a reason why he allowed himself to do that, but wouldn't eat, yet the memory was out of his reach, as he gagged it down, and groaned. Then the guards jerked him to his feet and marched-dragged him to the bathroom. Somehow he did what he had to do, and when they turned him to head back, Sheppard started fighting. He couldn't go back up there, couldn't hang for another day.

His movements were uncoordinated, slow, exaggerated and off the mark. The guards gripped him tighter and pulled him along without even taking a single hit from Sheppard. He was shackled again, and the pain began the moment the support on his arms was released. Why was he here? A week – why? Another week to go? Would he still be alive after another week?

Sheppard looked wildly around the room. The bed where Naem was resting, the dresser and mirror, the cabinet with the drinks…the rug below. There had to be a way to get out of this, a way to relieve the pain eating him alive.

Naem's eyes met his and the king shook his head. "I am sorry this was necessary."

"Sorry?" Sheppard rasped. "Let me go, then."

"No." He turned to the door when a knock sounded. The guard opened it, accepted a stack of papers, and brought them to Naem. "You have been here over a week without food, one week on the beam, and I see one more layer about to fall before me. No, John, this is necessary." And the king began reading and discussing the papers with the guard, ignoring him.

John tried to straighten and only made it part of the way, but he resolved that at the end of the week, he wouldn't eat from Naem's hand. He'd make it the biggest game of chicken this king had ever seen. At least, that's what he thought, until the pain came and stole his thoughts again.

OoO

The search parties had turned up nothing, again. Naem stared at the reports from his guards, disbelief at the thought that his men, trained and skilled as they were, could be outwitted by a group of escaped prisoners. The Lumival they had been given had worn off by now, but they were weaponless, only able to escape with a few meager supplies, and the trees had shaken free of their summer cloaks. The first snow would be soon, and he did not want John's people dying.

This week had been long and difficult. He had never doubted the need for it, but seeing John out of his mind in pain had brought back memories of his own days spent lost in the delirium of agony.

It would not kill, and the two times a day of being released were enough to prevent permanent harm, but yes, the beam was used to break the will of many before John, and if Sheppard married, it would break more in the future. It broke boys and men because of the unendurable pain. The longest Naem had lasted was one week; it was why he had assigned two weeks to John when he had realized that Sheppard would not respond otherwise; twice as much time to account for the stubbornness that came with being older.

Staring pensively at the man, lost again in his own torment, Naem ordered the search parties doubled. "The snows will begin soon and that will bring the Luperes out of the mountains. I want them safe, Joros! It is on your life that I will see it so."

"Yes, Sire."

The man bowed stiffly, and left.

The last report was from the man Ascaria had found to double as the prince. While John was enduring his training, the people needed to be assured that all was fine, especially after the other four had escaped. The man had been her suggestion, she knew of someone in the town that had hair dark enough, and a body lean and long, as to pass for John at a distance.

Naem had the man brought to the manse, and allowed him to stay, dressed him in silks and let him walk the grounds. A few times they had traveled into town together but Naem had kept the fake John in the background, his face hooded and explained it as the prince fighting off an autumn cold.

The double was upstairs sleeping now, as were most of the servants, yet Naem lingered awake, studying John even while sleep tugged at him persistently. John's face had become stubbled and bearded, and Naem had ordered one of his servants with a gentle hand to shave him regularly afterwards. He did not like his prince so rough looking.

Jaem had also had thick dark hair, even when he had come crying from his mother's womb. It had stuck up straight, just like John's, and he had laughed into it, cried into it. Now, the impulse to touch John's hair overwhelmed him, and Naem felt his feet moving of their own volition to the man, John's head bent, misery etched across his face; so like Jaem when he was born. Misery, he had been in so much pain…

Naem's hand caressed John's head, running softly through his sweat soaked hair, staring kindly at John's eyes clenched tight against the waves of pain. "So like my Jaem would have been. Strong and tall, dangerous, a panther ready to lead, with silent grace and strength."

But this was not Jaem. He pulled away, and narrowed his eyes. No, not Jaem – but fate had sent him someone that could be. Naem turned away from John and moved back to his bed, sitting. "When I first saw you, I knew you were dangerous," he admitted, knowing that John was too lost in his own pain to understand, if he was even listening. Feeling melancholic, Naem blew out the candle and rolled onto his back. As his thoughts lingered on Jaem, and his wife, Naem realized, he'd simply misunderstood the danger.