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Now on with the story...
DAMAGED
CHAPTER 12
Ballam eased the tunic carefully over his aching back, wincing as the fine cotton material scrapped against his wounds. Even after all this time they still felt tender, but the mornings were the worst, as he struggled painfully out of bed after lying on the deep welts all night.
His uncle would pay for what he'd done, and was already suffering for the brutal caning he gave him, the first signs of his revenge already apparent in his pallid features, and the slight stoop that had replaced the old man's once proud gait. It cost a lot to purchase a poison so sophisticated that within hours of death all traces of toxin would be undetectable. The only drawback being, Garmend's ultimate demise was already proving too slow for his liking, but the seller had assured him his patience would be rewarded, as the victim would appear to die of simple old age, and no one would ever suspect it was him.
He would pretend to mourn, of course, but not for long. Then he would put his carefully laid plans into action, and sell off his inheritance to the Murland's, their nearest neighbour, before waving goodbye to this tiresome place, and seeking out the best Pegasus had to offer…away from Etraska and his tedious life.
Sheppard, though, was another matter, as revenge was only a hollow victory if the person you defeated didn't know who was responsible for their downfall. Therefore, leaving his chambers behind, Ballam made his way along the passageways, still shrouded in shadows even with the sporadic glimpses of the bright midday sun streaming through the tiny windows.
He wondered how long ago the pointless interrogation had concluded, the crack of the whip already clearly heard, despite the dungeons being still some distance away. It amused him greatly to imagine Sheppard being beaten to reveal information about his own whereabouts, the perfect revenge, after all the humiliation and hardship he suffered during the peasants uprising in the tower.
What Sheppard must now be feeling…apart from pain, Ballam neither knew nor cared. He deserved every blow coming to him, because it was through the Atlantians' interference, his privileged life had been torn apart.
When the gene therapy had made them all equal, he'd been forced to work alongside the heathens for the very food on his plate, and his eventual escape from poverty only came through the offer of a dreary life, from a boring old man.
Sheppard was now finally paying for his demise, and the taste of victory was sweet, especially as his suffering was not just confined to blood and tears, but also devastation of the worst possible kind…despair. He was alone here, friendless and being brutally punished by the one man who once believed him. To the Atlantian, it must seem like all hope was lost, and he didn't even know why such bad tidings had befallen him…but that was soon to change.
ooooOoooo
"Where's the Chamberlain?" Once Ballam's eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior of the dungeon, he was disappointed to find the young assistant, Durand, wielding the whip instead of Hamlane.
Mid-strike, Durand didn't look away from the job in hand, as the long, thick, heavy whip tore a grunt from Sheppard's throat as the weapon ripped yet another two more deep, jagged tears into his tender flesh.
"Fifteen…" he called out, and Sheppard groaned, a low, guttural noise filled with pain, while his fingers flexed around the chains and his back buckled, his muscles quivering at the assault. Ballam was curious about the count, and wondered if it was for his benefit, or the slave's.
Then he watched as the boy slowly lowered the whip and turned toward him. His face was covered in Sheppard's blood, splatters of scarlet running down his cheeks and arms, his once black leather gloves now red, as were the two long strands, of knotted leather straps. "He has retired to his chambers, Master, probably asleep after interrogating the slave all night."
Ballam nodded, taking in the shivering frame of the man strung up on the beam. His back already ravaged by the whip, tacky and raw…his flesh in tatters, ripped apart in deep, ragged lines.
"Enjoying your work, boy?" Ballam asked, but was disappointed to see only confusion on the young slave's face.
Durand shrugged, his face impassive, as he looked from him to the whip in his hand. "No…but it's my job, Master."
Puzzled, Ballam went against his better instinct of engaging in conversation with a mere slave, and continued. "I thought you would have welcomed the opportunity to thrash the man who ruined your chance of happiness," he pointed out, but when the young man's expression grew even more confused, Ballam became frustrated. "Come now, boy, isn't it true you were rejected by your intended, because she harbours feelings for this man?" When Durand still remained silent, Ballam pressed this issue. "Speak freely, Durand - I won't punish you for speaking your mind."
The look Durand gave him was indifferent, as he shuffled his feet. "Yes, Master, it is true that Streya did not wish to join with me, but I am not really bothered, as while she seems a nice girl, I have no feelings for her…she was the Masters choice, not mine." he answered, appearing uncomfortable with revealing his thoughts.
"Well then." A slow smile grew on Ballam's face as he unconsciously patted him on the back, only to remove his hand in disgust, when it came away covered in sweat and blood. "I'll tell you what, boy. If you do a good job here, I'll make sure you get your choice of partner."
Ballam thought he saw a flash of anger in the blue eyes, but it was quickly replaced by grief as the young man answered him. "Thank you, Master, but the only girl I cared for is dead…"
For a moment he was baffled, and tried to think which one of the young female slaves that could be until he realised. "The one found with the stable boy?" he responded, amazed. "But weren't you the one who whipped her?"
Durand slumped, as his expression became bereft. "The Chamberlain gave me an order," he answered, and Ballam squirmed, as he watched the slave's eye's become moist, "and to be honest, Master, up until then she was just Streya's friend, I wasn't aware of my feelings until after, when she was dead."
"So you killed the one you loved?" Ballam asked, his voice low, almost stunned by the revelation.
The young slave paused for a moment, apparently considering his response, then when he lifted his gaze, the glare he gave him was angry, and his tone bitter. "No, Master…I only wielded the whip, it wasn't me who ordered the punishment."
Immediately regretting his offer, Ballam wanted to grab the whip off the impudent slave, and reward him for his candour, but satisfied himself with the knowledge that could come later, as he currently had another way to relieve his aggression.
His nemesis was moaning softly, his muscles quivering and his head bowed, but when Ballam approached, he defiantly lifted his head to make eye contact. "I see you bear pain well, John," he said, grudgingly admiring the man, who after all of his suffering was still unbroken.
Sheppard was a mess, one eye, now swollen shut, his other covered in dried blood from a cut over his brow, and his torso a mass of livid bruises, weeping burns and deep welts that he recognised only too well. Yet despite the stuttering breaths, his weak voice was still insolent. "Come to watch me die, you lying SOB…well, knock yourself out, 'cause I'd rather go to hell a free man, than bend my freaking knee to you," Sheppard coughed, grunting in response.
Ballam heard a snort behind him, and glared at the quickly suppressed smile from the young slave. "If you must know, it gives me no pleasure to watch you, or any other slave being punished, Sheppard. As a matter of fact, I find violence distasteful. However If that's what you want, John, it can easily be arranged."
"So, you admit I am John Sheppard?" John slurred, then coughed again, spluttering droplets of blood all over his clean white tunic.
Ballam glanced at his clothing in disgust, then took off his gold embroidered top coat, and proceeded to roll up his sleeves. He then bent in close and whispered into his ear. "Yes, you are John Sheppard, I even recognised you hanging upside down on that frame. I enjoyed seeing you whipped, and having you branded as a common slave, but not as much as I'm going to enjoy this." Ballam smiled, as he felt him flinch at the warmth of his breath. "Just think, Sheppard, no one but you or I will ever know, a secret we'll both take to the grave, although your demise will most certainly come before mine."
Out the corner of his eye, he saw Sheppard draw him a look of pure loathing, as he stepped back and turned to the boy. "Durand, give me the whip." he ordered.
"Why? You owe me that much," Sheppard's weak voice asked, and his glazed eyes were filled with confusion.
Ballam grimaced, as he took the whip in his hand and shook off the remnants of flesh caught in the knotted strands, while trying to avoid treading on the sticky puddle of blood pooling on the ground. "I owe you nothing, Sheppard, which is what you left me after destroying my life."
His smile grew when he saw Sheppard's bewilderment increase. "Still don't remember, Sheppard? Shame…never mind, the details aren't necessary. All you need to know is it was me who was responsible for bringing you to your knees. Now, as much as I dislike violence, I am not incapable of dispensing it, and in your case it will be an absolute pleasure."
"Bastard…" Hatred in his eyes, John spat in his face, but he simply wiped it away while nodding to Durand to withdraw and allow him to begin.
It had been a long time since he'd held the whip in his hand, the one useful skill he'd learnt while working on that dreadful ranch, but Ballam was happy to see he'd lost none of his touch.
As each lash struck home, the familiar sound of hard, leather striking human flesh was music to his ears, as Sheppard groaned in agony, his abused muscles jerking, no longer able to withstand the abuse thrust upon them. Ballam's arm quivered with each blow, but he kept his grip firm, admiring the deep, ragged lines caused by his handiwork, as Sheppard's once white loin cloth turned even redder as it became saturated with blood. Exhilarated, Ballam admitted to himself that he had lied, he did enjoy inflicting pain, especially on the man who had ruined his life.
Despite his quarry jerking away, Ballam was determined that nothing was going to lessen the punishment as he struck his target time and time again, each vicious strike more powerful than the last. Yet after twenty agonizing strokes of his sentence, Sheppard still hadn't screamed…and that just wouldn't do.
"Durand, this whip is obviously not doing its job well enough." He gave the young slave a sideways glance. "Bring me the new whip I ordered. Now's as good a time as any to try it out, don't you think?"
Ballam ignored Durand's look of disgust as he took the magnificent braided whip in his hand and carefully examined the seven thick, knotted straps attached at the end. It was an unusually cruel implement, with numerous flat metal studs embedded in the leather, with a metal tip at end of each strap. His satisfaction complete, when he showed it to his intended victim, and saw a flash of fear replace anger in the eyes of the man hanging loose against the chains.
As the powerful whip cracked, then ripped seven bloody lines deep into the tacky, raw flesh, John's anguished scream rent the air. It was feral, and filled the vast empty space with the sound of terror. Ballam grinned with satisfaction at the nauseating cries being torn from the strong, wilful man in front of him, but it wasn't enough…not yet.
On and on he continued, his own scars pulling as the heavy whip made his back ache. A price worth paying as Sheppard jerked and screamed until he was hoarse, his ravaged back bucking away, yet unable to escape the torture being inflicted upon him, as his blood flowed freely onto the hard stone floor.
A moment of hesitation made him stop before the last strike as Sheppard went limp, only the chains cutting deep welts into his wrists keeping him upright. Ballam waited, not wanting to waste a single strike, then a twitch of the dark, spiky hair was all he needed to proceed with one last blow. A final, blood-curdling yell was wrenched from Sheppard's throat, letting him know the job was now done…revenge was his.
ooooOoooo
"Put the whip down…NOW!" Ronon heard Sheppard's screams reverberate all through the castle and wanted to kill the bastard on sight, but Teyla held him back, her expression though angry, more concerned that Sheppard would take fire instead. Though when he saw John's shredded back, Ronon wished he'd blown his head off…he rarely missed.
"John!" Before either of them could stop her, Streya, the housemaid who had led them there, streaked forward. Though just as she reached the wounded man, Ballam seized his chance and grabbed her, choking her, by holding his arm tight against the young girl's slim neck.
"Let them go, Ballam." Ronon felt his body tense, as he heard a gruff voice behind him, then saw a new player enter the room. He was a large man, almost as tall as him, with long red hair that fell in a ponytail down his back.
"Welcome to the party, Hamlane," Ballam said, his derisive voice sounding slightly breathless as he nodded towards them. "Runen is it? And of course, the lovely Miss Emmagan. Let me introduce you to our Chamberlain."
Ronon watched as Ballam edged slowly backwards, dragging the girl with him until he got behind John, using his ravaged back as a shield. When he did answer, deliberately choosing to ignore the new guy.
"So, my little game is up, I suppose? Ballam asked, but it didn't seem to Ronon as if he was bothered about it, as a smug smile grew on his face. "How did you know Sheppard was here?"
Teyla was the one to answer, her controlled voice dripping with anger. "You used the same poison on your uncle, which killed the Lord Protector in the Tower," she said, then seemed to take a calming breath before continuing. "But what you obviously did not know was after your uncle complained of feeling unwell, our doctor did some tests, including taking a sample of his blood. As it was Doctor Beckett who also treated the Lord Protector in the Tower, he recognised the toxin at once, therefore it was only a small leap to make the connection to you." Teyla then gave him a grim smile. "Although, we may never have found Colonel Sheppard if not for your uncle telling us about the imposter you found in the desert…"
"Bloody hell…" Carson came running in, alongside Rodney. McKay, white as a sheet, starting to gag at the sight of all the blood, while Beckett muttered what Ronon reckoned could only be a string of expletives under his breath. "I need to get to him, people…now. By the state of his back and the amount of blood on the floor alone he needs urgent treatment, never mind what other injuries he could be carrying."
"How Sheppard would have loved this," Ballam chuckled "You do know he's lost his memory, of course? Though it was starting to come back. It was really very amusing watching the poor deluded fool trying to convince my uncle he was a free man, all because of a few fleeting images in his dreams. Of course, who was the old man going to believe? A pathetic slave with a sob story, or the heir to the throne?" He laughed in a humourless tone, with eyes as hard as ice. "John would have been so touched to see you all here, desperate to help him…too late, of course." Ronon felt Teyla's arm holding him back. He didn't want to hurt her by pushing her away, but he was desperate to rip the sadistic SOB apart.
"It's never too late to do the right thing, Ballam," Hamlane said, as he strolled slowly towards him, Ronon pleased the guy was on their side, as he could have taken him - but not by much.
"You always were my uncle's favourite, weren't you?" Ballam sneered, hatred etched into every line of his face. "Why he didn't make you heir I'll never know."
Hamlane gave a wry smile, but didn't stop moving as he talked. "Well, he is my father." The room went silent at the revelation, and Ronon noticed Ballam's expression, once cocky, took on the look of a man in complete and utter shock. "Unfortunately though, my beloved mother was a slave, so I've always know I could never succeed, or risk tainting the family blood line. Therefore it's possible the Lord Protector may still forgive you, Ballam, but only if you end this wicked vendetta now."
"Not likely though is it?" Ballam said, then nodded towards Sheppard. "Anyway, it's already over…look at him, he's as good as dead, or soon will be. As for me, it's time I was going, but I think I'll take this young one with me." He retorted, as Ronon watched him drag the girl towards a door at the back of the dungeon. "She won't be worth as much as you of course, Miss Emmagan, but a pretty little thing like this is always in demand at the market."
While both men carried on their tense exchange, Streya's eyes were pleading, terrified as her lids started to flutter, and her body went limp in his arms. Ronon sharing an anxious look with Teyla, knowing if they didn't make a move soon, it would be more than his friend who wouldn't make it.
Then, out the corner of his eye, Ronon saw Sheppard's head twitch, then his leg kick Ballam's arm, knocking him off balance, forcing him to release Streya. Next, he heard the crack of the whip as Durand wrapped it around Ballam's neck, leaving him lying squirming, struggling for breath.
"Quickly…get him down!" Beckett cried out, and Ronon, along with Rodney, rushed forward to support John's frame, while Hamlane released him from his chains.
Finally free, Carson wasted no time in checking his vitals. "There's no response…and I can't get a heartbeat. Get me the defibrillator."
The room was silent except for the loud bang, and the charge of electricity as the paddles jumped against the bruised chest. "Nothing, again…"
Ronon couldn't stand this. He wanted to do something, anything, but all he could do was watch as Beckett fought for his friend's life, knowing the doc was the best there was…but would it be enough?
Three times his heart jolted along with Sheppard's, until he saw Beckett sit back on his heels and scrub a shaky hand through his hair. "He's back…but I don't know for how long. Radio Lorne and tell him to bring the jumper over as close as possible."
"My nephew has a craft if it's any use to you - he won't be requiring it anymore. Besides it's the least I can do for all the trouble he's caused." The Lord Protector offered, having appeared as if out of nowhere, his presence unnoticed during everything that had gone down. His disgust was clearly visible, though, as Ronon noticed, he didn't make any effort to help the gasping man, just glaring at his nephew's struggle to breathe.
Ronon wanted to wring the old guy's scrawny neck, knowing it was him who was responsible for ordering Sheppard's punishment. He resisted the urge, though, as he knew revenge wouldn't do his buddy any good, besides, according to the doc, the guy was already dying.
"Show me where it is," Rodney said, spurred into action, appearing happy to be able to find something he could do to help. Minutes later, he returned loaded with a stretcher and blankets, wearing a broad smile on his face. "You're not going to believe this…it's a jumper! Ballam must have stolen it before he left the Tower."
"Good, lad." Carson beamed, but his expression soon grew serious as he started barking orders. "Teyla, get the emergency blanket and lay it onto the stretcher. Ronon, son, I want you to give me a hand easing the colonel on. One, two…that's it…just watch his IV…good. Now give me those blankets." He saw Beckett grimace with disgust at the blood soaked loin cloth, as he grabbed them off Rodney and started layering them carefully around Sheppard's body, tucking one gently around his neck. "The colonel wouldn't want people seeing him like this, plus he needs to be kept as warm as possible. "Carson said, almost as if he was speaking to himself, before turning to McKay. "I'm sorry about your back, Rodney, but I need you to take the other end of the stretcher. Though by the looks of things I don't think he'll be too heavy, as he's practically skin and bones, but in any case, I need to be hands free in case he crashes again." With one last anxious glance at each one of the team, Carson nodded. "Right, let's go…"
With barely a backwards glance, Ronon began to walk out the dungeon carrying his precious cargo. He made his way slowly along the stone floor, his pace partly for Rodney's benefit, but mainly to make John's journey as gentle as possible. He didn't much care for the people left behind, as in his book, the Lord Protector and his nephew pretty much deserved each other. Slavery disgusted him at any time, but especially these two men who treated people as if they were cattle, and used brutality to retain their power over those under their control.
Although he did feel sorry for the young kid, Streya. Still, the last he'd seen of her, that young dude who took out Ballam was holding her pretty close, so maybe she'd be okay. That other guy though - Hamlane, he was something else. Ronon couldn't figure what his role was in all this, but reckoned he would be a major player in whatever the hell happened next. Right now, though, if he was honest, he didn't give a shit. They'd finally got Sheppard and were taking him home…which at the end of the day was all that really mattered.
ooooOoooo
TBC
Well help has arrived at last...
Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and the whump. Please review, as I like to know what you think.