"Did you see that?"
"Rodney, eat your dinner." Carson frowned at the door, though. He'd seen it, and looking away, he caught Ronon's contemplative stare, and knew they all had a lot to think about.
"I'm not going to ignore what's happening, and if both of you are willing to stick your heads in the sand, fine, but don't expect me to go along with you."
McKay snapped up his bowl, and strode to the bedroom he shared with Ronon, slamming the door.
Ronon drank his wine and wiped his beard with the back of his hand. "I don't see any sand."
"That's not what he meant."
"I know that."
Ronon stared at him amiably and bit into his bread. Carson sighed, dropping his spoon. "Of course you do. Was it just me, or did the colonel seem…different?"
"Wasn't just you."
Ronon got up, dumped his bowl in the water, then walked over to stoke the fire. The large log broke in half, blowing puffs of ash and sparks into the air. The charred black coals gleamed in the stone hearth; warmth. Coming back had been worth it. They had slept in beds again last night, with blankets, and a roof over their head. The banked fire kept the bungalow warm enough that the morning chill was easily gone by the time breakfast was heated. A table, and a sink – aye, Carson knew they'd made the right choice.
Teyla was going to stay overnight in the Home of Healing, but the Arstaemians had developed antibiotics on their own, and they'd gotten her medical help in time that she'd recover. They'd tried to make an escape, and it hadn't worked out. Now they would wait for the Daedalus, watch autumn fall to winter, and be thankful for the shelter they had.
The back breaking work in the fields was almost done and their jobs would turn to inside things. Weaving, cooking, repairing – all in all, Carson could imagine worse ways to spend the next month.
Even though, lifting his own mug of hot mulled wine to his lips, Carson couldn't shake the image of Sheppard's smile before he'd followed Naem through the doorway. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something wasn't right.
Would Colonel Sheppard truly allow himself to be lulled by Naem? It had seemed like the king had some kind of influence over Sheppard, and Carson didn't like the implications of that one bit. No more than Rodney had.
Finishing his drink, he dumped his bowl and spoon in the sink as well, and headed to his own room. "Good night, Ronon. I'll get the dishes in the morning."
OoO
Naem brooded the entire way back to the manse, letting John spend the cold trip lost in his own thoughts. Kaleb had reported a shortage on the final harvests which meant it would be a lean winter for all. The children he had living in the top floor of the manse would be fed enough, but the children in the town would not have enough without supplementing the people's harvest from his stores.
Still, between what they could hunt and what they had stored, they would live.
The traditional mid-winter feast would fall entirely on his household this year. He would talk to Gaemal about extra meat to be salted and set aside. This year the celebration was especially meaningful, because this year at mid-winter he would have John crowned as prince.
As they approached the door, a gust of wind drew nettles of rain into his skin, and they hurried the rest of the way. By morning, it will have turned to ice, and the grounds would shine like glass in the sun, branches bowed under the weight of the frozen water.
As he ordered dinner to be brought to his chamber and handed off his cloak to a servant, Naem added winter clothing to his list of things to get for John.
For Jaem.
He'd told the manse servants and guards to call John by that name, and Naem knew the storm from that action was still waiting to break. The people had accepted it without question, but John had looked less than pleased earlier. Name had almost believed the defiance would come in the home, surrounded by his companions, which is why he brought him there – a small test to see how far John had come.
Jaem had held his tongue and obeyed. The two weeks on the beam had been worth the pain. Just how much, though, Naem still had to find out.
His chamber was warm. His private room distanced from the eastern hall where the orphans lived.
Here he had privacy and peace. Gaemal had tried to talk him into moving into his father's chambers, but Naem had never been able to leave the room he had shared with his brother as a boy. The only time he had left was when he had taken his wife, but then she had died, and so had his son, and left Naem no reason to live in those big rooms by himself.
Here he was trained; had lived, and it was always this room that called to him. Every time he had tried to leave, tragedy brought him back.
With John, Naem was afraid.
Afraid that if he returned to the larger rooms with the extra space and luxuries, that John would be taken from him. That he'd lose Jaem all over again.
At the threshold of his room, Naem sent John in with a nod of his head, and turned to Joros. "There is no need for any of you to keep duty during the night. When you return in the morning make sure breakfast is on the way."
"Yes, Sire."
Joros and Baela left, the other two having split off at the main entrance. Naem had insisted they stay before because John needed the intimidation. Now, he needed the privacy.
The tray was waiting, and John sat the table, fingering one of the game pieces between two fingers, his head resting on the palm of his hand. Naem approached him, looking at what he held. "It is the king," he explained.
"I figured."
"Say it now, Jaem, before it festers and you cause yourself more discomfort in the end."
The game piece was clutched in a fist, and John lifted his eyes to meet Naem's. "Why take my name? When I've given you everything else, why that?"
"Because, you are my son – I see it now." Naem sat in the chair opposite and took the wooden figure from John's hand. "Not literally my child; Jaem died a long time ago, but you are a gift from the Ancestors, sent to replace my Jaem, and my test was to realize your importance and be strong enough to do what must be done. You are the prince we will need, it is autumn, Jaem, and when autumn arrives, the cold winter threatens my people, your people, and they need an heir to stay strong."
"What did you do last year?"
John's eyes looked lost.
"We were culled. And again this year, we were culled. What was once every few generations became every generation, then every half-generation, until now it is once a year, every autumn, and they had come days before you arrived. Bitter days where my people felt we were at our end."
Naem lifted the queen, carved from the hardwood of the evergreens that grew in the mountains, and set her next to the king. "I thought you were that end, but it was not until I had began to walk through the thick leaves of fall that I was able to see the answer. You will end that cycle, John…Jaem. Every step I take is to that end; I want my people to live," he declared, slamming his fist against the checkered table.
He jumped, then, not enough that someone across the room would notice, but Naem had. So, John was still afraid of him. That was for the best, because it was time to eat, and Naem only wanted to sleep tonight. It would be so easy to let John feed himself, so that he could drift off, visit his wife again, his son…
"Come and eat, it has already grown cold, I fear."
Naem waited for John to sit, ignored how the man closed his eyes and breathed hard. He spooned the stew into John's mouth and pictured Jaem.
OoO
Sheppard scratched through another line and did a mental count. Two more weeks gone, four total, and soon the Daedalus would arrive. He pulled the carpet over the marks, and scooted till his back was against the stone wall and sat.
The Lumival made him lethargic, and if it weren't for the food shortage, he was sure he would've gained weight for the lack of exercise.
Everyone called him Jaem now; in the manse and in the town. He'd seen glimpses of his team. They worked all day, slept all night, living normal lives from what he could tell. He'd also caught sight of his double, the man Naem had appearing around the grounds as him. Ascaria had explained that it was for the people to see him enough that they accepted, and believed, and could hope again.
He didn't care about that, but he did care that his team was out there living their lives without any awareness of what he was going through.
Even as the thought formed, another took its place – he was just as relieved that they didn't know.
Torn between having them believe he was living it up and thinking that he was ignoring them, letting himself be twisted into something else willingly…it made him feel a different kind of sick and frustrated than what he felt at Naem's hands, or feeling sicker inside at the thought of them actually knowing.
Of the two, he preferred the latter.
He was jealous of them – that they got to share stories about their day, eat together, be together – while he lived a life of submission and private abuse. Naem hadn't allowed him to feed himself yet. He'd taken away everything John had that had made him Colonel Sheppard, and shoved the accouterments of Prince Jaem down his throat. The clothes, title, and the training.
He'd spent most days bent over a book learning the language from Ascaria.
She'd at least lost some of the coldness, and John had showed her how to play rock, paper, scissors when she'd promised to let him teach her something from his planet if he passed the senior level after only two days of study on the material.
The thing with reading is that once you get the process down, it's not hard learning a new language if someone is there to explain it. The gate acting as a universal translator was a theory Rodney had proposed what felt like lifetimes ago, and however it worked, the ability for Ascaria to make the letters into sounds he understood proved to be the critical point. After that, it was just memorization, and he had a really good memory.
John had read about the history of the royal family, the practices of training each successive generation, and as painful as he could attest for some of it to be, Sheppard had to admit it'd apparently worked.
In the days since the Ancients had left Atlantis on the bottom of the ocean floor, Arstaem had been ruled by Naem's family, and by all rights, with fairness. Evil, despotic princes weren't a possibility after the training was finished because the prince would not be set free of the process until the mental discipline had been achieved. The physical hardships, the strict enforcement of rules, the entire procedure from the time a prince was old enough, to when he accepted the crown, was geared towards exposing unstable minds and a man or woman incapable of controlling impulses.
He'd also learned the sordid history of Naem's family. His father, Haem, had died of a disease the healers hadn't been able to cure. His mother, brother, two sisters – all died from this same mysterious plague. As far back as John could tell, the only thing that the royal family died from was this disease.
There were some isolated deaths, from drowning and exposure, a few like Naem's wife that had died in childbirth, but the bulk, and this was a lot of lives, died from the disease that haunted Naem's family line.
It was almost enough to make him feel sorry for the king…but not quite.
Naem took him out on walks through the forest, showed him his twin hunting birds; falcons. Zayre and Aarye. When the first snow fell, Naem let him walk the grounds as if John had been an excited kid granted a rare snow day. The fur cloak that had been made for him was warm and he'd lingered outside just to be away from the memories that grew every day within the stone walls.
Two weeks that had passed in the blink of an eye and in the ages of a lifetime. As contradictory as his entire life in this manse.
Rodney had managed to sneak in once more, and this time, because of his success at learning to read, or maybe it was just that enough time had passed, Ascaria didn't snitch when he was gone longer than a trip to the bathroom would've called for. Still, John had made it as fast as he could, and McKay had taken it personal, accusing him of wanting to rush back to be with Ascaria.
With a huff, he'd snarled that Teyla had recovered and they were doing fine, thanks for the concern. He'd left the closet first, leaving John behind, stunned, not even knowing what Teyla had recovered from.
Isolated, alone, stripped of even his name, John was having a hard time hanging on. As beautiful as winter was, he still had to deal with the ugliness inside.
When his head nodded forward, Sheppard realized it'd grown late. After Ascaria had finished, she'd confessed that he'd done so well she didn't have any lessons planned for tomorrow. John got an unexpected day off, and though Naem hadn't said anything, John had made the assumption he had to say in the private chambers.
Knowing he should get up and go to the bed, John merely shifted into a more comfortable position. Lethargic…yeah, that was a good description for what that stuff did to him. Made his entire body reluctant to move, all the time.
He let his eyes drift closed; he'd only rest for a moment…
"What is this?"
The question was soft, and John wasn't sure he was dreaming it or if Naem was really there, leaning towards him, the rug pulled back –
No, he was awake, that sudden sick feeling that raced through his gut made sure he knew that. John tried to shake off his grogginess, to explain his calendar so that Naem didn't realize what it was for.
How could he be so stupid as to fall asleep?
"It's nothing," he said. "I was just keeping track of how many days have gone by."
Naem jerked his hand, releasing the rug so that it covered the marks. "They are counting down to something, Jaem." He grabbed John by his arms and pulled him to his feet. "Tell me, what are you counting down to?"
The end of subjugation, asshole.
It's what John would've said, if he hadn't been afraid of being hung for another two weeks. Even though that'd be about time for the Daedalus to arrive, John would prefer returning to Atlantis on both feet rather than carted in a wheelchair or drugged to his gills, and if Naem put him in shackles and left him like that again, ever, Sheppard was pretty sure drugged would be the necessary fix. The remembered pain wasn't fading fast enough.
But then again, that was probably the point.
"I guessed at when it'd first snow based off of what you said," he tried a different explanation and smiled crookedly. "Guess I was off by a couple of weeks." He never had lied worth a damn.
Naem wasn't buying it. Sheppard tensed, trying to think about his options. He was bringing up his hands to push up, get to his feet and try to defend himself. John wasn't going to go willingly back into those chains – what'd he have to lose at this point? It was two weeks until the Daedalus showed, shouldn't be any later than that, and really, the ship might arrive from any point between now and then.
And the one thing Naem had let slip was his inability to kill John now. He'd replaced his dead son with him, and Sheppard didn't believe Naem would blithely take his life anymore.
