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19.
Sacrifice
"The means by which we achieve victory are as important as the victory itself."― Brandon Sanderson
Sam inhales again, slowly, carefully, gratefully, and does not even try to hide the surprise and relief she feels at being able to do something as natural as breathe.
"It's you," she says softly, and nearly winces at the brief burning sensation that crackles through her right lung and ribcage.
He fixes her with a hard look, and carelessly tosses the knife he's been examining aside, the sound of metal colliding with stone echoing in the cavernous space.
For a moment he continues to stare down at her, his eyes flicking between hers, and although he shifts his hand from where it had still been pressing against her chest, it's only so he can reposition himself to lean over her, looming threateningly.
It is so quiet, she can hear him draw in a breath.
"Apophis's intention was to kill me," he says, barely a whisper. "Yet you stayed his hand."
His eyes bore into hers, but they are hazy, pupils blown wide, with a strange milkiness in their depths that give the impression of blankness - of unseeing. Like he's looking right through her and into a memory; a vision of his past.
Or rather, she thinks, an hallucination.
"What was it, my queen?" he continues, his Goa'uld voice vibrating over her, thick with irony. "Revenge? Pity? Punishment? I did always admire your sadistic tendencies."
He smiles coldly at that, his lips drawn thin, and his face is so close to hers now that she can see the glimmer of sweat beading at his temples; can see that he has a distinct flush across his cheeks and forehead.
If she didn't know better, she would say that he looked... ill.
She knows that's not right though, but her thoughts are sluggish as she wades through what she's learned about Goa'uld physiology. According to Teal'c, they had incredible immune systems, and Dr. Warner's findings certainly supported that, but she can't ignore what she's witnessing – if he believes that she's Amaunet, then he is clearly delirious.
She swallows thickly and coughs, and knows by the slight wetness of it that she's not out of the woods yet. She needs help, and taking on this role presented to her might get her that help, or might get her killed that much faster. She suspects that the chances may be tipped just a little in her favour though, because odds are that it wasn't a Goa'uld that just performed a field decompression of a pneumothorax - re-inflating her collapsed lung, and possibly saving her life.
She takes in a halting breath, ignoring the pain of it, and suppresses another cough.
"It was love," she replies finally.
She finds that she can say the word now, because neither of them are themselves - he has a Goa'uld currently invading his thoughts, and she wears its sickly delusion. For the moment she is Amaunet, and she can play the part that is needed; it's not even the first time she's played the role of another woman for his sake...
She's been Sara once, too, that night at his home - the nightmare.
It feels like so very long ago, and here they both were in the middle of another one.
"Love?" he repeats, his tone incredulous, and he sits back, putting some space between them.
"You're... alive... aren't you?" she responds more quickly this time, but the words are difficult to get out with her increasing shortness of breath; she knows she's not going to be able to keep up this conversation - this act - for much longer. She feels her exhaustion now like a crushing weight, pressing into both her body and her mind.
"You suggest my release was planned?" he laughs and shakes his head, but there is no force behind either motion. "That is a bold lie indeed, my dear."
She pauses, both to concentrate on breathing through the pain, and to attempt the difficult task of putting herself into the mind of a Goa'uld - a creature of pure self-serving greed - to reach for an explanation that may just convince him, because it seems to her that he wants to be convinced.
"Apo - " she begins, and quicky thinks better of using the other Goa'uld's name. "He was... as ambitious... as I was restless... but you know... how I scheme," she says, remembering his earlier words to her and echoing them back to him. "I always... have a plan."
He sits very still by her side, eyes searching hers, his lips pursed thoughtfully.
"You knew you would tire of him," he says after several long seconds, and leans over her again. "Just as you tired of me."
She knows her response is a gamble, but she suspects nothing will be more compelling than the truth someone has already convinced themselves of. "Yes," she says, matter-of-factly.
"And you will no doubt tire of me again."
She tries to imagine what kind of mockery of love could possibly exist between two Goa'uld; selfish, egotistical, mercurial, toxic... looking only for what they must be able to get from each other at any given moment, and they must know all of this, because they couldn't possibly have any understanding or concept of loyalty without fear or mutual gain, of passion without possession.
"That... is love's game... isn't it?" she replies, attempting a teasing, suggestive tone, which she only half succeeds at as she begins to cough again. She can hear the slight wheezing in her lung on the inhale now, and apparently, so can he.
"Your body weakens," he states impatiently, "and I am not done with you yet."
Before she can respond, he is circling one arm around her shoulders while the other scoops her legs, and then she is being pulled against his chest as he pushes to his feet. The jolt from the sudden movement and the increased pressure on her back has her sucking in a stabbing, juddering breath, and she fights to stop herself from passing out.
It's all the fight she has left in her, though, because with a growing sense of panic she realises that he is not taking her towards the temple entrance and away from this awful place - he's walking further into it, towards what appears to be a dark passage that splits the back of the chamber...
And there is absolutely nothing she can do about it.
She lets her eyes drift closed as her body finally surrenders - she is so very, very tired.
/
/
He feels her weight increase ever so slightly at the moment she loses consciousness, but it matters not - she is like a feather in his arms.
A deceitful, damaged, little feather.
He supposes that she is not entirely wrong in her actions though, no matter how infuriating and destructive and disloyal they may have been, for he had certainly become complacent in his rule; content with his dominion over these little planets that had worshipped him blindly and without hesitation, slowly draining them of their resources without actively planning to acquire more.
Perhaps he had been lulled into the notion that she should do the same, though he had been well aware that her desires often outstripped his own.
His Amaunet was forever insatiable.
To possess one who was minded thus was to acknowledge the possibility of betrayal.
Though he never suspected that she would betray him in the manner she had.
Apophis...
How vile that she would lie with the body of a mere scribe, a man of the Tau'ri who had been tasked with the worship of them both at Karnak, and was then taken as Apophis's host. The fact that her planning had his once-scribe attack him here, at Kar-nat, could not have been coincidental; it was pure viciousness - an ironical lesson designed to humiliate.
What was once subjugated had become the subjugator.
His eyes, perfectly adjusted to the darkness of the passage he walks down, sight a fallen column, and he ducks beneath it easily, pulling her in still closer. He can feel the broken rhythm of her breathing, and he is filled with a sense of urgency which he knows, once again, is not his own, for it matters not if she dies in this moment...
A treatment would simply mend her fragile form.
It is, however, wasted effort to resist the feeling, for he is very nearly at his destination, and he finds that his own weariness is beginning to fatigue him in a way that he is unfamiliar with; as though his vital energy is being syphoned by the still unnatural heat pervading his body. It is of no concern, though, for illness most certainly did not plague the Gods, and he would not be brought to heel by something as banal as tiredness.
He would simply await his turn.
He walks across the small space to the opposite wall, and shifts her weight a little higher so as to free his hand, feeling out the hidden door panel which he knows is located to his left, now obscured by partly fallen stone and a thick coating of dust. He finds its edge and pries it open just enough to reach in and depress the button, and the stone of the wall before him shudders, scraping and grinding as plumes of dirt fill the air, and small fragments of rock tumble to the floor. The door begins to slide across, slowly, and with great difficulty as it pushes aside centuries of debris. It is only about halfway open when a thud resounds from within the wall to the right, and the door halts suddenly in its track.
It is clear it will go no further.
Amun feels his features pinch into a scowl of annoyance as he stares at the half-blocked entrance. It is just more evidence of the dereliction of this place - of his fall from glory, and his imprisonment, and the one primarily responsible was grasped in his arms.
Death would not be her escape.
He steps through the gap and into the corridor that lies beyond, and is gratified when the sconces lining it still light, albeit dimly, filling the space with their warm, white glow. He notes with some pleasure the dull shine of unburnished gold, patinaed with age, still tracing the walls as he strides down the passage. It seems this area of the temple had remained undiscovered and untouched by the inhabitants, and he cannot stop the smile that spreads across his face as he steps out into his private quarters.
They are just as he left them - complete with sarcophagus.
Until this moment, he had not been entirely sure that it would have remained here, but here it was, and as he approaches it, it opens as expected, though it is also dusty and dulled - as everything in the room was. Its interior, however, glows brilliantly, almost expectant of its next occupant as he steps up onto the surrounding dias, and relinquishes his little broken feather to it. He positions her inside it with a care that he refuses to acknowledge, and activates the closure mechanism before stepping back down off of the platform.
Watching it close, he cannot help the wandering of his thoughts, for it was indeed puzzling that this place remained hidden when the rest of the temple was evidently destroyed and left to ruin; Amaunet would have known of its existence.
Perhaps then, there was truth in her words; perhaps she had planned to free him one day. Or perhaps, she had given it no further thought - had given him no further thought, and Apophis's foolish Jaffa simply never uncovered it.
He is disgusted to find that he wants to believe her; appalled that he is willing to dance this dance with her once again.
She is a fire, consuming, greedy, captivating. It is in her nature to burn - to inflict pain and destroy.
He knows that he will go to it willingly.
But this time, he will go more cautiously.
For the moment, though, he needed to focus his efforts on ensuring the villagers were sent through the Chapaa'ai as planned. He needed to get word to his own loyal Jaffa as quickly as possible, and his plans were already unacceptably delayed with the escape and pursuit of Apophis's First Prime.
He would abide no further hindrances.
He would suffer no further distractions.
He will throw as many of this planet's slaves into the fray as can be spared, and that many of them would no doubt be captured and killed was of no concern - they should be glad of their sacrifice in the name of their God.
No sooner has the thought coalesced than a now familiar pressure begins to build at the back of his mind, accompanied by a new and unpleasant flush of heat coursing through his body.
No, he thinks, pushing back at the feeling threatening to force its way into his thoughts.
No more.
But it does not relent. It does not recede. And the pressure remains, a dull throbbing like a heartbeat inside of his skull. He is somewhat relieved that it does not advance, though; it is trapped.
For the time being, at least.
He grits his teeth, his jaw clenching in his rage and vexation, and he whirls away from the sarcophagus, striding with renewed purpose and determination back down the corridor.
He would suffer no further distractions.
As he exists the long passage into the main chamber, he pauses, the glint of something metal at the corner of his vision drawing his attention. It is the Tau'ri weapon - its hard surface catching the flickering flames of torchlight where it lies upon the ground.
He walks over to it and picks it up, examining its strange angles, and without thinking he engages the mechanism on the side of it before tucking it once again into the back of his waistband. It would have to do until he could reclaim the staff weapon from Apophis's servant.
It was time for him to return to the village.
/
/
He crouches alongside Apenimon at their secluded vantage point over the Stargate, accompanied by two other young men from Kitchi's village. The early morning sky has brightened considerably, a cloudless and still beginning to what could otherwise have been a pleasant day. Unfortunately, from this elevation, Teal'c can see that the Stargate is still well guarded, though some of the villagers had split off into small groups that where now patrolling the edges of the clearing. It is likely that they are searching for signs of his and Daniel Jackson's earlier approach in an attempt to track them, but the previous evenings storms would mean that only the most skilled of trackers could potentially pick up their trail.
And then, only if they searched the right places.
Which they most certainly were not.
He shifts his gaze to Apenimon, who still peers at the men surrounding the Stargate with evident disquiet, his young face drawn into a frown that made him suddenly appear years older; Teal'c can see much of Kitchi in him in this moment.
"We cannot risk approaching them, Teal'c," the young man whispers without turning, as though he knew the Jaffa's eyes were upon him.
"I agree," Teal'c replies quietly. "Even if you approached out of feigned curiosity, it would likely arouse suspicion."
"Your friends at the..."
"SGC," Teal'c offers, guessing at Apenimon's direction of thought.
"SGC," he repeats. "How long before they will send assistance?"
"Of this, we are not certain," Teal'c says. "We are not expected to make contact for another few hours, and Daniel Jackson is unsure of the protocol should we be late."
Teal'c had asked Daniel Jackson the very same thing before leaving the village with Apenimon to assess the situation at the Stargate. The doctor had been reluctant to remain behind, but taking his cane from him briefly had quickly convinced him it was the right course of action; his injury would only slow their reconnaissance down.
Apenimon finally turns to look at him, scowl still firmly in place. "So, it could be days?"
"No," Teal'c responds with conviction. "We estimate only several more hours, at most.
"They know the journey to the other village is a lengthy walk, and may believe we are simply late at first," he explains. "After an hour passes they will likely begin preparing a search party, but we must locate the Goa'uld and Doctor Carter as soon as possible - she may be injured."
Apenimon appears to consider Teal'c's words. "And what of the men guarding the Great Ring when your SGC friends arrive?" he asks, directing his gaze to the clearing, and the other villagers, once again.
By the tone of his voice, Teal'c can deduce that the young man fears for their safety, despite knowing that they were unlikely to have such reservations if the situation was reversed - incited, as they were, by Amun's presence and Sani's influence.
His compassion was indeed admirable, and Teal'c has no desire to prevaricate.
"They will not seek violence as a first resort, Apenimon, of this I can assure you, but they will defend themselves if they must," he replies, and the young man casts his eyes to the ground, a look of resignation clouding his features as though already imagining the possibility of bloodshed.
"As you would also," Teal'c adds.
Apenimon's eyes shift to his once more, and Teal'c is certain that the young man has understood the full implication of his words when he finally nods.
"If they had not been distracted with their pursuit of you and Daniel, they may already have arrived at our village."
"Indeed."
"Would it not still be the best course of action to wait here for assistance?" Apenimon continues, clearly hopeful for the most peaceful outcome. "If we approached while they were distracted by your friends' arrival, we could create confusion and minimise their resistance."
"Sani and Amun have the weapons that were taken from us when we were poisoned," Teal'c responds gravely. "I do not see them among the men guarding the Ring, but as soon as they determine how they operate, the Goa'uld will use them."
Apenimon is quiet then, and Teal'c does not miss how the young man's eyes fix on his staff weapon where he presses it against the soft, rain-soaked earth.
"Are they like yours?" he asks.
"They are not as powerful, but are extremely effective," Teal'c responds, pointedly eyeing Apenimon's bow, clutched and at the ready in the youth's own hand. "Far faster and more deadly than yours."
Apenimon nods again. "Then we cannot leave them any longer in the Goa'uld's hands," he says with finality.
"Paco," Apenimon says, carefully swivelling on the slick leaves coating the forest floor to address one of the other young men with them. "Go. Tell my father that the Great Ring is too well guarded, and that we will instead attempt to retrieve Teal'c and Daniel's weapons from the other village; they are too dangerous to leave in their hands, and with so many men here it is likely that Sani's village will be easy to approach."
"You intend to sneak in, Apeni?" the youth replies as he readies himself to run.
"We do," Apenimon responds, and Teal'c raises his eyebrow in amusement at the affectionate name used by the young man's friend.
"It is not as when we were children, is it?" Paco says, and pats Apenimon on the shoulder. "We will follow you."
At that, the young man turns and sets off down the hill they were on, half sliding, half running on the slick ground, using the trees to expertly catch himself from falling while keeping his movement surprisingly quiet.
"We must also run, Teal'c," Apenimon says, pushing up onto his feet while staying low, his sense of urgency now clear in his voice. "The faster we move now, the greater our chance of saving lives."
"Agreed," Teal'c replies, rising with him.
Although Apenimon's concern for his own people is evident, that he makes no distinction when referring to the lives of either village is impressive, and Teal'c cannot help as his thoughts slip towards that of his own son.
Would that he could teach such lessons to Rya'c: to value the lives of all Jaffa equally.
He feels a sense of loss surface that he knows he cannot let himself entertain, for the only way he can teach that very lesson to Rya'c is to be apart from him - to fight the Goa'uld alongside the Tau'ri. To show, not only his son, but all of his people, that they were not Gods.
He pauses, casting one final look over his shoulder towards the Stargate and the men surrounding it. He does not have the time to explain to the young man before him that the greatest battle would not be waged with weapons, but would need to be fought in the hearts and minds of these men - a battle to free themselves from the teachings of their priesthood, and their belief in Amun.
There was no telling how they would react to the death of their God.
Teal'c was, however, confident that the SGC would not let the death of another of their own dissuade them from their fight, but it is nonetheless with a heavy heart that he follows Apenimon and his friend down the hill, and towards their inevitable conflict with O'Neill.
/
A/N: Thank you so much for the wonderful responses to the last chapter – I appreciate it so much.
Always also a big thank you to all the followers, favouriters, and readers!
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the Stargate franchise. All other characters mentioned in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.