The Landlord
By Rey

3. A Reason to Live

Getting first-hand information of how the Goa'uld ruled Taur'i thousands of years ago has been… interesting. Knowing how my line began, even more.

Knowing that I have magic running in my blood, not only naquada from the symbiote that has now been replaced with tretonin, meanwhile, however slight it might be, is… unfathomable. It is as unfathomable as the concept of getting the first two kinds of information from a person who should have left no trace in the universe by now but for some bone dust is, and I am experiencing the latter in real life.

Black and Henry Evans give me identical knowing, understanding looks as they further explain, in turns, that magic will induced familiarity in items that one imbibes or grasps only if the recipiant has even the slightest magic – inherited magic shared with the inducer – in their veins to reciprocate it. And I cannot refute this assertion.

Truth be told, a large part of me do not wish to do so, anyway.

I have an unknown family member – or is it family members? – and I have magic, as well, in however little amount.

Magic. The sort of thing that children whisper about and adults scoff about, among the Jaffa and humans under the rule of Apophis and most likely other Goa'uld. The sort of thing that ignorant people claim the Goa'uld have, too.

Not a superstition. No longer. Not an abstract concept, either, as I have seen applied in the dizzying dimensions in this place with my own eyes.

Something that I have, apparently.

Does Rya'c have it? Will his children have it?

Can we use it? If we can….

Nonetheless, I dare ask only when the night has begun to turn into morning and we migrate to the kitchen, after some time mulling over the information that they have given me while listening to them chatter with each other like an uncle and nephew would: "Can I affect magic, with what I have?"

If I can, if Rya'c can, if there are items that I – or we – can use because of this specific energy running in my – our? – veins, just like how the Goa'uld monopolise the use of specific items such as their personal shield and healing devise….

"In a small amount, maybe. Most likely more of a perception of things otherwise unseen, or being able to go to places warded against non-magical people, rather than active use," Henry Evans replies knowingly as he measures up chocolate powder and dumps it into a rather small, cylindrical pot. "But not everything in the magical world is worth seeing anyway." He murmurs the last more to himself, but I can still hear him.

"Such as?" I inquire, and Henry Evans jumps a little, apparently not realising that I can hear him.

He does not act upset at all, however, or at least not about me overhearing him it seems, when he answers, "Soul-sucking creatures, a madman with snake-like face, some spectacular bigoted sneers…."

"I wish we bonded long before that. I could have helped you more, then," Black laments as Henry Evans trails off into not-so-pleasant reminiscence, and it sounds like an old regret, oft-spoken. Yet another seeming non-sequitur, I believe, and I inwardly perk up as I note that.

Henry Evans shrugs, and smiles a little, wanly and ruefully. "I don't think Sirius could've supported you if he ever took the lordship, after twelve years in Azkaban, and I certainly couldn't, since I was thirteen then. I wouldn't, at that, even if I could, to be honest. I was already short enough, physically. I certainly didn't want my magic to be just as short. And you said yourself bonding with a child would risk stunting the child's magic."

`Bonding!` my mind screams.

"Bonding?" I cut in, staring sharply at Black. This sounds suspiciously like the parasitic nature of the symbiotes, whether Goa'uld or Tok'ra – more Tok'ra than Goa'uld in this case, but still.

However, it is Henry Evans who speaks, instead of Black. "Bonding," he affirms, firmly, "but not really like the snake-like things. It could be like that, but not always. Black, would you like to explain it or shall I?"

Black explains, at times added on by Henry Evans, and so I learn about soul anchors, sacrifices, and the uses as well as the methods of their making. I learn about human willing sacrifice, death ward, soul magic, and how potant a magical blood is – blood that I also have, apparently. I also learn that Black sacrificed himself to protect his family – including me and mine – thousands of years ago, that Henry Evans' mother once sacrificed herself willingly and saved him from a weapon – a curse – previously thought to be unblockable and kill on touch, that the blood of Henry Evans himself was then used as an unwilling sacrifice to resurrect his enemy.

My mouth and throat dry up. My heart begin to pound. – If I could sacrifice myself to ensure that my family will live on in safety and happiness….

"How?" I let out, and blink as I hear my own voice croak.

Henry Evans glares at me, while Black seems to silently approve of my veiled request instead, judging by the latter's expression.

"Don't throw your life away," Henry Evans says curtly. His glare intensifies for a moment, before he looks away and, busying himself with making hot chocolate, softly reveals, "Even if we'd have to live in the run, even if we'd have to fight Voldemort every so often, I would have appreciated still having my parents. To be with, to share things with, to fight for, maybe even to get siblings from…."

His voice quivers a little near the end, and my heart squeezes in empathy.

Once, I was an outcast alongside my mother, after Chronos had killed my father most tortuously for losing an impossible battle. If Mother knew, she could have sacrificed herself at the earliest time possible so that I would never have to evade Chronos' henchmen that sometimes came to terrorise us. However, somehow, I am glad that she never knew, that she was there to be with me, to share in my triumphs and heartaches, until she died when we were ambushed by a greater number of the said henchmen on the way home from the market, two years after we had settled in Chulak.

But she still died for me, died so that I could escape and live, died so that I could grow up as strong as my name means, died so that I could not only avenge my father and her but also have a family of my own – to have a future I could be proud of, however much one could have while being a warrior slave to the Goa'uld.

Do I have a death ward – her death ward – on me, then? Or does such ward need some specific knowledge for it to be activated? Or did I inherit the magical line from my father, instead of my mother?

Nevertheless, in any case, I do have magic, however slight, and Black told me some parameters about establishing a death ward, so can I do the same for my son, or my companions, or even this previously unknown relative of mine?

Henry Evans asked me not to throw my life away, but I would not just "throw" my life away if I did have a good, useful purpose for ending it at the right time, would I?

A scraping sound on the table startles me into looking up from staring at the grains of wood on its surface, which I did not realise I was doing, and I stare right into Henry Evans' glowering, not-so-human eyes.

"Don't you have anything or anybody to keep you interested in living?" he asks in a tight voice that seems to mask so many things. His expression turns darker and darker the longer I pause to think on the person or thing that might fit the criterion.

"How long have you gone on this way, Teal'c?" he whispers at length, with a knowing and empathising look in his eyes.

"It could be that I am just reluctant to share the individuals or causes that keep me living until now," I return levelly.

"But you aren't, are you? Else you'd look secretive instead of lost," he retorts, albeit not unkindly.

My eyes widen. I cannot help it. How did he know? Not even SG-1 – my comrades of many years through thick and thin, closer than I was with many fellow Jaffa – have managed to read my expression accurately – if I do not wish them to do so in the first place, that is.

Henry Evans snorts a laugh; partly amused, partly ironic, and grim all in all. "I just needed to be observant since I was pretty small, Teal'c. No worries. Shan't tell anybody about your tells. Family sticks together, no?"

He sounds bitter at the end, and the first part of his statement has not given me a good impression about his past, either. But he shakes his head when I narrow my eyes at him. "Don't ask," he says. "Not yet. Maybe someday. And I'll ask the same of you. For now, just, drink your chocolate and let's go to bed."

"I promise you, Henry Evans, your secrets will not–," I begin, but he cuts me off with an urgent look and gesture of his hand.

"Don't promise things if you can't fulfil them," he implores. "Unless it's a lie right from the start and you know it even if the other party doesn't. I would've known, though, and I'd be highly insulted if you did intend to lie to me about this promise. Your word binds you, literally. We look human, Teal'c, but we're not really human. Once, humans mingled with magical beings, and we're their offspring. There's veela, jötnar, muspl, nifl…."

"The races sound familiar, except for the first one," I observe, acquiescing to the subject change with rather little grace.

Henry Evans nods, and I would wager that I have just seen relief briefly pass across his expression. "They would, if you ever read Norse myths," he acknowledges. "I got muspl from Black, then jötnar down the line. You got muspl from Black, but I don't know what else. Can't be just one, if you've still got this much after thousands of years away." There is something that he conceals from me, especially during his recitation of his own lineage, judging from the odd note it takes, but I leave it be for now.

I have my own secrets, myself, some of which not even SG-1 or my wife and son know.

One of those, not even Master Bratac knows.

And there has been a promise tied to that secret, while Henry Evans said that our word is binding, not only by our own code of honour.

Maybe, at least until that promise is fulfilled, until I find something else or one of my enemies defeat me, I do have yet another reason to live.