Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis and its characters belong to somebody other than me. I'll put them back when I'm done with them. I promise… soon… really.
And hey – the first post of the New Year! Hope everyone had a safe and very happy New Year's Eve and are enjoying the first day of the year. And here we go:
A sudden thump jolted Tosia from slumber so deep it took a moment to orient herself to her surroundings. The crick in her neck and the stiffness of her outstretched legs then swiftly reminded her that she had fallen asleep sitting up in the chair. She was surprised that sleep had overtaken her so completely. Perhaps she wasn't too old or too disenchanted to find some absolution in confession, after all.
Then she remembered John. He was no longer by her side, and a surge of fear coursed through her. She sat up straight in her chair, her anxious gaze darting around so quickly she almost missed seeing him slumped against the door, one shoulder propped on the rough wood, his limbs loose and sprawled, as though he had fallen.
Stumbling to her feet, unmindful of the sharp pains in her hips and back, Tosia rushed to him. She laid her hand on his upper back, finding the material of his shirt damp with sweat. His head had dropped forward so that his chin rested nearly on his chest, and frowning, Tosia noticed that the thick hair along the nape of his neck and by his temples was wet and adhering to his skin. When she pressed the back of her hand to his cheek, she wasn't surprised at the heat of his clammy skin. His closed eyelids fluttered at her touch.
"John?" Tosia called and lightly shook him.
He murmured under his breath, his eyelids fluttering once more, then opening. He raised his head slowly, with effort, and looked up at her, his eyes bright and glassy with fever. Frowning with perplexity, he studied Tosia's features as though he were struggling to recall who she was.
Tosia gently patted his cheek in an attempt to reassure him, and when he didn't flinch away from her touch, she surmised that she had been forgiven. At least for the time being. Taking hold of his arm and reaching around his back, she hoped to be able to urge him to stand. "Come, John, let's get you off this cold floor."
John tried to get his feet under him, but gave up when he couldn't seem to coordinate his limbs. He slumped even further against the door, pressing his face to the aged wood. The cold air wafting in and around the frame must have been soothing to his fevered skin, and he allowed his eyes to drift shut again.
Tosia shook him again, worried. "Come, John, I am sure your bed will be a much more comfortable place to sleep."
The sounds of footsteps behind her diverted her attention, and she turned to see Antal stepping up beside her and running a hand through his sleep tousled dark hair.
"What's the matter with John, Tosia?" Antal's concerned gaze darted to each of them.
"I think he was trying to go outside again. He's running a fever – but I am not surprised after what he put himself through," Tosia replied, watching John with a concerned frown of her own. "Will you get him back to his bed, Antal?"
"All right," Antal said agreeably enough and reached down, grasping John under his arms and carefully lifting him to his feet. John groaned, pulling his eyes open to stare at both of them in confusion, then hazily gazed around the small hut, seemingly taking everything in for the first time. Tosia found it odd that he appeared to pay more attention to his surroundings while burning up with fever than he'd ever done since she'd found him.
Antal attempted to lead John back to his bed, but he dragged his feet, and shook his head from side to side, as though in refusal. Shrugging, Antal pulled his own woolen cloak from the hook by the door and draped it over John's shoulders. At Tosia's questioning look, Antal said, "Maybe he just needs to use the privy."
Tosia smiled at Antal's easy and logical reasoning. It so very often was the correct one. She cautioned the young man not to dawdle, for it was cold outside and she could hear the wind howling along the rafters. John willingly, but blearily went along with Antal and allowed the younger man to help him, but became confused and uncooperative when Antal brought him back inside the hut a short time later.
It took a few minutes, but Antal was able to gently coax a reluctant, but visibly exhausted John back to his bed. He refused to lie down though, and sat with his back propped against the wall, his bright, fevered gaze drifting to every nook and cranny in the hut, and Tosia wondered what he was hoping to see, or to find. Maybe, she thought, his disoriented mind was seeing a different place, possibly one that had better memories than this one.
Lowering herself beside him on the pallet, Tosia took careful hold of one of his hands, checking the bloodstained bandages. She could feel the heat of his skin even through the thick layers of material. Lasca had done the best she could with their limited provisions, but Tosia knew John was still in danger of serious infection. She bit back a curse at their lack of medicinal supplies – how such simple medicine that had been around for centuries in her previous life would have saved so many here. But there was nothing to be done about that.
Though her arthritic fingers ached unbearably from yesterday's cold and rain, she carefully unraveled the bandages, and with water that had been boiled by the fire and allowed to cool, she cleaned the innumerable amounts of cuts and abrasions again. And this time, as she cleaned John's battered hands, she ensured her motions were gentle, so careful that he scarcely flinched as she worked, even though most of the cuts were swollen and inflamed.
She then reached for the flask of corn liquor that she kept on hand for injuries and only used sparingly. How she and Gaereth had laughed over their first successful batch, which they of course, had to sample. Many times. She carefully pressed the alcohol-dampened cloths against the worst of the infected cuts. John flinched and pressed his lips tight together, but didn't pull away, as though he somehow knew she was helping him now. When she replaced the bandages, she was careful to place extra strips of cloth on the deep, ragged cut on the webbing between the thumb and index finger of his right hand.
"I do so wish you could tell me how you knew where to look… how you knew my lab was still down there…" Tosia mused softly, not wishing the others to hear. She wrapped the strips tight around his thumb, immobilizing it as much as possible so the gash would have the chance to properly heal. Winding a long strip of cloth around the packing, she tied it securely to his wrist, then gently grasped his forearm and looked into his too-bright eyes. "We will go back there soon, John, I promise. Once you are feeling better."
John gave no sign of having heard her, as she expected, but the reassurance was as much for herself, as it was for him.
They were finally about to sit down to a late breakfast that Lasca had prepared, when there was a loud knock at the door. Tosia cursed under her breath. She had an inkling of who may be on the other side, and knew the conversation would not be pleasant. Even still, it was unavoidable.
Nodding to Antal, the young man went to answer the door, with Tosia following close behind. Lasca remained close by John who had grudgingly laid back on his pallet, but he had yet to submit to his illness and exhaustion.
When Antal pulled open the door, they were met with a strong gust of icy wind that nearly tore the door from his grasp, and were faced with Silas, Urvan and three other men from the village.
Motioning to Antal to step aside, Tosia placed herself in front of the open door and took her time studying each of the men's faces, trying to determine their intentions. "What can I do for you?" she said, her voice flat, expressionless, betraying none of her irritation with their intrusion. The wind tore at her hair and clothing, and she shivered involuntarily.
"We want to talk to you about the stranger."
"What of him?" Tosia said, raising an eyebrow at the man, Kornel, who had spoken. He was the next oldest in the village, another of the esteemed elders.
"Can we not come inside to discuss this?" Kornel asked, pulling the collar of his coat tighter around his neck.
"That depends on your intentions." Tosia looked pointedly at Silas.
"Tosia…" Kornel said with an impatient frown. "We simply wish to—"
"If you are inquiring as to John's well being, then yes, you are welcome to come inside," Tosia broke in, but made no move to step away from the door. "If you wish to discuss what happened between John and Silas, then no, you may not come in. Now is not a good time. You are interrupting our breakfast."
"Tosia… we have all been as one family for as long as any of us can remember, and yet you allow this stranger… this outsider to come between you and your own people. We are only concerned for your well-being, and that… that this man may be too… dangerous… to allow him to live among us."
"And what brings you to that concern?" Tosia inquired, directing her attention once more to Silas. "And I remember when we once welcomed strangers. You are old enough to remember such a time, as well, Kornel."
"Do not be coy, Tosia," Silas broke in with a ferocious scowl, pushing in front of Kornel. "You know full well what happened here the other day, and what this stranger is capable of. And others saw you and him in the village yesterday! He had blood on his hands! How do you explain that?"