His back literally against a wall, John's hands up, Naem surprised him by straightening, turning, and striding from the room.
There were no guards. Sheppard was alone, and unlike before, he didn't think there was a guard outside the door. It was night, so there wouldn't be people around. He'd never have another shot like he had now.
Scrambling to his feet, John paused only long enough to grab the fur cloak. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he sure as hell wasn't going to stay here to be strung up like a sheep for the slaughter. He'd known etching the countdown was a risk, and if he hadn't been so damn drugged, John wouldn't have fallen asleep literally on the evidence.
The hallway was empty, and Sheppard didn't wait to see if it'd stay that way. He ran, bumping along the wall. The Lumival would be wearing off soon, all he had to do was get into the woods and wait for it to get out of his system, then he would try to get to the town and his team.
Whether there were more exits and entrances, he didn't know, but he didn't see Naem as he took each corridor unsteadily. The large doors leading outside were in front of him now, and throwing the cloak around his shoulders, Sheppard pushed it open.
Cold air blew into his face, snow swirled up from the ground and into his body. He disappeared into the inky blackness of night, shutting the door behind him. As he broke towards the woods on the opposite side of the manse, Sheppard looked up at the clouds. The air smelled like winter; snow was coming down hard, and he shivered. It was cold, cold enough that if he didn't keep moving, he'd be liable to die from hypothermia, but could he really keep moving all night?
The answer was that he'd do what he had to. The alternative was to go back there and be punished, subjugated and broken further. The small defiances he'd clung to, like the calendar, had been all John had to keep himself together. Freedom for the first time in a month was in his grasp, and Sheppard wasn't going to let it slip away.
The shoes Naem had given him to wear with his silk clothes weren't thick enough, and soon the snow on the ground made his toes grow cold, then warm, until finally numb. The cloak he kept wrapped so tight he swore he'd suffocate.
He made it to the tree line, and then plunged deeper, always keeping his mind on where the road was so that he could double back and make for the town tomorrow. He had a long twenty-four hours ahead, but if he could find shelter for the night, he might be able to bury himself under leaves and stay warm enough to get some rest; once he was far enough away from the manse.
A winter night in the forest was still; quiet, the only sounds were the soft fall of snowflakes on the tree limbs and ground. Every now and then he would hear a louder, soft, thwump, and he knew it was the drifts on the thin branches falling to the forest floor when they'd grown to big to stay balanced.
The animals hibernated in their burrows. His feet squeaked in the dry snow. Tall trunks loomed like shadowy sentinels all around him. The moon was hidden by clouds, no starlight to see by, only a heavy darkness all around. John knew this was dangerous – he could get lost easily, without any familiarity of the area, and deprived of any senses to note landmarks to find his way out when morning came. Sheppard's feet slowed and he thought about going back.
He could survive Naem's twisted training, but he wouldn't survive exposure. Damn it!
They never should've came here, he should've never let Elizabeth come back, and Sheppard had known he shouldn't have returned. The foreboding he'd felt was his instinct trying to tell him to stay the hell away from Naem. He'd recognized the danger, even subconsciously, and now it was too late.
He paused, breathing in ragged breaths that hurt because of how cold the air was.
There!
When he'd taken the last step, another had fallen behind him, and then stopped after he had. Sheppard had felt he was being followed, but by what? By Naem and his guards? They wouldn't stalk him, they'd rush up and capture him, because he was alone, unarmed, and worth more to Naem alive than dead. The king wouldn't waste time in getting Sheppard back to the manse and warmed up. Even while enduring the agony on the beam, Naem had cared for him.
The king had feared Sheppard when they first met, but somewhere along the way he'd turned that fear into something else, something only definable to the twisted thoughts that Naem had access to.
Stalking him wasn't Naem's style, so what was it?
Sheppard narrowed his eyes and paused, holding completely still, not even breathing. Slowly, he rotated his upper body, scanning for any sign of what was behind him. A break in the pure night, a shadow that didn't run straight up towards the sky…
Like the night itself gave birth to the monster, the large gray blur ran at him from between two dark trees. Indistinguishable until the yellow eyes were in the air coming for his neck, Sheppard only had time to raise his arms in front of his head.
OoO
The furiousness he felt drove Naem from his chambers. He had been a hairsbreadth from striking Jaem. The calendar was a countdown, for something. A rescue, an escape, what?
Fingers clenched painfully into a fist, Naem ignored his nails biting into his own skin. Betrayed, after all he'd done for John. He'd spared his companions, he had caused the death of one his own people to set the course where Jaem could be his son again.
Naem had allowed his four companions to suffer no floggings after their escape; had the woman cared for by his own healer. Had taught Jaem their history; taken him out into the woods and shared his love of hunting with his falcons.
And Jaem had lied to him! Lied to his father, and a son should never, ever lie to his father…to his king.
But Haem had also taught him the lesson that a father should never strike his child in anger. Training must be done with a gentle hand, and always love. Training born from hatred would destroy a prince.
The corridor had led him to the door that opened into the wing that housed his guards. They had their own homes in town, but shifts were rotated on nightly basis with half their numbers needing to be on hand at the manse in case they were needed. Yes, Naem would need two guards. Jaem would not willingly go into his shackles tonight.
Two weeks again?
He sighed at the memory; it had not been any more pleasant for him than it had been for Jaem, but, Naem did not think two weeks would be necessary again. Days, this time, but how many he would decide by looking into Jaem's eyes. Two at the least, no more than six.
Naem did not knock, he pushed the doors open, and spied Joros reading in bed. The man with the square beard and bald head quickly closed the book with a snap and stood. "Sire?"
"I need help with…Jaem."
Joros did not ask for further information; he snapped at Baela, and the two pulled on their breeches and followed Naem out of their quarters. When Naem opened his door and found Jaem gone, his winter cloak as well, he felt sick. What had he done? He'd grown complacent, lulled, and had slackened the guards. John had escaped, but what he'd run into was far more dangerous than the boy realized. The Luperes had been sighted not far from the manse two days past. The children were not allowed to play except during mid-day, and always with a cadre of guards armed with swords.
And Jaem had rushed into the woods to escape the punishment he knew was earned; rushed into the arms of death.
"Gather the guard, we have no time to spare in finding him!"
Naem grabbed his own cloak and rushed to his cabinet, sliding his sword free of the scabbard. He rarely used the weapon, but tonight he feared Jaem's life would depend upon it.
By the time they had ran into the woods on the eastern side of the manse, a full cadre of guards waited with torches. They found his footsteps in the snow easily enough, thankfully, the blizzard was holding, at the cusp of breaking free form the clouds above. Naem was afraid. As he followed his guards deep into the forest, he was afraid of what they would find.
If a Lupere had already found Jaem first…
He gripped the handle of his sword, and forced the dangerous thoughts from his mind. John…Jaem would be fine.
Naem would find him, bring him home and scold him within an inch of his life. Maybe the beam would not be needed to make him understand that Jaem needed to confess the reason for the hidden countdown scratched on Naem's floor.
Wind gusted, lifting the fur lined hood and tossing it against the back of his head.
They crept, swords out, following the staggered steps of a drugged boy. When the cry rose ahead, Naem did not wait for his guards, he broke into a run so fast he could feel the cold reaching in and snatching the air from his lungs.
The Lupere had Jaem on the ground, tearing at his arm, pulling and growling. The beast was the size of Jaem and it was going to win. It was going to take his son from him, and Naem was not going to let Jaem die. Naem would rather die himself than live through that again – John had been a gift from the Ancestors. His Jaem, returned, strong and warm, breathing, with hair still soft and dark like when he had first laid eyes on him on his mother's belly.
He screamed, and ran, sword gripped solidly in both hands. The animal had only time to release Jaem before Naem's sword skewered her. The female Luperes were always the dangerous ones.
She howled in pain, twisted and tried to pull free of the metal's bite, but before she could, his guards descended, Joros and Baela at the front, plunging their own steel into her. She cried, whimpered then Joros pulled his blade free and brought it down swiftly through her neck to end her torment.
The snow was colored red. Naem knelt by Jaem's side, the sword the only thing holding him up. "Jaem…" he breathed, reaching for the boy's face. "Ancestors!" Naem turned to his guards. "Help him, now!"
Jaem's face, pale and white as the snow he rested in. Lifting the limp head to his chest, Naem lowered his lips to the boy's forehead, his heart pounding. "You will be fine, Jaem. I swear it. I am sorry, so sorry – I have failed to keep you safe, but it will not happen again." His sword had fallen in the snow, forgotten. Naem ran his trembling fingers through Jaem's hair. "Do not leave me again, please."
"Sire, let us take him. We must get him to the manse."
Naem didn't want to let him go, afraid if he took his hands off Jaem, his life would leak out from his body, but Joros was lifting Jaem in tender arms. The manse, yes. Healers and help and they would make sure Jaem did not die this time.
He breathed hard, his nostrils flared, and Naem gripped his sword again, using the tip to dig into the frozen ground and help him to his feet. The dead Lupere lay forgotten to the side. He followed behind Joros, walking fast, Jaem's life depending on it now.
Naem's hands stuck to his sword, sticky with blood; whose blood? Jaem's or the Luperes?
The trail they left was thick with drops of red, melting snow in their wake. Tomorrow he would send Gaemal out to retrieve the beast and have the skin stripped, cured and made into a new cloak for Jaem. He knew his man would have no trouble finding the way.
Hours passed, or was it less? They arrived back at the manse, and Jaem was whisked away to Naem's private chamber. Healers arrived and began to bathe his wounds. He had deep furrows from the Lupere's claws on his arms and even some on his face and belly. His left was the worst, deep bite wounds on his forearm. The only blessing was that Jaem was so far lost in his pain that he was not aware of the Leal cleaning and sewing his injuries. By the time she was finished, Naem had suffered enough for them both.
"He will need rest, a great deal of it. And Sire, no Lumival until we know the danger of sepsis is past."
Leal's face was severe. Jaem's life hung in the balance; he understood. But he also turned cold eyes onto her and said, "Leal, if he dies, I will not forgive you this time." She had been the young woman who had held and sobbed over his dead infant son.
Instead of anger or fear, Leal appeared defeated. "I failed Jaem once, Sire. I will not fail him again."
He let her leave, knowing she would remain nearby until the crisis was over. Naem himself needed to bathe. He could not touch Jaem with his blood encrusted hands.
Still, he dropped to the chair one of his guards had brought near the bed and stared at Jaem's face. Pale, still, free of the worry and strain Naem had seen so much lately. Innocent, and childlike.
Unable to resist the urge, he ran his fingers through Jaem's hair. Naem had loved his hair all those years ago, and lowering his face into it now, Naem loved it anew. He sobbed into the soft thickness smelling of sweat, and pain; burying his own face against Jaem's. He could not lose his child again, not even this life could be so cruel.
OoO
McKay stood obstinately outside the manse doors. "I want to see Sheppard."
It had been a week since he'd last seen the colonel. He'd said some things he regretted, and it'd been eating him alive since then. Teyla had finally confronted him after he'd snapped her head off over her growing friendship with a village woman. Right then, McKay had felt betrayed by just about everyone. Teyla, John…even Carson and Ronon, because they all seemed to be adjusting to the life of servitude a lot easier than he was.
Carson had been the one to say they needed to turn themselves in, and while intellectually, he knew the choice had been the only one that would've saved Teyla, it still galled him that they'd escaped and then had to go back with their tails tucked between their legs.
Sheppard's bravado rubbing off on him, no doubt, as annoying as it was.
The woman Teyla had been increasingly talking with had been decidedly unfriendly at first, but something Teyla had said to her had broken through the anger and resentment most of the people had against them. The false confession kept them isolated from most; who wants to sit around and drink with the people who burnt up your winter supply of food?
McKay's normal taciturn attitude hadn't won him any openings.
"Prince Jaem has ordered me to tell you he does not wish to see you."
The servant delivered her proclamation like it was a royal decree. Rodney glowered. "Jaem? His name is John. John Sheppard, not Prince, or Jaem, or anything else. Colonel John Sheppard – remind him of that for me, would you?" he snarled.
The servant remained inscrutable. "Doctor McKay, please return to the town. You have food to take back to the others, and you are not welcome inside. Do not make me call for the guards and create a scene. His Majesty would be displeased."
"Yes, well, so am I." Rodney turned away from the doors, disgruntled. "Definitely displeased."
The loaded cart waited, filled with the vegetables from the cellars in the manse. Glaring at something that looked like a pumpkin, McKay jerked the leather harness off the pile and slipped it on, thankful for the fact that his blisters had healed and gone. He'd lost weight with the enforced physical labor, and gained muscle. Only five weeks, and he was in better shape than ever, but he hadn't wanted to be in the first place. All he wanted was for the Daedalus to get here, rescue them from this screwed up planet, and get them back to Atlantis.
Prince John needed his royal head deflated.
Instead of sitting through lessons on Arstaem history, Sheppard should've been trying to figure out who had orchestrated the entire set-up, but then again, McKay had already figured who was behind it, and in that case, the colonel probably already knew.
As much as Sheppard seemed to be going along with Naem's twisted plan, Rodney knew that he hadn't willingly been involved in the events that had led them to this point.
But he damn well was getting the better end of the deal.
The trip back to town was longer and harder, Sheppard's refusal to see him sitting like a rock in his stomach. He delivered the food to Kaleb, then headed for the bungalow. He had some equipment that needed repairing and he'd dropped it off there so he could work in peace, without the accusing unfriendly stares of everyone else.
When he opened the door, Teyla was sewing by the fire. She looked up and smiled at him warmly. "Rodney, how was the colonel?"
"Busy, apparently."
He shut the door firmly, and shrugged out of the heavy cloak, hanging it to dry on the peg fixed into the mortar. The plow blade was on the floor not far from where she worked, and Rodney picked up his basket of tools and headed her way. "Ronon and Carson?"
"Helping Kaleb distribute this week's rations, I am surprised you did not see them." She stopped working and laid the cloth on her lap. "Colonel Sheppard would not see you?"
"No, he wouldn't."
Disgusted, McKay sat on the floor, pulling the broken section free.
She frowned at him. "Rodney, John is not our enemy."
The part stuck in the rigging, and McKay began to work on prying it free. It was a piece with thick steel spikes to tear up the ground, and instead of screws or bolts, the bit was a single plank of steel with teeth that slid into grooves on the handle. "No, maybe you should tell him…that." With a grunt, he pushed it free using a tool for leverage but it gave so fast, the tool ended up scraping his knuckles. "Damn it!" he swore, sticking the scraped hand in his mouth.
"I agree the circumstances appear to favor him, but remember, it was not Colonel Sheppard that made the decision."
Rodney stopped sucking on his sore knuckle and looked at Teyla. She'd been different since she'd recovered; more subdued. "Tell me you don't resent this? That he's being treated like royalty while we are slaves for an entire town, reviled by most of the small people?" He huffed. "I'll say it, I'm petty and self-indulgent. I would changes places with him in a heartbeat, and he won't even talk to me."
She sighed, and smiled ruefully. "You miss him. And you are not any more self-indulgent than the rest of us."
His hand paused above the steel bit. "I do miss him," he admitted, almost surprised by it. Then, "You're jealous to?"
"He is dressed in fine silks, living in a great manse, being taught history and spending his day walking through the woods. His life is one of ease, Rodney, and ours has been anything but…of course I am envious. We all are, but we should try not to blame John for a situation he has no control over."
She was right, of course. At least, mostly, but as Rodney wrenched the broken spike free of the metal, he asked the one question that was eating him alive. "Then why hasn't he used his influence to help us?"
OoO
"Rodney?"
Someone was sitting nearby reading to him; all John could understand was the low, constant cadence of a voice rising and falling in speech, the pacing of words that comes from being read to and not overheard conversations.
He'd woken before in the infirmary, enough to hear McKay reading softly, usually something from the Ancients database, but some times Rodney had snuck into John's quarters and taken War and Peace, picking up from wherever Sheppard had last left off with his bookmark.
It'd always been those times when he wasn't fully able to wake the rest of the way, a semi-consciousness, and Sheppard never did ask him about it later. Since Rodney never brought it up, John had figured he'd let sleeping dogs lie, and secretly, he'd never wanted Rodney to stop.
"Hush, Jaem, you must rest."
Jaem. The sinking knowledge of where he was rushed back on the wings of pain. He was sick, hurt – the animal had bitten him. Dimly, he felt the fever in his bones. Felt the disconnected ache. "I wanna see Rodney…" he slurred.
He heard the sounds of a book closing, and someone moving, then it grew quiet. He wanted to open his eyes, see who was there, try to wake up from this confused state, but his body wasn't cooperating.
Moments later, footsteps and soft voices were back, this time talking amongst themselves, but he understood some of it. He heard them say something about his fever being too high, sepsis and then someone was grabbing his arm and holding it down.
"No!" he cried, trying to feebly pull away, because he knew they were going to do something that was going to hurt – oh, God, they wouldn't cut off his arm…please, no. "Doc…get Doc!" John's shouts were louder and more panicked.
"It will be fine, shhhh, Jaem. Leal, do something for him!"
A cool flask touched his lips and John tried to turn. He didn't want anymore drugs; they were going to take his arm…"No, get 'way!" Sheppard started pulling harder…God, no, not this, "Don't, please," he begged.
His jaw was held, his mouth forced open, and the liquid trickled in, almost choking him as John fought to keep it from going down his throat. Strong, firm hands massaged his throat, soothing him with sounds he didn't understand, until the drug was down and it was too hard to fight anymore. "Don't take my arm." It was weak and whispered, and Sheppard was scared they didn't hear him at all.
A hand wiped across his sweating forehead as Naem soothed, "Your arm will be fine, Jaem, I promise, rest, Son, please, just rest…"
As strong as his fear was, it wasn't stronger than the drug, and Sheppard drifted away to the soothing motion of Naem stroking his hair away from his face.
OoO
Exhaustion was not something Naem had felt in a long, long time, but it was exactly what he felt now. Jaem had become seriously ill from the Lupere's bite. He had been hallucinating, and crying out about having his arm cut off, but where he had gotten that idea, Naem could not imagine.
He had soothed his son until the drug had taken him from this misery and pain, and now left him cradled in sleep. Why had he been so careless as to let this happen?
Satisfied that he could leave Jaem for a short time, he stretched out of the chair and lingered only an extra moment to stare at the rugged face, taking in every detail, from the flushed cheeks to the sweat dampened hair.
He was alive, and Naem would not make the same mistake twice.
Jaem had been wrong to etch the calendar, and when he was healed, Naem would tell him that his punishment had been enough in light of the Lupere attack and infection, but it must not happen again.
Needing the peace of his falcons, Naem entered the aviary, shaking off the snow from the short walk. The stone building had a domed ceiling like the library had, to give the illusion of heights.
Zarye and Aarye were not fooled, a gilded cage was still a cage, but he gave them their freedom every day, and they had always returned to his arm when they were finished hunting.
Aarye came to him first, swooping off the large tree he had planted before they were born. Pulling the raw meat he had grabbed from the kitchens on his way, he held it to her beak. "Hello, Aarye…"
She grabbed the morsel, jerked her head up and swallowed in two quick moves, before turned her head into his hand for him to pet the chestnut brown feathers.
Zarye was the jealous sort, and flocked beside his twin, looking eagerly, his head cocked. Naem chuckled, and threw the male bird his own tidbit, not surprised when the falcon caught the piece mid-air.
A month ago, he had only had his birds. His people had been drifting far from him, and Naem had grown increasingly solitary, choosing instead to spend his days roaming with his falcons. Now, he had almost everything. His people's love again, John…his Jaem, his son returned to him, and his training was challenging enough to make him feel young, invigorated, alive.
He still had his falcons, and the wraith culling was behind them, hopefully for good.
Even though Jaem was very sick, Naem was sure Leal would heal him, and it would be one more step closer to the crowning. Mid-winter was another month away, and the feast and ceremony would be of the kind they had not seen since Naem himself had been crowned.
Zarye nipped at Aarye, causing the female to jump at him, and soon they were chasing each other around the straw floor. Naem's smile reached his eyes tonight and he stayed for a while, throwing them the small pieces until they were gone. When he stood, he realized morning was dawning. He called goodbye to his falcons, and left the enclosure, his feet leading him somewhere he had not even been fully cognizant in choosing.
Behind the aviary was the family cemetery. There a mausoleum rose up like the cliffs that were on the other side of the forest. He had only seen them once, when he had been very young. His father had granted him the time to go. He had left at the start of autumn and returned on the heels of winter. There, a great vastness of water joined with rock in a seamless line; birds of all kinds lived there, and if it had been possible, he would have brought some home with him. It had been beautiful and wild, and Naem had almost wanted to stay.
When he returned, he had described the wonders he had seen to his father.
The building that had stood before in this spot had been crumbling, the old stone so weathered and worn that the small patches of mortar were never enough. Naem had explained the sheer rocks that rose up higher than any man or giant, as high as the trees almost. Haem had laughed, and said, "Is that so? Then let us build our own cliff to lie beneath!" And he had ordered the manse's engineer to do just that.
Naem stepped around the candles that were always left out by the memoriam and rested his hand against the cold stone, chiseled so flat that he could not feel any irregularities. Inside would take you to stairs, and they led down into the earth, where all the bodies of the royal family were entombed. His wife, his son…but not his son anymore. He did not understand how the Ancestors had done this thing, but he knew it for the miracle it was.
"If it is the last thing I do, my dear Sareal, I will train Jaem, and he will be the most celebrated king Arstaem has ever seen, I swear it."
He trailed his fingers over rock, splayed them flat, and rested his head against the cold. Sareal…it had been so long since he had seen her; held her thick, dark curls in his hands, listened to her laugh. He had forgotten what she looked like, until John…Jaem.
Even as he had assessed him as dangerous, he had felt an arrow of pain shoot through his soul, because he had her hair, and her eyes and face.
When he had walked through his town, Naem had seen them react to John, and he had been angry because he had not understood what he had been given. "But I did see, finally, Sareal. I did understand the gift I have been given; if only you, too, had been returned, but greed is unbecoming of a king, is it not? So I will be content with our son, and when my winter has come, we will dance again together in the days of spring."
"Sire!"
Naem turned, dropping his hand. "What is it, Joros?"
"It is Jaem!" Joros jogged up and quickly knelt to Naem, and then stood. "Leal says his fever has broken and he is beginning to mend."
The guard's weathered face cracked into a smile. "Sire, the prince will make a full recovery."
"Thank you, Joros." Naem shared a look with the man that spoke volumes. For every loved one that Naem had lost, Joros had been there, and then when Jaem had returned to him as John, it had been Joros that had delivered the man, his prince, back into his care. It had been Joros who had seen Jaem back to the Stargate and returned saying John had left, and then he had told Naem of his return.
His departure for a second time, and arrival for a third time. It had been Joros who had silently accepted the plan to return the prince to Arstaem. Always Joros. "I will be there soon."
The guard nodded, spun and left him.
Naem waited till the man was out of sight, before he turned back to the monolith, both hands on the surface, his head bowed. Jaem would live. Again.
OoO
The Daedalus should've been here by now. The tentative date had passed, and she'd told herself they were merely delayed leaving Earth. Then two days, three and four, and she began to worry. When time had drained past a week, she'd sought out Radek and grilled him on possible scenarios.
She'd like to say that she'd left that meeting feeling better, but the truth was far from it.
Her office was a lonely place; gone were the people that had made it feel alive. Those that were left would knock, give her the requested information, and leave. No one came to talk, so sit in the chair and brief her on their mission and then stay to talk about the movie that played last night or the newest baby born on the mainland.
Elizabeth felt disconnected; lost.
"Ma'am – Colonel Caldwell is on the line."
Finally!
She was in the control room so fast she thought the tech might have had to run to keep up with her. "Colonel, we were getting worried."
"Sorry about that. I'm afraid I've got some bad news." Caldwell's voice broke away then came back, "We ran into a Hive ship when we dropped out of hyperspeed to correct a navigation error. Bad timing, we were able to get away after getting in a few good hits, but they got in a few, too. The hyperdrive suffered damage – Hermiod and Novak are working on it."
Her body tensed as she asked, "What's your ETA?"
More static, then, "We'd only broken the galactic barrier, we're looking at weeks – three or four, assuming no more Hive ships show."
Frowning at the 'gate, she nodded even though he couldn't see. "Understood, Colonel. But I'm afraid I also have bad news; we've had a situation here." Elizabeth explained about the trade agreement with the Arstaemians – he remembered them vaguely, then she explained Naem's cryptic final communication and their inability to determine if the gate was in fact blocked. She'd already lost one MALP. It was too dangerous to send anyone through.
"I see. Hermiod has informed me that he might be able to get us to Arstaem in six weeks if we by pass Atlantis."
As much as she wanted to go, considering the situation with the hyperdrive and the extra time it would take to detour to pick her up – "Go ahead, Colonel. And please, bring back good news."
"Understood, Doctor. Caldwell, out."
Finished, she left the control room, disappointed to the core. Of all the times for the Daedalus to suffer crippling damage, and after so much time had passed, was it even feasible to hope for the miracle she feared they'd need?
Instead of returning to her office, she steered herself into the transporter. The crew quarters were empty at this time of day; most people busy at work, and on missions. Lorne's team was due home tonight if all went well, and she prayed it did. One team and one doctor was enough for this year.
She stopped first at Teyla's room. Elizabeth had standing orders for them to be kept clean, but nothing was to be touched until the Daedalus gave the final report, and even though the timeline had significantly shifted in the wrong direction, she'd hold those orders as they were.
Teyla's clothes were neatly folded, an Athosian tea set, her fighting sticks – all just as Teyla had left it that morning.
Next, she stopped by Carson's room. The doctor's spare lab coat was still thrown on his unmade bed. She'd hesitated to have anyone do more than dust, but now she figured maybe, at the least, she would make his bed. The coat smelled of cologne and antiseptic, it smelled like Carson, and she was glad no one was here to see her bury her face, just for a minute, in the material. He wasn't dead; he wasn't on some Hive ship in a cocoon, she had to believe it.
Ronon's room, with almost nothing in it beside a couple of spare weapons, an artifact he'd gotten on the first trading mission he and Teyla had gone on alone, while Rodney and John had worked on the Arcturus weapon. The bed hadn't been made either, and a small smile twitched. Satisfied that all was as it should be, she left, and headed to Rodney's room.
His room was a mess, a disaster of clothes and blankets, computers and notebooks. It looked like a whirlwind had ran through, worse even than was usual for him, but then Elizabeth remembered the week leading up to the trip back to Arstaem. They'd been incredibly busy in the labs and McKay had to work in both worlds; Atlantis and missions through the 'gate. The demands on his time were incredible, and yet, he managed to do amazing work. She leaned down and picked up a discarded uniform jacket and draped it on the chair by the bed, wishing so badly for him to be alive that she ached physically.
She had saved John's for last. Of all five, he was the one she'd depended on the most. As the military leader, they had shared a lot of the decision making process, though Elizabeth was the final authority at the end of the day. John had maddeningly thwarted her a time or two, and they'd had their disagreements, but she had come to depend upon his advice and support. He would drop in her office to just say hey, how are you.
She'd asked him to come on the expedition for his ATA gene, and in the end, it was the last thing she thought about when she listed all the good he contributed to the city and the expedition's success.
When she left his room, she went to hers next. The last thing she had to do today, she needed to do in private. She was the leader, the one in charge, and she'd learned all to well if you let those you are supposed to command see weakness, they lose faith. But that didn't mean the weaknesses were gone.
It wasn't until the doors closed, that Elizabeth collapsed on her bed, and released the tears that had threatened hours earlier into her pillow. It was all overwhelming, and she had only so much strength to cling to. The disappointment she had felt when Caldwell had explained the delay; the hurt inside when she'd walked into each of their rooms and felt them, and wished she knew, either way – alive or dead, and then she realized that no, she didn't want to know if they were dead. Because sometimes hope was better than none at all.
OoO
The Daedalus wasn't coming.
A month and a half was gone; at least, Sheppard was pretty sure. The last two weeks weren't really solid in his mind. He remembered Naem finding his rudimentary calendar, remembered seizing the first chance he'd had to escape, and the run into the woods only to get attacked by that animal…a Lupere, Naem had told him.
"Jaem, you should lay down now."
John. My name is John Sheppard, Lieutenant Colonel, United States Air Force. Listlessly, he got up from the chair and the game Naem had started teaching him two days ago. They didn't want him leaving the room until a full week had passed from the time his fever had broken.
Naem held the covers aside for him. The bed was oversized, and Naem had never thought anything about them sleeping in the same bed. John had always curled away, against the wall. He didn't even care anymore. All he wanted was to see his team.
After he was settled, Naem smiled kindly and opened the book, starting off at the point where the king was preparing to protect his people from the wraith. A fairy tale book for kids, but Naem's smooth, whisky voice lulled him into a doze. The infection had almost killed him, and even walking left him tired, plus, the Lumival doses were back.
Naem was even more vigilant with the guards and even if he wasn't, John wasn't sure Joros would ever leave him unguarded again. The man treated John like a rare flower that had been brought in from the storm; always staring at him like he was surprised John was still alive, and then he'd seem to redouble his watchfulness. It was creepy.
The dreams started, always the same. He was on Atlantis, he was in a briefing with his team, in the Jumper, flying through space…
Morning arrived, Naem was already up, and he had John's breakfast ready.
Ascaria was going to start teaching him what he needed to know to rule the town, things like storing enough food for the long winters, and solving disputes between townsfolk. There were proprieties for receiving guests at the manse, for celebrating special holidays, and apparently, he had a moral obligation to marry and have heirs. Lots of heirs.
What John wanted to know though, was about this mysterious disease the claimed the royal line. Why had it always pruned the heirs down to one in every generation, and why did Naem, and his father before, and so on, never make the connection?
Naem fed him and for the first time he was barely aware of the process. As soon as breakfast was finished, John dressed in the clothes Naem picked for him, the black silks. With a promise to listen to Ascaria, John left with Joros.
"You don't have to shadow me."
The guard's hovering was getting on his nerves.
"Don't I?" Joros laughed. "I seem to remember rescuing a certain prince from the jaws of a Lupere."
John grunted, annoyed. If he wasn't being held prisoner by a mad man, he wouldn't have to make bad escape attempts that almost killed him.
Ascaria met them outside the library and greeted John with a hug that surprised him.
"Jaem, you scared us all."
"Yes, well, I think I scared myself." Sheppard had definitely done that. There'd been once when he'd woken, he was convinced they were going to amputate his arm, and the terror he'd felt when they'd drugged him back under…probably that was the most scared he'd been in a long, long time, if ever.
She gave him an odd look and for once it was everything except the cold distance he'd felt before. Without responding to his comment, she guided him to a table and on it were pictures upon pictures, from the look of them, oil based. "Art class?" he asked, confused.
"Portrait time, Prince," she replied with a smile. "Every member of the royal family must have an official picture painted. These are the different styles and poses. Pick which you prefer and tomorrow the artist will do his first sketch."
The ludicrousness of the situation got to him and John couldn't help it, but he laughed. Short of some kind of tragic devastation, the Daedalus would eventually arrive, and years from now, his picture would hang on a wall with a bunch of other long-gone people and they could point and say, "That was the dead prince."
He closed his eyes and pointed in front of him, then turned to the right and opened his eyes. "That one." He'd randomly picked out a side profile facing left. Whatever.
"Look, Ascaria, I was hoping to get some time to do some surfing on my own."
The old frown came back but she moved his still pointing hand to a full frontal profile and said, "That suits your face better." She pushed his hand down and picked the example of what she had chosen, and he wondered why she'd even bothered to pretend he had a choice. "I'll let you browse the books after you pass the government exam. You need to prove you understand the subtle structure of the Arstaem people. Who leads if the king becomes incapacitated?"
"Gaemal; the first advisor."
His answer seemed to please her so he supposed he wouldn't admit to guessing.
That was the rest of his afternoon; Ascaria presenting a long list of names, positions and what they were responsible for.
King: Naem Galarod
Prince (provisional): Jaem Galarod
First Advisor: Gaemal Balfor
Second Advisor: Kaleb Darra
Master of the Guard: Joros Caelan
Second Master of the Guard: Baela Arod
Master of Healing: Leal Gadara
Master of Aviary: Kareal Tormod
Master of Adjudicate: Nefen Daud
First Adjudicate: Tretaem Amal
Second Adjudicate: Adeal Seridus
Third Adjudicate: Thordia Borod
Agrarian Elder: Amear Darra
Agrarian Lesser: Kel Kinn
First Agrarian Speaker: Fenris Badaem
Second Agrarian Speaker: Syn Mael
Third Agrarian Speaker: Maed Borod
Mouth of the Ancestors: Wilael Seridus
Second Mouth of the Ancestors (service only capacity): Pepin Tormod
Great. He hadn't had to study since he'd passed his flight school exams, and now he had to memorize a list of positions and names that meant nothing to him. It wasn't hard, Sheppard had always had an ability to remember things he saw without a lot of work, but it was just one more stepping stone in front of him and keeping him from what he really wanted to do.
He took the vellum and pocketed it. "If I promise to know these by tomorrow, can I search the library before dinner?"
What was it about these people that made him feel like he was eight again? Ascaria was giving him that look he'd seen on almost every teacher he'd ever had in elementary school and more than a few in junior and senior high, too.
"Very well, Jaem, but His Majesty reminded me that you are still recovering, so no more than an hour, understood? Joros will take you back to your room." She bowed imperceptibly to both of them before leaving the library, the sample portrait in her hands.
Not sure where to start, Sheppard picked the right side and began looking at the titles. The library was set up alphabetically…Arstaemian alphabet, which meant he had to think a lot harder.
By the time his hour was up, he had earned a headache and eliminated one entire row of books. He stared at row after row that still stretched to the other side of the room; going at this rate, it'd be a lot of headaches. He wished he had someone to help, like McKay.
As Joros led him from the room, Sheppard had an idea who might be willing.
OoO
"Did you see him?"
Ronon threw the pumpkin at McKay. "I saw him."
Three expectant faces stared at him. He made a sour face and pulled one of his knives free from his wrist, and threw it, puncturing the vegetable in the thick rind. They had to stew it, and then Teyla was going to try a new recipe Leal had given her to make something that would be different than the same soup and porridge they ate every day.
"He was learning with that woman."
Turning to the peg, Ronon dumped his cloak on it to dry out. He'd been told by Teyla not to let it fall on the floor like last time. She didn't like it getting dirty, but what was the difference. He wore it when he worked so it always seemed to get dirty enough.
Carson took the knife from McKay's hand when the man almost cut a finger off, too clumsy from the continued Lumival doses, and turned to look at Ronon. "Did he see you?"
He snorted. Hardly. No one saw him that he didn't want to. "No, Doc, he was too busy picking out what kind of picture they'd paint of him."
"He's lost it, Carson!" declared McKay. "I told you something was going on up there; they've turned him against us."
"I do not think we should rush into assumptions, Rodney."
"Normally, I'd agree with you, Lass, but these are unusual circumstances." The top of the pumpkin was cut free, and Beckett set it aside and plucked a spoon from his bowl, licking it clean of the stew it'd rested in, before plunging it into the inside of the hole.
What was he doing?
Ronon was just about to ask when Beckett continued, muttering as he worked, "If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes – he's been walking about, enjoying an almost degree of worship from the folk around him, it's eerie, and I would be hard put to say it wouldn't go to my head in the same position."
Teyla wasn't exactly what Ronon considered even-tempered, and she didn't care for the direction the conversation had gone. She stood abruptly and glared at Doc and McKay. "Colonel Sheppard would not so easily forget us. I believe there is more going on that we cannot see, and if you are to narrow-minded to see that --"
"Narrow-minded," spluttered McKay. "Have you seen this forehead – think broad, very, very broad."
Ronon wondered what had Teyla so convinced tonight when he'd seen the doubt in her eyes before. Had she found something out? "If you know something, say it," Ronon growled. He didn't like being left in the dark about anything.
Her tone was cool as she said, "I know nothing more than the rest of you. I am merely saying that some should learn not to judge unless they know everything there is about a situation." She didn't wait for anyone to respond, instead, she stormed off to her bedroom, and Ronon gathered that they all felt like a storm had just rolled over them. Teyla had the ability to do that when she got pissed.