You must trust and believe in people, or life becomes impossible. - Anton Chekhov
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Tesni found herself impressed. The stranger had come out of nowhere, clearly out of his element, and injured besides. Yet he had managed to maintain his composure, even as he struggled to communicate despite the language barrier. He was a quick study, learning as he went, and teaching her his own speech in the process. While their conversation had of necessity been guarded as well as being somewhat limited due to linguistic differences, she had still gleaned a fair bit of information about him by their interaction. He was clearly a soldier of some sort, the evidence writ large in his bearing, the tones of his speech, and the manner in which he observed his surroundings. He appeared to be perhaps a dozen years her senior, with the indelible, if subtle, marks of experience stamped on his features. She knew the type very well; indeed, she inhabited a world filled with such men – and such women. Individuals who had seen much and done much in the service of their cause and who wore that experience like a mantle. She would wear it herself one day. Her job at present in that service was to assess possible threats, especially from the direction of the drws rhyng y byd, and that made this man who had arrived without warning her responsibility. He was no threat, however; she had determined that early on. He might, in fact, make a formidable addition to their forces, should he find himself remaining, and be so disposed.
It was a gift, her sense for people, and a large part of why she held the position she did. The sole item remaining to be determined was where the stranger stood with regard to the Goa'uld, and Tesni was fairly certain she already knew the answer to that. The immediate change in their interaction upon her floating a test mention of Bel had told her much.
The stranger's altercation with Ris had been the product of poor judgment on Nenniaw's part, and on Ris' as well. Yet even Ris had quickly found respect for the stranger – who, to his own credit, had exhibited a touching concern for her nephew's well-being after the incident. Now the man was her responsibility by guest-right, not to mention by virtue of the fact that at present she was the one person who could communicate clearly with him. She reflected that she most likely would have taken responsibility for him anyway. There was something compelling about him, some element that sparked her curiosity. Right now, however, what he needed most was a friend and advocate among her people, and she was more than willing to take on that role. It was, she told herself, yet another aspect of her job.
She glanced over at the figure sitting straight as an ash pole on a borrowed bay horse, his dark eyes scanning the surrounding forest through a mist of rain. If she looked closely enough, she could still see fatigue lining his face, even as he ignored it. He seemed much improved over last night, however. She had been honestly concerned for him then, as she watched him sitting in the candlelight at her table, ashen-faced and with trembling hands. She hadn't seen that look on anyone in a long time, not since... Well, not in a long time, regardless.
She knew well that refusal to show weakness, that insistence upon pushing past all bounds of fatigue or injury even to the breaking point where the body might of necessity betray its owner, while the mind still raced on. She'd seen it dozens of times, even once or twice in herself. Women were by no means immune. Men, however – the thought came to her unbidden – were more prone to its grip, at least in her experience. It was this which she had seen scant hours ago in the stranger's countenance, by the amber light of a lone candle. Not for the first time, she reflected on the irony of how a desire to seem invulnerable could so often sow the seeds of its own betrayal. She had felt a keen need to reassure him that in her presence he might let himself rest without losing face. But how?
Among Tesni's people, touch was as important as breath. She'd sensed from his body language that this was not so among the stranger's tribe, whoever they were. Nevertheless, she took the chance, and found that a touch stilled him as words alone could not, and so she had finally moved him to seek his bed and the rest he needed. He had fallen asleep almost immediately upon lying down, and after covering him with a blanket against the approaching chill, she had left him to find what healing he could in the hours remaining before dawn.
When she found him already awake in the early light, she was struck by the fact that even after only a few hours of sleep, he appeared ready to face the day and its challenges. She would have given him more time to recover if she could, but necessity dictated they leave early to journey to Dinas Coedwyg. She had given her word that he would be neither harmed nor detained, and she intended to keep that promise. When they returned to Llanavon, assuming his mysterious friends had not arrived, she would find a way to give the stranger some well-deserved peace and quiet so that he could rest. Assuming, of course, that he would.
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The rain had abated about halfway through their journey, leaving the trees dripping and the trail muddy. The light brightened as the cloud cover moved off, and the air soon warmed, turning humid as the moisture evaporated. Cromwell shed the blue cloak, spreading it a bit over his horse's withers in the hope that it might dry. Still clad in the black uniform he'd been wearing for what was to him two days now, he was still uncomfortable in the muggy air, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. "Does the weather here do this a lot?" he asked Tesni, who rode next to him.
"Change abruptly? Yes, that is common," she replied. "In winter, it is worse. Many sudden snows."
Sounds like Colorado. Though with any luck, I'll be long gone from here by then. As they rode through a large clearing, Cromwell looked toward the sky, trying to get a fix on the position of the sun. He glanced at his watch, calculating how long a day here might be. According to the sun, it appeared to still be early morning. His watch said that not quite twenty-two hours had passed since his arrival in Llanavon. A day here on Tir Awyr must be of similar length to one on Earth, then. "Tesni, how long are the years here? How many days?"
She looked at him, puzzled. "Three hundred fifty-eight, why?"
Very Earthlike. "Just curious. I wanted to compare it to my own world. They are similar. You said this is summer, and I assume you track the seasons by stars and the sun, no?"
"Yes, of course. Midsummer passed twenty-seven days ago."
Knowledge, even knowledge he was unlikely to really use, always helped to orient him, giving at least the illusion of some control over his situation. He knew it was largely illusory for the time being, but that could change at a moment's notice.
Up ahead, the trail wound back into the trees, traveling uphill now. It was wider here, however, and the forest soon gave way to another clearing, this one much larger than the one occupied by Llanavon. Another fortified wall arose ahead of them, encircling what appeared to be a large settlement similar to the hill forts whose remains Cromwell knew dotted much of Europe. This, then, must be Dinas Coedwyg.
They entered the settlement via a gate set into the earth and timber walls. Within, the streets were similar to those of Llanavon, lined with buildings constructed of wood and of stone. A wide avenue led through the middle of town, with narrower lanes turning off along its length. People were out and about on the streets, a few turning to watch as the mounted party passed by.
They hadn't gone more than a few blocks before Nenniaw led them down a side street, stopping at a square stone building. Three youths of around Ris' age appeared to take their horses as they dismounted. Cromwell was annoyed to find that he was, indeed, sore from the ride. There was nothing for it, however, but to go on. He turned to offer Tesni a hand in dismounting, only to find her already slipping gracefully to the ground. She probably does this all the time. Damn, I need to get up to speed if I'm going to be here for any length. He stretched protesting muscles as Nenniaw gathered the group.
At his elbow, Tesni outlined their agenda. "The cadlywydd will most likely meet with Morcant, Nenniaw and Dynawd first. Celyn has business of his own to attend to, though he may be asked to join the others before that. You and I will wait until the cadlywydd has time for us, but it should not be too long. While we are waiting, we can find someplace to sit and talk, and I can teach you more of our tongue, if you want. I know you are still tired, but –"
Cromwell cut her off. "Not all that much." She shot him what he knew to be a disbelieving look, but she didn't comment. Nenniaw and Celyn set off toward the door of the building before them, and the rest followed.
It was cooler inside. A short hallway led them to a sort of reception area furnished with a couple of tables and actual chairs rather than benches. A desk stood off to one side, an earnest-faced young man seated behind it. Tesni ushered Cromwell toward a seat at one of the tables, before procuring tea for them from a sideboard. Cromwell watched as Nenniaw approached the desk and consulted with the clerk, who gestured toward a set of stairs. Nenniaw, accompanied by Morcant and Dynawd, mounted the stairs and disappeared. Celyn remained speaking with the clerk for a moment longer, before setting off down another hallway.
Cromwell fidgeted in his chair, still trying to work a cramp out of his left thigh, as Tesni deposited a cup of tea on the table in front of him. She eyed him curiously. "Are you sure you are all right?"
"Yes. It has been some time since I last rode a horse. My legs are unaccustomed to it, but I will adjust." Hell, may as well tell her the truth; it isn't as if she can't see for herself.
Understanding bloomed on her face, along with a measure of sympathy. "Ah. Let me see if I can find some rhisgl helyg. That may help."
He had to think for a moment before his memory provided the probable translation. Willow bark? "What is that for?" In fact, the mention of willow bark rang a bell. Something he'd once read...
"It eases pain, but leaves the mind sharp. Stay here; I will be right back. There is a" — she used a word with which he was completely unfamiliar — "just along the street." She was gone before he could say anything to stop her. He settled for staring out the nearby window, drinking tea, occasionally glancing back around the room as people came and went. For all the world, it reminded him of office waiting areas anywhere. But for the décor and the lack of modern technology, he could almost have been back home at Peterson. Well, except there I could score a cup of honest-to-God coffee. Probably bum a smoke, too.
Tesni returned shortly, clutching a ceramic bottle small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, stoppered with a tiny cork. She opened it and tipped several drops of liquid into what was left of his tea. "There. Drink that and see if it helps."
He took a tentative sip. Whatever she had added gave the tea a bitter taste similar to what you might expect from chewing on aspirin. That's it, he realized. Some article, in some magazine he'd read over the years, discussed the botanical origins of several well-known medications. If memory served, aspirin had been developed from a compound found in willow bark, which the article claimed had been used for thousands of years.
"Tastes awful, but if it helps..." He shrugged. "Thank you."
She smiled, handing him the small bottle of tincture. "Here, you keep this. The same amount, twice more in the course of the day, should be useful."
Modern medicine it ain't, but close enough. Might help what's left of this headache, too. He accepted the bottle, tucking it into a pocket and thanking her again. These people actually seem to have a lot on the ball.
Tesni got both of them more tea. "With any luck, we will be done here soon, though I cannot say I am completely unhappy to be visiting." She glanced around the room. "The cadlywydd does not get here often enough, of late."
Cromwell was still confused. "He is not someone local, then?"
"No. Well, he was at one time, but he spends much of his time quite far away lately." She sipped from her cup, her expression thoughtful. "Tell me, how long have you been a soldier?"
There was the question he sensed she'd been wanting to ask, ever since he realized she could tell he was a military man. "Actually, I would use a different term, but it wouldn't translate. 'Soldier' is apt enough. Twenty-four years, so far. Nearly my entire adult life, and I spent three years before that preparing for the job." Inwardly, Cromwell shrugged. He wasn't giving away any real information there. If it was obvious to her what he was, more or less, then it was equally obvious that he'd been at it for quite some time. He was well aware that at forty-six, he didn't exactly look like a callow youth.
"And there is much for a soldier to do, on your world?"
"A little too much, sometimes." He shifted in his chair. "Why do you ask?"
She smiled. "Like your earlier questions, curiosity. You know I have never left Tir Awyr. One day, perhaps I will. How many times have you been away from your world?"
"This is the first time. As I said, it was accidental. I was never supposed to be here, and I just want to go home. No offense to your hospitality, you understand, but this is not a trip I planned on making."
She laughed. "None taken. I am sure I would feel the same, in your place."
They never did get around to more language lessons before Nenniaw reappeared to usher them upstairs and into what appeared to be a conference room. Broad windows provided light, and a table with several chairs dominated the center of the room. Judging from the teapot and cups occupying space in front of some of the chairs, some meeting or other had recently concluded. Only one other person was currently present, however. A man of about Cromwell's own height and probably just a bit older, to judge by his face, stood near the table. He had light brown hair shading heavily to silver at the temples, and was clad in what appeared to be a uniform - a gray tunic, with matching trousers tucked into boots that reached above mid-calf. He appeared to be studying a small, flat metallic object, part of which glowed inexplicably, but he blinked and looked up as Tesni entered the room, her guest in tow. Tucking the object into a belt pouch, he came to greet her. "Tesni, fy nith. It is good to see you again." A smile lit his face as he clasped her shoulders.
Cromwell's mind raced. 'Niece'? Wait, this guy's her uncle?
Tesni was speaking. "Hello, Uncle. It is good to see you too. It has been too long."
Nenniaw was still at the door. The other man waved in his direction. "You may leave us." Nenniaw frowned slightly but withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Tesni introduced them. "Frehnk" — she stumbled again on the unfamiliar vowel — "this is cadlywydd Cadogan ap Cynan. Uncle, this is the newcomer I am sure Nenniaw mentioned. Arriving as he did, when he did, Nenniaw insisted he be brought to you. His name is – "
Frank interrupted, taking a step forward. "Frank Cromwell." He continued in what he hoped was passable Pridanic. "My pleasure to meet you."
The other man's eyebrows went up, his smile broadening. Apparently, he appreciated direct approaches. He reached out to clasp Cromwell's arm just above the elbow, his grip firm. "The pleasure is mine. I am told you arrived yesterday from off-world, yes?"
Cromwell nodded. "I did, though it was completely by accident. There was a problem with our drws rhyng y byd, and it wasn't working correctly. I was trying to help resolve the problem. The device was active at the time. I got too close, and found myself on your world." He'd decided to stick to the truth, or something like it, up until that point beyond which telling the truth might endanger Earth. He could only hope that his very presence here was not enough to do that already.
Cadogan's expression became puzzled. "And you could not return?"
"Only because I don't know the address for my world. I have never traveled through the drws rhyng y byd before this; very few of my people do. I do expect someone to come looking for me soon, and when that happens, I intend to leave here and return home."
Tesni broke in, speaking once again in Pridanic too fast and complicated for Cromwell to completely grasp. It sounded, though, as if she might be recounting his explanation of how and why he'd ended up on Tir Awyr to the cadlywydd... the general, or whatever he was... her uncle. No wonder she was so sure he'd believe her. They appear to be close, and I'm guessing he trusts her. This certainly helps me, that's for sure.
Cadogan was nodding as Tesni spoke, occasionally darting glances in Cromwell's direction. With each glance, Cromwell got the impression he was being sized up, examined, analyzed. When she finished her explanation, he nodded again, turning back to Cromwell. "My niece tells me that she has been teaching you our language. May I say that you are doing a fair job with it, for someone who only arrived yesterday?" The tone was neutral, but his expression invited explanation.
Yeah, this is where it gets hairy. Cromwell shrugged, schooling his face to innocence. "It is very similar to another language I once learned."
"I see. She also tells me that you are a military man of some experience."
Cromwell was saved from having to respond to that by a knock on the door. An aide rushed in to whisper in the cadlywydd's ear. Cadogan's expression grew alarmed. "Are they certain?" he asked the aide aloud.
The aide glanced at Tesni and Cromwell. "Yes, yes, go ahead," said Cadogan, impatiently.
"They are certain, cadlywydd."
"How many?"
"Twenty-six altogether. A small group have taken the path toward Llanavon, while the rest remain stationary near the compass circle."
The SGC sent that many people? The hell? Cromwell turned to Tesni, about to suggest they light out for Llanavon, but she held up a hand to silence him. Something in her look made him hold his tongue.
Cadogan was still questioning his aide. "All Jaffa, or are there Goa'uld with them?"
"All Jaffa. But that is a large group. They may be here to collect tribute, although it is not one of the normal times for that."
Jaffa? Cromwell and Tesni shared a look. Shit. I was really hoping to avoid any of those guys while I was here.
Striking a fist on the table, Cadogan uttered a word Cromwell had never heard before. "Mai'tac!" It didn't sound Pridanic, but his meaning was clear regardless: the man was furious. The cadlywydd bowed his head for a second. When he raised it, his hazel eyes had taken on an entirely different appearance, as though someone else were looking out of them. Turning to the aide, he spoke in an unfamiliar language, this time in a deep, flanged voice that carried harmonic under- and overtones.
Cromwell's skin crawled. The language might be unfamiliar, but he'd heard recordings of such voices, supplied by the Air Force so that he and his men would recognize the enemy if they heard them. Jesus Christ, he's a goddamn Goa'uld!