The other men muttered, looking fretful, and even more alarming, Tosia saw an element of potential violence in their postures, so she stepped back, allowing them to come inside. She shut the door behind them with effort, but could still hear the howling wind. It sounded as though a storm were brewing.
Lasca greeted the men, but stayed by John's side, placing one hand protectively on his shoulder. Each of the village men's focus was on John and the heavily bandaged hands that lay resting on his flat belly. When the villagers crowded close around him, John halfway sat up, propping himself on his elbows, his eyes slowly, but steadily moving from one man to the next, his muscles tensing, his posture wary.
Tosia allowed the men to watch him for a moment, proud that even ill as he was, John showed no fear of them. Just like Gaereth would have done, she thought. She supposed it was time for an explanation for her behavior of the day before, but when she spoke it was more for her family's benefit than for the villagers'.
"John had blood on his hands because he injured them after falling in the ruins," she said, unflinching, her tone firm and leaving no room for rebuttal. "You are all well aware of how dangerous that place is, and this should serve as a further reminder. However, John does not understand everything he is told, and he has a tendency to wander, which is how he ended up in that place. I am afraid my patience is not what it used to be, and I overreacted when I found him there. He did not mean to be disobedient – it was a simple accident, and no cause for alarm. You have no reason for your concern."
Lasca's sharp gaze met Tosia's, and the younger woman studied her mother's features for a long time. Those cuts on John's hands could never be caused by a simple fall, but Tosia knew Lasca would never voice her suspicion. At least not in front of the others.
"Now if you will excuse us, our breakfast is getting cold." With that, Tosia walked back to the door, a not so subtle hint that she had said all she intended to say. She had already decided not to tell any of them, including her family, what John had found at the ruins. What lay hidden beneath the blasted ground was not for their world.
"Just one minute. That is not all we have come to discuss, Tosia," Silas growled, making no moves to leave, and jabbing a finger in John's direction. "He and I have some unfinished business."
"I will handle this, Silas," Kornel said, shooting the man an irritated glance. "Now, Tosia, I admire your generosity and compassion towards this man, but we want no trouble to come to our homes."
"Then perhaps it is Silas you should be having words with," Tosia said with a faint, sardonic smile. "For he is the only one I see stirring up trouble."
Silas's face turned bright red with outrage, and he flung his arm in John's direction. "He attacked me!"
"Only after you bullied and struck my grandson without provocation! John was only defending Antal, and for that, I am grateful to him," Tosia stated, her temper flaring. "Perhaps you are only affronted, Silas, because this stranger, even ill as he is, knocked you flat on your back without breaking a sweat!"
"Is this true?" Kornel turned to Silas.
"Tosia is mad, she always has been," Silas sputtered. "That is why she feels so at home with an imbecile and a lunatic."
"That is enough, Silas!" Kornel shouted, staring down the man, stunned by his outburst. "There is no call for such disrespect!" Silas returned the glare, then stepped back, cowed for the moment.
"What you say may well be the truth, Tosia," Kornel continued, his weathered features downcast and regretful, "but we all agreed that it would be best if you kept the stranger away from the main village and the others. He will not be welcomed among us. We have enough to worry about with the winter storms coming, and the harvests have been so very poor… We need every able body we have to ensure that this winter will not be as difficult as the last. You know full well that we cannot afford to take in those who are unable to earn their keep. The others… also feel that you should consider bringing him back to where you found him. Let his own kind find him and deal with him. Otherwise…" Kornel allowed his voice to trail off, unable to articulate the near threat.
A cold knot of mingled anger and despair settled in the pit of her stomach, and Tosia looked at each of the men, but none of them were willing to meet her gaze. She nodded after a moment, not in agreement, but in recognition of their fear of the unknown and the unfamiliar. Even still, she couldn't withhold a deep sense of disappointment in them. In herself, too, for she was party to creating the sheltered, intolerant society in which they existed.
"If you have said all you wish to say, then Ithink it is best if you all took your leave now," Tosia said after a long, tense moment, grateful that at least her voice wasn't shaking as badly as the rest of her was.
"I am sorry, Tosia," Kornel began, forcing himself to meet the eye of the woman he held in such high regard. "Perhaps in time…"
"It is all right, Kornel," Tosia said, softening a little at the man's obvious discomfiture. "I know this is not all your doing."
Kornel nodded and his eyes spoke of his remorse, but he didn't say anything more. He turned toward the door, and the others silently followed him outside into the cold, blustery air. The first of many snowfalls had begun, and a gust of snowflakes blasted in, cold white drifting onto the stark gray stone floor. Winter would soon have them in its icy, unmerciful embrace, and as Tosia watched the flakes dissolve into small droplets, like fallen tears, she was certain that this winter would be her last. The knowledge brought a strange, but welcome sense of relief. Turning to meet her family's gaze, Tosia, for once, was at a loss for words, unable to feel anything but the strange new sensation that this would all be over soon.
Antal, who had watched the entire exchange with wide, frightened eyes, looked to both his mother and grandmother for explanation and reassurance. "Why did they say that?" he asked each of them. "What did John do wrong?"
With effort, Tosia forced herself from the torpor that had so suddenly overcome her, and patted the young man's arm. "He did nothing wrong, Antal. They just don't understand that he's different from them. He and I are both simply different from all of them."
Lasca rose to her feet, frowning at Tosia. "What do you mean, 'he and I'?" Antal looked to both of them again with uncertain, fearful eyes. "Come sit with John for a moment, Antal," Lasca added, smiling for her son's reassurance.
Once Antal had positioned himself beside the ill man, Lasca stepped closer to Tosia, meeting the old woman square in the eye. When she spoke again, she kept her voice quiet so that Antal couldn't hear them from across the room. "Mother, ever since John came here, you've been acting strangely. Well, more strangely than usual," she amended, when Tosia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Why did you lie about his hands?" Lasca paused, her thoughts churning, then her eyes widened. "Did John… did he do something to hurt someone? Is that what you're not telling us? Is that why the others are so afraid of him? Is that why they want to send him away?" She darted a glance back at John, and with a pang of fear, wanted to call to her son to step away from him.
"Lasca, do not be as foolish as those ridiculous men." Tosia took hold of her daughter's arm in reprimand, though she knew Lasca had every right to question her. She owed her daughter more than falsehoods, yet there was no way she could tell her the entire truth. Lasca simply wouldn't understand, and Tosia and the others had fought too hard to protect their offspring from the bitterness of false hope.
Perhaps an omission of the truth would suffice, Tosia decided, and choosing her words carefully, she finally said, "John has harmed no one but himself. And I did not lie about his hands. I merely left out that I found him looking for something in the ruins. He was digging in the ground with his bare hands, and that is how he injured them. What he may have been looking for, I do not know, but I saw no reason to tell the others this fact. They are already behaving enough like frightened children as it is." She paused, amazed that the lie had come so easily.
"I saw John doing that, too!" Antal piped up and clambered to his feet. "Digging, I mean. He just likes to collect things – like I do. He found some things at the ruins the last time, but I think he lost them." Antal puzzled for a moment. "Oh, do you suppose maybe that's what he's looking for? What he lost?"
Tosia smiled, grateful to her grandson. "Yes, I think that is exactly what he's looking for."
"Maybe he won't be so upset if I give him some of the things that I found at the ruins?"
"That is a splendid idea, Antal."
Before Lasca could voice her surprise that her son had been regularly visiting the ruins against their wishes, Antal grinned, jumped to his feet and disappeared into his bedroom. Tosia and Lasca could hear him rummaging around, muttering to himself about where he might have last left his treasures.
Tosia looked to Lasca, troubled by the undisguised distress that was still on her daughter's face and how she was unconsciously wringing her hands, something she had done from the time she was a frightened little girl.
"Lasca – Antal and I have come to an understanding about the ruins, so there is no need to worry about that. The others… they will come around eventually," Tosia reassured her. "They will eventually get used to John. What was once unfamiliar soon becomes the norm, given enough time. Do not fret, all right?"
