Spoiler warning: The Great and Noble House of Gand contains spoilers for all episodes of Supergirl through 02x17 Distant Sun.

Warnings: The story contains imprisonment, isolation, and desperate heartbreak as well as psychological coercion, mental abuse, and physical abuse, which take place in the past (including childhood) as well as the present.

Canon-divergence: Canon-divergent from 02x17 Distant Sun. Once Mon-El returned to the Daxamite battle cruiser, the DEO possessed no means to rescue or to contact him; thus, the King and Queen leave Earth's galaxy with their Prince locked in a detainment cell.


The Great and Noble House of Gand
Chapter Three: Brink


Mon-El became aware of things in short, tumultuous bursts, as if his life was flickering on and off. Light and sound hit him hard and fast before the pain consumed all his other senses and everything went dark. There was no time to think or reflect, even if he had his faculties at his disposal.

"Mon-El," someone whispered.

No, it can't be.

"Mon-El."

He opened his eyes and emerged from the darkness for what felt like the hundredth time. The voice that called for him was quiet, and he couldn't believe it. Even when his eyes fell upon Kara standing at his bedside, he couldn't believe it.

"I'm dreaming," he muttered.

She smiled but did not correct him, and for a few minutes, all he did was stare at her in wonderment.

Gradually, he became aware of his surroundings. The rumbling and beeping of machines combined with the persistent discomfort of monitoring equipment meant that he was likely in the medical ward. That confused him, for the last thing he recalled was following Raphin into the lift.

"What happened?" he asked Kara.

"You already know," she replied.

"No, I - no, I don't."

This must be a dream.

Kara would've gotten closer after he woke up from a near-miss. She would've held him, kissed him, touched him.

As if the thought commanded it so, she joined him on the bed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling him close, gently caressing his head with her hand. He closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him, no longer caring if he was awake or asleep.

"You're not asleep," she said.

He smiled at that and began walking through the last of his memories. He and Raphin were in the lift when it felt like lightning struck him. Had the DEO managed to acquire a spacecraft? Or maybe Winn had figured out how to resurrect some of the spare alien technology they had lying around. They must've come after him, and somehow, during their rescue attempt, the lift had been damaged. That's why he was in the medical ward.

"You know that's not the truth."

His eyes snapped open, for while Kara had known him very well, she had never been able to read his mind literally. What was happening?

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"You can feel it," was all she replied.

Mon-El had been so focused on how good it felt to be held that he ignored the continuous discomfort and constant cold that radiated from his left arm and right leg. He glanced down and saw IV lines running from both. That was odd. Even when he was dying of the Medusa virus, the DEO hadn't done that.

"Because they couldn't," she reminded him gently.

The DEO couldn't puncture his skin, so they had to use the same adaptive technology they used to monitor Kara's vitals. As far as he could recall, it was a kind of visor that went around the crown of the head. He raised his free hand to his forehead to touch it, only to find that it wasn't there.

The confusion persisted until he recalled waking up sore because his powers had faded completely. The DEO must've realized that and taken advantage to treat him more effectively.

"You know that's not true, either."

He looked up at Kara's face hoping to find solace there, but more importantly, to distract himself from the inevitable conclusion that his mind was racing toward. He already knew the truth, but he wanted to pretend a little while longer that he was back on Earth with the woman he loved. He focused on the shape of her lips and the graceful slope of her nose. He stared at those beautiful comets that comprised her eyes.

"You know where you are," she whispered softly.

Mon-El didn't want to think about it. She cupped his cheek and pressed her forehead into his, bringing her eyes impossibly close to him.

"You need to accept it," she said.

He swallowed hard against the bitterness that was swelling in his throat. After she discovered the truth about who he had been on Daxam, he promised that he wouldn't lie to her again. And in this moment, he found that he couldn't even lie to himself when staring into her impossibly blue eyes.

The DEO always employed yellow sun lamps to help Kryptonians and Daxamites recover from serious injuries or power loss, and he had seen Winn, Alex, and other humans treated enough times to know that standard medical practice on Earth was a single IV line to the arm. On Daxam, however, the standard was two lines situated to arm and opposite leg.

All this added up to one simple fact: he was not being treated by the DEO.

Did that mean that the rescue attempt had failed? He choked on the idea of his friends being captured, injured, or killed trying to save him. He wasn't worth that.

"You know what happened," she repeated.

Mon-El remembered standing in the lift, an abrupt increase in pain, and then falling to the floor. Those little moments he recalled between then and waking up to Kara's voice were little more than chaotic movements with so much sound and light that they seemed unreal.

"I collapsed," he said. "But I don't remember why."

Suddenly, he was standing next to her, and he clasped her hand in his, weaving their fingers together as he took in the sight before him.

He - or his body, at any rate - was lying in a hospital cot, unconscious. The layers of blankets made it hard to tell, but it seemed that his clothing had been replaced with a medical gown. Countless monitors surrounded him, presenting constant information on his vitals, all in High Daxamite.

