Carson pressed a hand against Teyla's forehead, cringing from the heat. The small lean-to was cold, but she was burning up on her pallet of branches and rotting mulch. Swearing, he pulled the blanket up further around her, and tried to ignore his own chilled bones. They had to use a blanket to cover underneath her, then two to wrap around the lass to keep her warm. Even with the fever, her body needed to stay warm.
Their escape had been a bad idea. He'd told them they should wait for the Daedalus –between Teyla's healing back and the worsening weather – this idea was crazy. Almost two weeks, and they'd barely eaten, then Teyla had broken one of the deeper cuts from the flogging when she'd fallen while hunting with Ronon.
It'd become infected fast enough, with no supply of antiseptic cream or clean bandages, and the only water was a muddy stream that moved sluggishly with silt and bugs. Not even any fish.
Ronon was looking every day for the river, but it looked like that body of water hadn't come from this side of the world. Near as he could tell, if the manse was north, they'd followed east, deep into the woods, and the river turned west at the fork in the road. If it ever did move east, it was farther than Ronon had gone.
Teyla tried to turn onto her back, uncomfortable on her belly. Carson stayed her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "No, Lass, your back is a mess."
She lifted her face off the blanket, stared at him with glassy, confused eyes. "Where are we?"
"In the woods, Love, now sleep."
If she understood, he wasn't sure. The delirium was worse today, and she often made the mistake that she was back on Athos and demanded to see Halling or Charrin, or any of the others of her people; names Carson didn't know, and some he imagined weren't even alive anymore.
Beckett stared at her sweat-lined face, the dampness curling her hair against scalp. He'd decided last night that if there was any hope for her, he had to do something.
Climbing to his feet, Carson staggered out from under the branch and dead grass roof that wouldn't keep anything dry, finding Ronon gutting another of those small animals he had learned how to snare. Rodney hovered by the fire, his hands stretched over the flames. He looked up at Carson. "Teyla?"
Shooting a harsh look at Ronon, Carson shook his head. "She needs more than we can give; the wound is septic."
The knife in Ronon's hand paused, and he looked up, dark, brooding eyes.
"This isn't working," Carson continued. "Teyla's dying, and I don't know if you've noticed, but we won't be much behind her."
Ronon went back to skinning the animal. "They might kill us if we go back." He didn't look overly worried at the prospect.
Carson sighed, and sat next to McKay on a dead tree Ronon had hauled into their camp to keep their arses off the cold, damp ground. "And they might not, but if we stay here, at least one of us will die for sure."
"I don't think they'll kill us." Rodney poked a stick into the flames, sending sparks flying upward. He looked over his shoulder at the lean-to, then at Ronon. "You've said Sheppard is fine. Despite the appalling methods of subduing criminals and the farce of a justice system, we haven't been placed in mortal danger aside from what we've managed to do to ourselves."
"Cook it." Ronon threw the raw chunk of meat at Rodney's lap.
McKay grimaced. "Intergalactic explorer, highly trained scientist, and I've been reduced to poking a stick up a dead animal's ass and playing cave man." He wiped off the soot from the improvised spit and skewered it up the middle, the legs hanging accusingly below, dripping blood. He looked at Beckett and smiled like he'd solved something impressive. "But yet, with finesse."
Carson liked the furry creatures, but the rabbit like animals were all that Ronon could catch. They didn't have anything powerful enough to bring down some of the larger game. He shuddered at the thought of what might've killed the large carcass they'd found the other day, not far from their camp. "How do we know Sheppard's fine?"
"I saw him walking around the grounds yesterday, Doc," Ronon explained.
Their plan had been to scout the grounds around the manse, find some way of rescuing Sheppard, but every time Ronon came back, it was with empty hands and a report of Sheppard walking arm in arm with a woman. And always with more guards than Ronon could take on by himself.
"Why are we wasting time worrying about Sheppard?" snapped McKay, jerking the spit around. "Teyla's dying, we're starving --" he looked at the small animal, angry, "—do you think this is going to be enough for all of us? No, it's not, and we're going to go to bed hungry and cold, and shiver through another horrible night, while he's sleeping in a warm house, with plenty of blankets and food!"
Carson blew out an angry breath, some times Rodney could be frustratingly difficult. "He didn't ask for this, Rodney."
McKay's hand jerked away from the fire, and he shook it frantically. "Ow! Son of a bitch," he swore. "Of course he didn't ask for this!" Rodney stuck his burnt finger into his mouth, and Carson rolled his eyes, standing up to take a look at the injury.
When he went to take Rodney's hand, the man pulled it closer to his body and glared. "Rodney, let me see." He was long used to working with recalcitrant patients.
Grudgingly, he let Carson take his fingers and turn them over. A blister from where he'd let his hand get to near the fire was already forming.
"It's not as if I blame Sheppard, I just --" Rodney kept babbling as Carson began to wrap the cleanest bit of cloth they had around the fingers. "We're going to die, seriously, and he's enjoying walks in the sun, silk clothes and food." McKay groaned as Carson tightened the bandage. "Why hasn't he tried to look for us?"
"The king might have kept our escape from him," Carson explained brusquely, releasing Rodney's hand. "There you are, I'm afraid I've got nothing to give you for the pain." The small burn would probably be okay, but even a small burn could hurt like the devil.
The setting sun cast a purplish pall over the sky, and Carson shivered. Rodney, despite his bluster, had an ability to get to the crux of a situation. They were going to die if they tried to stay out here.
"Tomorrow we stop this folly. Ronon, you will return to the town and tell them we want to turn ourselves in. Rodney and I will stay with Teyla till you can return with a litter, and make sure they bring medicines with them. The sooner she's treated the more likely she'll live through this."
"Doc --"
"Carson's right." Rodney flexed his hand, as if testing to see how much pain he'd have from using it, and returned to rotating the spit, the roasting meat smelling so pungent and good that Carson's mouth was already watering, even though he knew it wouldn't be enough once they divided it between them.
"Aye, as much as it galls us, to save Teyla, and even ourselves, we must accept there's no other choice."
And he kept telling himself that throughout the long, cold night.
OoO
"Drink."
The firm voice rolled over John, and he opened his mouth. He was thirsty.
"Now, eat, John."
He was hungry – very, very hungry. Without thinking, John opened his mouth and accepted the spoon of broth.
He dreamed of pain, and more eating and drinking. Sometimes, John wondered what had happened, but mostly he slept. After a time, he woke again, aware for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. He was in Naem's bed, exhausted and achy. The same weighted feel was in his arms and legs, but his stomach didn't hurt, and that was all he had the energy to care about, as he slipped further into a sound sleep.
When he woke again, John saw the guards at the door, and sensed Naem was near. He pushed up only to find his arms didn't work. They tried, but the coordination wasn't there. Giving up, Sheppard settled for looking around. That was when he heard the water splashing and knew where Naem was.
The king strode out from behind the privacy screen, and his eyes fixed on John. He smiled. It was the first time Sheppard had ever seen Naem smile like this. Open, honest, not hiding anything, and it made him wonder what the hell had happened? His memories of the time spent hanging suspended from that damn beam were muddled. He knew he'd been up there for a long time, too long, just as he knew time had passed that he couldn't remember.
"You're awake," Naem said warmly.
Sheppard almost wished he wasn't. He stayed quiet, watching.
A tray of food and a glass of water was on the dresser behind him, and he didn't see it till Naem retrieved the tray and brought it to the bed. Inside, John felt a hard punch of despair. God, no, he didn't want to go there, not now, not again…vaguely, he remembered now being fed – before he'd been released or after? How long ago had he broken?
"John, you have nothing to be ashamed over."
Bitterness filled his mouth. Yes, he did, his body had betrayed him, continued to. Sheppard had allowed this man, this king, to feed him like a child and he couldn't even remember it.
"Joros, come help your prince."
The guard walked from his station by the door, propped his sword on the massive headboard, and lifted Sheppard's body like he was nothing more than a child, while Naem pushed pillows up behind his back. The man stepped away, sympathy in his eyes, and it made John feel worse, as Joros picked up his sword and returned to his duty.
Naem tucked a napkin over Sheppard's chest and settled beside him. "The worst is over." He spooned some of the white, thick porridge and held it in front of John's mouth.
Hunger still warred with pride; his body's endurance warred with his spirit. Sheppard wanted to refuse. He didn't want to be fed like this, to accept the defeat it represented, but his body ached with a ferocity that screamed he'd go insane if he were shackled to the beam again.
The spoon remained in the air between them, and Naem, always the master at the game, dropped the smile and now looked into John with the knowledge that Sheppard had already broken and eaten from his hand, and even though he hadn't been fully cognizant, he'd still done it, and there was nothing to be gained from regressing.
But Sheppard knew there was something. His pride, his core – who he was. John wasn't a man to give into other men. He'd taken orders in his military career…until he'd disagreed. Then he'd gone and done what he had thought necessary. He'd done the same thing with Elizabeth, even going so far as to require Bates to directly disobey her when she was standing beside the officer and Sheppard was rooms away.
What Naem wanted was complete capitulation, acceptance of Naem as the one in control, and John hadn't given anyone that since he'd been a kid and hadn't had a choice.
And he couldn't now.
Even though he wanted to, more than anything, because he hurt so God damn bad and he was hungrier than he'd ever remembered being in his life, he just couldn't…couldn't make his mouth open and do what Naem wanted, what he needed to do to stay down off that fucking beam. John swallowed, hard, breathed, closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable.
When the cold metal met his lips and Naem grabbed his jaw firmly, Sheppard didn't resist. Naem knew, and he was going to disregard John's token resistance and force the food into his mouth, giving Sheppard the escape from the beam that he needed, all he had to do was go along with it. Passive defiance was still defiance, right?
The coil of feelings conflicted within him as the food was scraped off the spoon by his teeth. He just had to chew, that was it, and he wouldn't be put in shackles. Naem hadn't let him refuse and John didn't have the energy to fight. The porridge was warm, and bland. He kept his eyes closed and chewed the few times he had to, before swallowing it.
He flinched with Naem rubbed a hand briskly on his arm and murmured encouragingly, "That's it, John. That's it."
OoO
Naem's hand clenched on the handle of the spoon, waiting, not even certain he was breathing. This was the critical moment, where he'd see if the two weeks on the beam had been worth the pain and suffering John had endured, and Naem, through him.
He watched as John focused on the spoon, stared at it with resignation, knowing what accepting it meant.
Naem had seen it in John's eyes when he'd realized he couldn't.
A part of Naem inside almost cried for the proud man lying in his bed. So like him, and like Jaem, if he had lived. John had no idea of how much this hurt Naem to do, but he had to, it was the only way to raise a prince to grow and accept the crown for what it was. A duty to the people, obedience to the people, everything for his people.
When Naem had first brought John to the manse, he had believed intimidation and cold assurances of threats would work, but it had not taken Naem long to realize that was the farthest from the truth. John would need a steady hand, swift punishment, and then warmth and reassurance. The fact that Naem had never trained another was reason enough for his rocky start with John, but he felt they were on the right path now.
Knowing that he could not put Jaem…John, through that again, not so soon, Naem took a chance, and pushed the spoon between his lips, taking John's jaw firmly in his hand and pulled his mouth open.
Sheppard's resistance was gone; the effects of the Lumival and the two weeks on the beam having wore his body down, if not his mind enough, that the spoon pushed in without spilling any. Naem pulled it up at an angle, scraping the contents into his mouth, using his teeth as a grate.
By then, John had closed his eyes against Naem. The man chewed, slow, and swallowed. He didn't open his mouth for more so Naem took his chin again, and pulled. Whether John had the ability to resist physically or not, he did not, and for now, this level of cooperation was enough.
It took an hour to feed the bowl's contents to John, and when he was done, Naem poured water and told John to swallow. The man did. Naem wiped his face tenderly, "There. Now you may rest."
What had begun as a means to an end, was now giving Naem something he had needed for so long; long enough that he had stopped recognizing the need. A prince, a son, to raise, train and care for, to fill the emptiness he had suffered all these years. Naem was desperate enough, and John, so like Jaem would have grown to be, that he was easily being swept away, lost to the powerful emotions that Jaem – John, evoked.
He stood, taking the bowl, cup and napkin with him, and walked to his dresser, setting them to the side, and clutching the edges of the wood, hiding his face from his guards. Jaem -- John, the two were mixing in his mind and Naem almost believed the Ancestors had sent him John as his son reborn. They were so alike – would have been so alike, if Jaem had not died. In those ten days with his infant son, Naem had seen an unbelievable promise of a life, and when it was cruelly taken from him, he had grieved, longer than he should have.
Walking the steps with John that he would have with Jaem made his mind confused.
Straightening, Naem pulled a fresh tunic from his drawer. He spared a last look at John and knew he would sleep for a while again. Naem had been two weeks without hunting, and he felt the need for the woods now, with nothing but Zarye and Aarye on his arms.
"Do not let him be disturbed," Naem ordered, leaving his room.
Joros and Baela did not bother acknowledging his command; it was never necessary.
OoO
Naem had always loved autumn as a child. The crisp air that was scented with the promise of snow, trees divested of their green for all the other colors in the universe to have their day, then shaking free of them in a slow, steady fall that filled the air with leaves for a month long period, coating the forest floor in a thick, protective cover that crunched and crackled under his feet.
Before his brother had died, they had spent many days running through the woods, chasing each other and climbing as far as they could into the tall trunks, bark rubbing against their skin and scraping them until they came home, torn clothes and dirty faces, only to be lectured by their mother.
Zarye beat his wings, causing Naem to pull his head out of reach from the powerful, broad feathers and bone. "Impatient, are you not?"
The bird screeched his need, and Naem thrust his arm up, letting Zarye take off in flight, his talons biting into the protective leather cover Naem wore over his hand and lower arm. Behind him, Aarye ruffled her feathers and pranced, waiting her turn.
Naem smiled, and bent down, offering his arm. His guards stood always watchful off to the side. Gaemal had offered to come with him, but Naem had needed the time alone; just him and his birds, free to walk the forest, hunting and living, away from the pressure of John, his people, the fact they still had yet to find the other four of John's companions. "There you are," he soothed, lifting Aarye up the same as he had with her twin. "Off you go!"
Together, the birds circled overhead, climbing, climbing until they frolicked in the treetops. Their loud cries drifted down to him and how Naem wished he could join them. He knew they would play, stretch their wings, before settling on finding prey. It was their way; the way of the wild. He knew the twins were not bowed to him; they stayed out of love, served because they chose too. Some animals could never be broken, not without killing what made them desirable in the first place.
A sudden swoop of Zarye had Naem tense. He scanned the area, looking for what would cause the male to so easily turn away from his play with Aarye when they had only just been loosed upon the winds. One of his guards spun to look behind, and when the man Naem recognized walked calmly into their circle, the drifting leaves swirling around him, the king faced him stonily. "I should kill you now."
Somewhere deep inside, Naem knew John's people were the real danger to him…to Jaem.
"I would kill you first."
Naem understood that the man would, but his guards would then kill Dex. Ronon was feral, uncontrolled, and like his hunting birds, he stayed with Sheppard for his own reasons; respect, or loyalty, maybe both, Naem was not certain. "I have not harmed him."
The cold eyes raked over Naem, the guards, up to the birds. "I've seen Sheppard walking, lucky for you."
He had seen the double – then John's people had been very near all this time.
"Why did you escape and risk his life?" Naem was truly curious. He'd thought the threat would be all he needed to keep John's people in line.
"We didn't do anything wrong."
His guards held their swords, ready to do as he ordered, but Naem didn't want Ronon's death – not yet. He had never wanted anyone to die. Everything he had done was to help his people, even ordering the destruction of homes and fields he had thought necessary to set events in place to attain the desired end. But he did regret not sending John's companions through the 'gate before toppling it. His people had needed the guilty to pay for the crime, and that is why he had kept them. Naem had hoped isolating John would be enough, and using threats of harm against each other would keep them under his control.
He had misjudged the approach needed to train John, and how to deal with his companions, but as he had done with his prince, Naem would adapt and learn. For better or worse, John's people were here, and maybe handling them with a gentler, more benevolent approach, would keep them from acting rashly.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Naem said, "Winter is almost here." He glanced up at the trees, most were naked, but enough leaves remained to keep the steady fall. A week, maybe two left. "The cold becomes deadly; the Luperes leave their mountain home when the temperatures fall far enough for them to range without becoming overheated. You and your companions will die if you do not return to the town."
"What will happen if we go back?"
Naem was surprised by the uncertainty that stole across the man's hard face. He realized it was not worry for himself, but for the others. Naem could understand that. "I will not have you punished." For John, he would hold his hand against the public flogging an escape demanded. For the gentler approach. "But your Lumival will be increased." It was a fair demand for their safety and the pardon from punishment.
His head nodded slightly, the tight braids moving slightly on his shoulders, or was that from the shivers – the man only wore the leather tunic he had arrived on Naem's planet with weeks ago, when the weather had been warmer.
"Fair enough. Teyla's sick, we need help, medicine to keep her alive."