"All right," Lasca said after a moment, allowing the tension of the past few days to release its tight grip somewhat. "I suppose you are right."
"I am always right," Tosia said with a nod, chuckling when Lasca pulled a silly face in reply. Tosia only wished she could believe her own reassurances. She knew all too well how the unfamiliar or those who are simply different more often become the unjustly ostracized.
Antal emerged from his room, triumphant, with his arms full of assorted bits and pieces. He laid them carefully on the floor beside John's bed – metal shards and broken bits of crystals. A piece of glass melted into a smooth, blackened stalactite. Bolts, colored bits of eroded glass melded together with a piece of plastic to form a rough, egg-shaped sphere, all along with various other paraphernalia. Lasca and Tosia stepped closer to see, surprised at how much Antal had collected.
"Look, John," Antal said, oblivious to their scrutiny and nudged John's shoulder until the older man's feverish gaze drifted to him. "No, look here." Antal patted at the floor.
Pinching his lips, John slowly followed the motion of Antal's hands. He blinked at the objects without much interest. Then he seemed to focus on a few in particular. He carefully moved his hand over them and fumbled to pick up the objects, hindered by the clumsy bandages. He managed to snag a few pieces with his damaged fingers before losing his grip on them. He groaned with frustration and tried again, but Antal quickly retrieved the objects for him instead – a piece of blue-colored plastic and a glyph that was perfectly intact, save for a small chip missing from one bottom corner. Turning John's hand over, Antal dropped them in his heavily bandaged palm.
John scowled at the plastic, but carefully, with the bandaged tips of the torn fingers of his other hand, took tenuous hold of the glyph. He let the plastic fall back to the floor, and with both hands, carefully cradled the glyph to his chest. "Mm-kay," he muttered under his breath, "Ro'ney can fix it."
Curious, Tosia crouched next to John and laid her hand on his shoulder. "What, John – what can Ronny fix?"
"Ever'thing…" John breathed out, his eyelids drooping with fatigue.
Hiding her surprise that John had answered her, Tosia smiled and gently rubbed his arm. "Everything, hmm? He must be some crafty fellow, then."
John blinked tiredly at her, his face flushed and beaded with sweat. Tosia laid her cool hand on his forehead and he leaned into her touch. His fever was getting higher, she realized with alarm. John muttered something that was indecipherable, then coughed, long and hard. Tosia helped sit him up, rubbing his back until the fit subsided. Lasca handed Tosia a wet cloth and a wooden cup filled with water, and they exchanged a worried look.
Tosia held the cup to John's lips, and he drank greedily from it. She pulled the cup away before he finished it, not wanting him to upset his stomach. With Antal's help, she eased him back to the pillow, and Tosia wiped the cloth over his damp face. Sweat had pooled in the hollow of his throat, so she gently tried to move his tightly clasped hands away from his chest so she could unbutton the front of his shirt. John scowled and tightened his grip so much that Tosia feared he'd reopen the cuts on his hands.
"It is all right, John," Tosia soothed, "I will not try to take it from you. That is yours now. It is all right." She worked around his hands instead, slipping the cloth under his collar and trying to cool his heated skin. The entire time, John held the glyph tight against him, protesting again when Tosia very carefully took hold of his fingers, trying to loosen his grip and ease the pressure on his cuts. A soft groan escaped his lips as he shifted his hands, but still he held tight.
Sighing, she gave up and let him alone. John was just as headstrong as she was, she'd come to realize. She found herself wondering again what he had been like before his mind had become so damaged. She liked to think that he was as Gaereth had been. Strong but kind, stubborn, but loyal to a fault. Perhaps that was just projection though, wishful thinking, at best.
Pulling herself back to her feet, Tosia watched as John slipped into a fitful sleep, glyph still held to his chest, right over his heart. Maybe that ancient, metallic symbol of freedom offered him a glimmer of hope, and Tosia was even more certain of their need to return to what lay beneath the ruins before the snows covered all traces of it.
--- tbc ---