"It can't be that bad," he commented as he looked to her for support. "It's not like they have me on life support."

Kara gave him a look that he had come to know as the "Are you sure about that?" expression. She wore it every time he announced that the movie they were watching must surely end happily. He tended to do this right before everything turned sour, but for some reason, he always expected the next one to have its own happy ending.

He turned back to his body and was shocked by what he saw. They did, in fact, have him on life support, complete with circulatory assistance and a full breathing mask. How had he missed that before?

"You see what you want to see here," she said, as if to answer his question.

"That explains why I see you," he replied with a smile.

"But you need to see more," she explained. "Even if you don't want to."

He nodded his head, yes. It was the only way he would know what had happened and if his friends were still alive, which meant he didn't have the luxury of hemming and hawing over how this couldn't be real. Kara had taught him that he had survived for a reason, that he lived for a reason, so he must be here - wherever here was - for a reason, too. His resolve only faltered upon one consideration.

He asked, "Will you stay with me?"

Her lips formed a smile that shined so brightly that it put the stars to shame.

"Of course I'll stay with you," she replied, squeezing his hand as reassurance.

Mon-El then turned to take in the rest of the room. There were at least a dozen people dressed in medical garb focused on him, or the sleeping version of him, in any case. No one seemed to notice that there was another Mon-El nor Kara, probably because they weren't really here.

So he followed one of the doctors out. No sooner had they stepped outside the room than he wished he hadn't, for his parents were waiting, their faces grim and crestfallen.

"The surgery was completely successful, your Majesties," the doctor said in High Daxamite. "The internal bleeding has stopped now that the blood vessels have been repaired."

"Were your associates able to discover a cause?" the King asked.

"His Highness's injuries are congruent with those sustained from a direct high-energy blast while wearing heavy armor," the doctor replied. "Though a rare occurrence, the injury could have been incurred up to twelve hours before collapse."

"While he was still on Earth," the Queen said, not bothering to hide her distain.

The doctor bowed his head as an indicator of an affirmative answer.

"When will he wake up?" the King asked.

"That... forgive me, your Majesty, I cannot be certain," the doctor replied. "Each patient is different. His Highness is young and healthy. He could be awake in as soon as a few hours."

"Why isn't he breathing on his own?" his mother demanded.

"One of his Highness's internal injuries was very close to the heart, your Majesty," the doctor explained. "By necessity, our repairs caused widespread inflammation in the lungs. But I wish to assure your Majesties that this reaction is entirely normal and expected. That was why we waited for half a day before our first attempt to wean his Highness from the vent. Our tests show that the inflammation has persisted longer than anticipated. With your Majesty's permission, we shall administer additional medicine to reduce the inflammation and try again in a few hours."

Mon-El spotted the fury on his mother's face before she turned away to conceal it. His father laid a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, and she immediately tensed under the affection, resistant as always to any sign of weakness shared with those she deemed as lesser than herself. A moment later, however, she relaxed and dropped her head into her hands.

"Continue with your treatment," the King said. "Report to us immediately if anything changes, no matter how unimportant it may seem."

"Yes, your Majesty," the doctor replied.

He bowed deeply before taking his leave, and Mon-El wondered what would happen to the doctor who tried to save his life if he died.

"Rhea," the King said. "Please."

Mon-El suddenly felt like he was spying on his parents, and he felt the urge to leave before he accidentally intruded on them. He decided to leave and see who else was in the medical ward.

When he went for the door, Kara became an immovable force that anchored him to the room. He gave her a confused look, and she answered his question before he had a chance to ask it.

"Listen," she said. "You need to hear."

The only way to escape his parents was to relinquish her hand, and that was far too high a price. So he stayed.

"He will recover, Rhea," the King said.

She turned to face him. She replied, "We left the poison of Earth behind us, yet it still tries to take our son."

Had they not been in a semi-public thoroughfare, Mon-El had no doubt that his father would've embraced his mother. She had always insisted that such things made her appear weak, even though it flew in the face of Daxamite custom. His father had always respected her wish to avoid public displays of affection despite the social expectations to the contrary. It was such a break with tradition that it garnered commentary, and those brave souls who dared whisper a word against the Queen referred to her as the Ice Queen. That nickname melted away after his birth, for she never hesitated to show maternal affection in public.

"You should sleep," his father insisted. "I'll stay with him tonight."

She shook her head, no, but then she relented and left without another word. The King turned to his son with concern etched into his face.

"They think I was injured on Earth?" Mon-El asked. "That's impossible."

"Is it?" Kara asked him.

"Uh, yeah. I was invulnerable there," he replied.

"Not entirely," she said patiently. "And not long before you boarded this ship, you were involved in two fights. You could've been injured in either. Or both."

"Which I wouldn't have noticed if I had stayed on Earth," he said, cottoning on. "Because my powers would've healed me. But instead, I'm over there on machines."

A number of things occurred to him then. Had there been a rescue attempt, they would've assumed he was wounded during the attack. Collapsing from previous injures meant that none of his friends had been captured or killed, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed.