"Take him to the manse, get a litter and women from the Home of Healing to see to her needs. Have their bungalow cleaned, a fire built, and Lumival administered. Tell Leal to double Ronon's dose."
Naem gave the orders and watched as Ronon left with the two guards he had told with a gesture to accompany the man. As they left, Naem lifted his face to the sky, again, seeking for signs of his birds. They were up high, higher than they had gone in a while, and he smiled. It was a good day to fly, indeed.
OoO
Even with the Lumival in his veins, John's body was stronger. The healer that had visited had given him something for the pain in his arms and legs and he was pretty sure he'd slept for at least a couple of days. In between the moments of wakefulness, Naem had been there, with his food and drink, and always an encouraging word.
Sheppard wanted to hate Naem, and a part of him still did, but the part of him that had been broken on that beam, responded each time he arrived, because when Naem arrived, so did the food that his body needed. He'd been deprived for two weeks, and even with everything he'd seen and been through in Afghanistan, it hadn't been anything like what he'd just survived.
Sure, there'd been people and places on Earth that'd seen and experienced things that might even make Naem cry for his mother, but John hadn't been a POW in Vietnam, and he hadn't been caught behind enemy lines anywhere in the Middle East. And he'd never gone over two weeks without solid food. His hunger alone had almost driven him out of his mind, but then there had been the pain – hanging from that beam had been hard for one night, but two weeks – there wasn't description for the agony he'd been in.
He still hadn't willingly opened his mouth for the food. Sheppard had kept his lips shut, and Naem had forced the spoon in, every time. Two days of doing the same routine, and John sensed the end of Naem's patience with his passive defiance was coming soon.
It was almost harder now. Before, he'd been out of his mind enough to still refuse, even if it wasn't much of a refusal, even if he'd accepted the food in the end by virtue of chewing and swallowing, and not resisting, but now that he'd had time to recover, the mere thought of being hung up there again made him almost shake. He couldn't do it. Not right now, not for a while, and that left him with the awful realization that if Naem said, "Open," John would do it.
The shame that flooded his insides at the admission made him want to curl up and escape, even if he'd only admitted it to himself. He'd never believed he was weak, or helpless, but right now he was living both.
The door opened and Naem walked in. Sheppard closed his eyes, groaning inwardly, and rolled away. He both wanted and hated the meal he knew was coming.
"Ascaria wishes to begin again as soon as you are able," he started, bringing the tray to the bed.
"What about what John wants?" Sheppard felt a little funny talking about himself in the third person, but his thoughts were making him feel scared, and being scared made him grumpy.
Naem laughed lightly. "John wants to do as he's told."
"No, John doesn't."
Even without looking, Sheppard felt the air in the room chill. Naem pulled John over and said, "Look at me, John."
He opened his eyes, and sighed. This was humiliating, all of it. He was almost forty, and was reduced to this – everything. "What do you expect from me, Naem? I…"
The king still bore the strength Sheppard had recognized, but there was a familiarity with him now, and John was sure it had everything to do with the last two weeks. Every time he'd woken, Naem was there. When he'd hung in agony, Naem had been there, softly speaking and helping him stay sane, even though it was through Naem's orders that he was put up there to begin with. He had vague memories of being bathed after it, and he knew Naem had been there, too. Always, always there, and this king now knew him with more intimacy than Elizabeth or anyone else…but for all that he knew, Sheppard hadn't let him in. They both knew that Sheppard viewed him as an adversary.
"I want you to be the ruler of my people."
Naem didn't give him time to protest, instead lifting a napkin and shaking it open. "Sit."
The tray held more than broth or porridge, today it held roast meat, and Sheppard almost drooled from the smell. Solid, real food.
He knew, God, he knew.
This was it, John felt it in his bones, and he just…couldn't fight it. With trembling arms, he pushed himself up, and closed his eyes for a brief moment, steadying himself. He only had to hold on. The Daedalus would come in two more weeks, maybe four.
Maybe strength came from surviving what you had to.
"Open, John."
Sheppard's heart pounded, his hands felt clammy. It wasn't just a battle inside his mind, it was physical, visceral, to give up that part of him. Control, he'd always held onto his ability to control everything around him. And in less than three weeks this king had wrested it away from him solidly and assuredly, and it was all Sheppard could do to hold still right now.
Naem's dark, fathomless eyes locked with his, and the king repeated, "Open, John…Jaem."
Sheppard's lips parted, and his eyes closed again, he was breathing like he'd run a marathon. The meat was dropped into his mouth, and when it was over, he brought his teeth together and started chewing. It tasted like roast chicken, warm and still moist, with plenty of spices. It was greasy, and tasted better than any chicken he'd ever had. Even as he chewed, his nostrils flared from trying to slow his breathing down.
"Next, you shall learn how to eat while keeping your eyes open."
The way Naem said it, so earnestly, John almost laughed hard enough to spit out his mouthful of food, but he still kept his eyes closed.
OoO
Teyla seethed in her bed.
They had given up because of her, let themselves be recaptured, all because she had allowed her back to become infected, and fallen ill because of it. She was to blame, and now she was the one in bed resting while they labored outside.
"Are you in pain?"
The woman looking down at her was angry, but coolly polite. Something Teyla had done herself to strangers that visited Athos, and even to John and his people when she felt they were behaving poorly.
Growing tired with the belief that they were criminals, Teyla reached for the woman's arm, her teeth gritted against the pain she was actually in and she stressed, "We did not attack your people that night."
"You confessed."
The woman continued to hold Teyla's gaze and with measured care, pulled her arm free.
She should have known not to bother trying. In fairness, they had confessed, but it had been under duress, and Teyla had always believed that the truth of a matter would shine through the confusing murk of dishonesty. Turning away from the woman, and her cold face, Teyla pursed her lips together and said nothing more.
One refusal was not the end, and perhaps with time, the truth would be seen.
OoO
On the floor of the room he shared with Naem, John had scratched a rough facsimile of a calendar. He'd been out of bed since morning, and it'd been one day since he'd willingly began taking food from Naem's hand; one day since he truly felt like he'd lost something of himself in that bed. And unlike other milestones, like birthdays and awards, he did feel a hell of a lot different the day after.
Letting his head rest against the cold stone wall, John imagined he was being interviewed, on the red carpet like he was some movie star that had just won an Oscar…someone was thrusting a microphone in his face, asking him as he stood in front of cameras, "How do you feel today, John Sheppard? Do you feel any different?"
He'd stare at the cameras and say, "I'll never be the same again."
Not, "No, not really – I woke up today and put my pants on the same way I did every day. Nothing's really changed."
Because everything had. One moment of weakness, rolled into two, and now John wasn't sure where it would end. How far would he let Naem push him, how much would he give up to stay off that beam?
Shaking his head to dispel the daydream, John knew he wouldn't get any answers from himself because he wouldn't have believed he'd be sitting here to begin with, having already given in twice. There was a lot about him he hadn't believed, things in his past.
Sheppard knew he wasn't the kind of guy that inspired people to go out on a limb for him. His father had been pissed at him for most of his life, the military, hell, they were more fickle than his father. One minute handing him a helicopter and a promotion, the next, slapping him down with an under the table court martial, black marked, and sent off to wallow in his supposed sins, flying VIP's in an arctic wasteland.
But he had never given up on himself. Never stopped being true to what he thought about who he was…not till now.
With a frustrated sigh, Sheppard stretched his legs, and ran a hand over the rug where the calendar was. It didn't matter, he wasn't alone on this planet; McKay meant enough to the expedition that the Daedalus would come. Carson, too. Soldiers were easily replaced, top rated physicists and geneticists, not so much.
Anyway, he needed to get his head straight, because today he was supposed to resume lessons with Ascaria.
Knowing his time was running out, John started working on scratching out one of the fresh marks. The Lumival made scratching the stone even harder, but Sheppard had painstakingly managed to create a countdown this morning – he'd included a mark for today just so he could cross one out.
He'd decided to go with the highest estimate; six weeks. Seeing how two and a half very painful weeks were gone, that left just under four.
Staring at the thin lines etched in the stone surface, Sheppard told himself he could do this. Three weeks and change. Some how, some way, he'd endure the humiliation and let Naem think he was cooperating. He could almost gain courage from the countdown, but John knew he was risking a lot hovering over here behind the bed. He'd pulled the carpet up over his lap to try and mark it out of sight – give himself some time if anyone walked in on him, but it wouldn't do any good to be caught sitting here.
He got to his feet, smoothed out the wrinkles with his foot, and straightened his clothes. Naem had ordered more outfits made for him, and now he had matching tunics and pants in red, dark blue and black. They weren't really his style, but Sheppard was out for self-preservation after what he'd just gone through, and had kept his comments to himself this morning when Naem had given him the black set and ordered him to get dressed.
But he'd definitely thought it.
Talk about timing, just then the door opened and one of the guards…Joros…that was his name, poked his head in and waved. Guess time was up. Off to see the wizard, in this case, maybe the wicked witch of the east, seeing how Ascaria was like every mean teacher he'd ever had rolled into one woman.
On his first day she'd snitched on him, and he'd gotten hung up for a night of discomfort. The second day she'd snitched on him, and he'd gotten hung up for two weeks of sheer hell. Yeah, Sheppard wasn't bearing a lot of love for her right now, if ever, and the only reason he didn't hate her like he did Naem was only because her hands weren't the ones that locked him into the shackles, or made him eat food, or tried to tell him that all of this was for 'his own good'.
As they walked towards the library, John had finally figured out why he got turned around in this place. There weren't any stairs. The outer halls were sloped and he started paying attention to all the corners and the little idiosyncrasies in the floor and walls. It was almost like a maze built within a building, and the library was on a far side; north, south, east or west, he wasn't really sure yet.
The only thing he knew for certain was that this building was old, incredibly old, because the stone on the floor was polished from years of feet walking over it, rougher and duller on the edges of the corridor. Some patchwork was obvious because of the color differences in the mortar in a few places, and some of the rugs and wall hangings were so threadbare he wondered how they even held together.
Sheppard tried to stall and look at the scenes depicted on the murals, but the guard hurried him forward, not letting him pause. The large double doors were already open and Ascaria was sitting at the table, her brown hair braided. She turned at the sound of their approach, and offered him a guarded smile.
"Prince Jaem," she said.
"John."
Two weeks and she forgot his name.
She shook her head, dispelling his belief that it was a mistake.
"No, King Naem has declared since you are to be his heir, you shall bear the royal name of his son. He believes it will help ease the succession when it comes."
Sheppard opened his mouth to tell her, that regardless of what Naem had declared, he was still John, but then he thought again about the times before. Ascaria was her king's hand, if nothing else, and she would be sure to report back about Sheppard's attitude. Inhaling through his nose, he tried to keep the pissed look away. Judging from her severe scowl, John wasn't sure he'd succeeded all that much.
"So, reading," he said, clapping his hands together. Better to change the subject…
She indicated the seat beside her and opened the reader he'd worked in before. "Come, by the time today is through, you should be able to move into the next level. You are a very capable pupil."
They sat and studied until John's back ached, and then some more. But, by the time she closed the book with a flourish, her face beaming, Sheppard could read beginning Arstaemian. He'd almost…enjoyed that.
Whatever he felt though, evaporated when he turned to find Naem watching them, the king's face inscrutable like it'd been when they'd first met. Sheppard was pretty sure the color had drained from his face. It must be dinner time, which meant they'd worked straight through the day.
"Sire, Prince Jaem has completed the beginning level!" gushed Ascaria.
For now, her pride in John as her pupil had suppressed her distaste for him as a person.
"Yes, Sire, Prince Jaem."
He probably shouldn't have said that, and dripping in sarcasm as it was. Stupid that Sheppard's mouth worked even when he didn't want it to.
It was just…it was his name, now! Sheppard had tried to consider what would be targeted next, but he hadn't seen it coming. This king had taken away his freedom, his control over everything around him, and now, he was taking away his identity.
Naem's eyes glittered. "Thank you, Ascaria, that is wonderful news."
She curtsied low. "Tomorrow, Sire?"
"Yes, tomorrow."
After she left, Naem turned to the doors, hands clasped and called, "Come with me, Jaem."
Reluctantly, John did. Naem led Sheppard down the corridor, out into the dusk. Guards had fallen alongside, all but one he recognized. The path to the town lay ahead and Sheppard couldn't help feel a thrill at the thought that maybe he would get to see his team. It'd been so long, felt like ages, and he had asked about them after he'd gotten his senses sorted, only to be told they were fine. When he tried to press for details, Naem had withdrawn, leaving Sheppard to sleep and heal.
As they walked the path, bright flashes of light would come and go, and always in different places. John tried to see what was causing it, but the sun had set and even though total darkness was still an hour away, he couldn't make out the cause because of the little daylight that remained. Was it a firefly?
"I see you like our winter faeries."
Another light, this one so near his face that he flinched. "Winter faeries?"
Naem slowed his stride and pointed in front of them, and sure enough, a second later another flash, there and gone in a heartbeat. "They only appear before it snows and during the winter. We always know when spring arrives, because the winter faeries leave us."
They kind of reminded John of those energy bugs from the planet with the marooned wraith. "Pretty," he admitted.
Naem chuckled. "And dangerous. They've been the death of many people."
Alarm raced through John, and he tried to shuck his skin inside his clothes more. Were the bugs poisonous? Their bite deadly, what?
"See how much you must learn!" Naem gestured at the wide fields of grass stretching out towards the woods. They could already hear the river flowing to their right. The town wasn't much farther. "In the winter, we have snows so fierce that you can see nothing, barely your own hand in front of you. People caught out when a storm comes cannot find their way home. The winter faeries have made many believe they see brief glances of candlelight in windows, and they steer their feet towards those lights only to find they keep changing, and desperate, the people alter their course, seeking any shelter."
"They freeze to death."
Soberly, Naem nodded. "We find their bodies some times beside buildings and roads, but when the cold has overtaken your blood, nothing can save you."
Sheppard lost himself in watching the bugs flit through the air for the rest of the walk. All Naem's explanation had done was make him realize just how much he missed Atlantis, his team, all the things he'd come to know and care about. Winter faeries, blizzards, towns and mad kings – none of this was what he'd wanted.
The first hint of true candlelight appeared around the bend, and Sheppard shivered more. Naem noticed and frowned at the thin silk clothes, but didn't say anything. They came to a door and though the door itself was new, Sheppard recognized the building. He'd been here, that first night…
Joros banged in three quick hits and stepped back.
The door opened, spilling warmth and light, and Sheppard found himself grinning.
Beckett squinted at them in the darkness before he realized who it was, and straightened, stepping aside. "Come in, Sire."
John's step faltered at hearing the title come from Carson's lips, but it made sense. John himself had called him by his title when…before.
The fire against the far wall blazed heat into the room; stew simmered. Dishes were on the table, and Sheppard realized they'd interrupted his team's dinner. He wished…
It was stupid. He couldn't change what had happened, and he couldn't ask for his team to be brought to the manse and risk them seeing what Naem was putting him through. It was humiliating enough having servants watch as Naem fed him, bathed him, picked his clothes and sent him to his lessons. No, this was preferable, for all of them. Still…
"Hi, guys."
Ronon grunted, didn't even get up, just kept eating. But his eyes raked over Sheppard and took in his clothes, his…everything. Rodney was less cursory in his appraisal but he nodded and said, "You look well."
"Yeah," Sheppard agreed around the lump in his throat. "I'm good."
"Teyla's spending the night at -"
Naem stepped in front of Carson. "As you can see, your companions are fine."
"Could I have an hour?" he asked. John had to try. Just one hour to sit and catch up, talk to them. He was alone in the manse, no one but Naem's people around, and everything he did was watched carefully. Although, he almost laughed bitterly, a good chunk of that time had been spent going nowhere anyway, so all the guards had to do was stand there and look impressive.
He saw the irritated look on McKay's face when he asked Naem for permission to stay, saw the scowl on Ronon's, and surprise on Caron's. What'd they expect him to do? Demand to be given time together?
Maybe they did, but that was only because they had no idea of what such a demand would cost him, and Sheppard wasn't ready to go there again. Not so soon. He'd only today been able to move his arms without the deep ache taking over his mind. If he wasn't willing to risk the beam by refusing to eat from Naem's hand, how could they possibly think he'd do something so stupid as challenge his authority in front of his guards and them?
That was the crux of the matter; they didn't know. And frankly, John didn't want them to. Torture was one thing, but the fact that he'd bent to Naem's will, had allowed the man to dominate him and force Sheppard to obey and do what the king wanted…no, that was his own personal hell to bear, and hopefully, it'd remain that way.
"Not today, it's growing dark and I must see Kaleb before we return to the manse."
Naem's refusal was brusque, and without waiting to see what reaction Sheppard would have, he turned for the door. Baela opened it, and followed Naem outside, Joros and the other guard, leaving John and the guard he didn't know inside.
Ronon, Rodney and Carson watched him, as if waiting to see what he'd do. Winter faeries, he wanted to say, decoys leading to a man's death. Naem had brought him here not just to see how his teammates were doing, but to see how far the two weeks on the beam would take him.
With a bitter twist of his lips, Sheppard realized far enough, as he smiled tightly, and followed through the door.