His father's head dropped into his hands suddenly, drawing Mon-El's attention.

"Is it just me, or does he seem a little too concerned?" he asked in jest.

"He can feel it," Kara replied.

"Feel it?" Mon-El repeated skeptically. "You mean us hovering next to him?"

"You're dying," she said bluntly.

He shouldn't have been surprised. At some point he had realized this for himself, but hearing the words fall from her mouth was like a shot to the gut. All the playful commentary fell out of his head, and he was instead left with nothing but fear.

"Right, well," he said. "Maybe it's for the best."

Kara's face fell, but she said nothing.

"Right?" he said, as if he might convince her. "I mean, all I want is to go back to Earth to be with you... to have our life there. But if I do that, my parents... they'd never stop. Living means fighting my parents until I don't have the strength anymore. It means being without you."

"I'm right here," she said.

Her eyes were wide and bereft, and her expression tugged at his heartstrings. With his free hand, he reached up and cupped her cheek to comfort her.

"Hey," he whispered. "Don't be sad. I'm not. I got to meet you. To love you."

"It's your decision," she said as her eyes swelled with tears.

"What are you talking about?" he asked. "Look at me. What can I do?"

"You can choose to fight."

"I did. I am."

"Are you?" she asked.

He was, of course he was. Maybe not as hard as he could, but he was fighting.

Her worrying crinkle appeared before she closed in for a kiss. It was slow and sweet yet took his breath away.

"It's your decision," she said. "But you know what I would want."

"Even if we never see each other again?"

"So long as you live, there's always the chance," she replied.

He gripped her tightly, desperate to reassure her, but as much as he wanted to promise her he'd live, he couldn't. Fate had set things in motion, and whatever happened next was in the hands of destiny. He could fight harder than he'd ever fought in his life, but that didn't mean he would win.

"When you get the chance, you should tell him what you need," she said. "You'll only get one."

"What?"

Whatever she meant, she didn't elaborate, and moments later, he found himself being pulled back into the darkness. He gripped Kara's hand with all his strength, and it reassured him until he realized that she was just in his head, a projection crafted from his memories of her. Then the sensation of her hand in his vanished, and he choked on the absence.

And he kept choking because something was lodged in his throat. Panic set in immediately as he fought against it, trying desperately to take a deep breath despite the obstruction. He tried to grab whatever it was, but his arms were like lead and wouldn't budge.

Sounds swirled around him as he gagged, and he wondered if this was how his life would end: alone, in a whirl of confusion and darkness. Terrified, he forced his eyes opened, desperate for a glimpse of Kara. He wanted her to be the last thing he saw.

His vision was fuzzy, and there were too many moving bodies around him, all wearing medical garb. One was standing over him, speaking.

"Your Highness, please, if you can, remain calm and cough," the man said.

Mon-El coughed hard and felt the impediment shift inside. He gagged as he realized that the man was attempting to remove a long tube, and he fought every instinct he had to cough again and again, hoping it would expedite the process. When it was finally out of his mouth, he gasped for breath and tried to roll to his side, but he didn't have much control over his body.

"Stand aside for his Majesty," someone said.

He looked up and caught sight of Kara decked out in her Supergirl attire, her crinkle etched deeply into her forehead and her eyes shining with both tears and hope. She looked at him like he was the only thing in the universe.

Then the King was at his side, grasping his hand and drawing his attention.

"Mon-El," he said. "Can you hear me?"

Tell him what you need, Kara's voice rang in his head.

He tried to say something, but his throat felt like he had recently tried to swallow a fireball. He wound up coughing more than speaking.

"It's okay, son," his father said. "Just breath. You're going to be okay."

Mon-El knew that his father wanted that statement to be true, but he still felt a shadow lingering over him that had not lifted during his abrupt thrust into consciousness. He couldn't be sure it would last.

"I... need..." Mon-El gasped. "I..."

"It's all right," his father said. "You should rest."

"No... I need... need..." he stuttered.

He could feel himself falling back into the darkness. Kara had warned him that he would only have one chance, and he feared he was losing it.

"Sun," he forced out. "Yellow sun... to heal... to..."

Mon-El spotted Kara over his father's shoulder, her smile beaming so brightly that it overshadowed his father's confused expression. Her brilliant comets were the last things he saw before he sank back into unconsciousness.


End-of-chapter-notes: For reference, Mon-El was thrown around quite a lot the day he boarded the ship. The telepath bounty hunter took control of his body, forcing him to fight his friends. He also fought his mother at the Fortress of Solitude. He sustained numerous internal injuries because his skin was impervious, as were his bones. So his organs and other soft tissues took a bit of a beating when he was thrown around. Had he stayed on Earth, he would've healed completely and quickly. Instead, he was left with partially-healed internal injuries with no super-healing to fix him up. One of them put pressure on a blood vessel that ruptured.

I will admit the situation regarding such an injury isn't entirely in the realm of sense per our known super-heroes, but I am partial to blaming variations in Daxamite anatomy and of course, poetic license.

Author's notes: I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment.