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TITLE: To Serve A Queen - Part Thirteen
SUMMARY: Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, their natures were too brutal for them to stand each other like this. Not when the protective instincts rose too fast in their veins, ignited by spilled blood. And a lot of blood had been spilled.
PAIRING: Liz/Ronan
RATING: R
NOTES: My inner bitch is telling me to say something very snarky about the content of this chapter and exactly who will like it. I'll try to resist. We have pivotal situations here, and you can gloat/rail at me at the end of the chapter - as you please.
To Serve A Queen - Part Thirteen
If Sheppard wasn't at the killing edge as he and Ronan patrolled the corridors of the house, he wasn't far from it.
The other warriors who'd been assigned to keep watch through the night were edgy enough, but they seemed glad of Ronan's presence. None of them said anything, least of all Caldwell, but Ronan had the impression that they were glad of a darker-jewelled Warlord Prince to rein in Sheppard.
He would have found it more amusing if the atmosphere hadn't been so tense. The males - Atlantis and Gennii - were still angry after the morning's events, and the anger had only grown through the day.
Dinner had been served in several smaller dining rooms, and people directed to the various rooms. Since Sora went into her chambers at sunset, closing the door behind her, Ronan had eaten with the Atlantis warriors.
The house was mostly quiet. It seemed everyone was laying low, not just Ford.
Ahead of him, Sheppard stalked through the corridors with a bladed stick in his hand and a set expression on his face.
Ronan paused by an open window, deeply inhaling the fresh night air. Everything was still outside - nothing to be seen or heard beyond the usual sounds of the night - and it was the same inside.
A murmur of voices caught at his ears. Caldwell and Sheppard stood at the next junction of corridors. A psychic wave of fear and anger washed over Ronan: a Warlord Prince rapidly rising to the killing edge.
He strode over with swift steps. "What is it?"
Caldwell met his gaze. "Ford's missing."
"Missing?"
"He's not in his room and he's not answering a summons at the Purple-Dusk," said Caldwell.
"Search the house," Sheppard said quietly.
Ronan couldn't help his surprise. Caldwell glanced at him and shook his head ever so slightly. Sheppard taking over Caldwell's position as Master of the Guard wasn't as important at this moment as finding the young man.
And they looked for the Warlord but didn't find him.
What they found was worse.
The rage blossomed along the Sapphire, resonating brutally in Ronan's mind. He was the only male in the court who could feel it at that depth - the only male who wore darker Jewels than Sheppard.
He was running towards the disturbance before he knew it.
Others were slower to feel what Ronan did - their Jewels were lighter, but when it washed over them, they would follow in Ronan's wake.
Or run.
The killing edge was the state of rage that Warlord Princes reached when their anger needed an outlet in violence. Ronan remembered it as a dark haze that swept across his vision. His concentration would narrow down to a single focus and a single purpose, and drawing back from it of his own accord was almost impossible.
When a Warlord Prince rode the killing edge without a Queen or a woman he trusted to rein him in, people died, often brutally.
And Sheppard was riding it now.
*Elizabeth!* He was barely aware of having called her - barely aware of the brush of her mind against his own, sensing his concern. He was too busy navigating through the halls, pushing past the people who'd been closer and were only now feeling the wave of dark rage that pulsed through the house.
He flung himself in the door of the room, and nearly crashed into Caldwell coming out. "We need a Healer. Get Kate."
Before Ronan could point out that he didn't know 'Kate', Caldwell shook his head, realising his mistake. "Never mind. See to John."
Ronan took two strides into the room and stopped.
She was lying on her side, shapely legs showing bare through the slits of her skirt. The dusky skin was oddly pale, leeched of colour in the witchflames that burned in their lampstands, contrasting brutally with the dark stains of blood smeared across her body. And as he approached her, he was only too aware of the man who knelt beside her, his face stiff with fury and shattered with pain as he pressed his hands against a wound that still seeped blood.
Sheppard was using basic healing Craft to hold her together, but it wasn't enough. He was also at the killing edge - and Ronan knew better than to step any closer.
Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, their natures were too brutal for them to stand each other like this. Not when the protective instincts rose too fast in their veins, ignited by spilled blood.
There was a lot of blood spilled.
And the Blood shall sing to the Blood.
He'd been a warrior: blood was nothing new. But the blood shed from warfare was different: it was clean, breathless, and jumbled together in the montage of thoughts and feelings that ran through a warrior as he fought.
Ronan trembled as this blood spoke to him in images: desperation and pain, fear and determination, a protectiveness that burned - and a stubbornness that ached in its solitude. For whatever reason, she hadn't called for help when the attack came. Why, he couldn't guess. He pushed past that, looking for more important things - for any sign of life - or, failing that, for a sign that she'd made the transition to demon-dead.
It was the most shallow of breaths - almost too much effort to inhale - but even that motion was enough.
Teyla was alive.
"The Healer's coming."
It wasn't enough to draw the other Warlord Prince back from the killing edge; but at least Sheppard looked up in acknowledgement. "How much healing Craft do you know?"
"Not much more than you."
"She should have called for help," Sheppard rasped. "I told her she could call--" He broke off, breathing heavily.
She'd fought - Mother Night, she'd fought! If the bladed stick that lay just beyond the limp hand was any indication, she'd blooded at least one.
How many of them had fought against her in the first place?
Someone dared to enter the room, and Ronan spun as he caught her psychic scent. Elizabeth. She'd thrown on a dressing gown over silky pyjamas and for a minute, he could barely think. Then he took a step towards her and took her by the shoulders to keep her from seeing the scene. "It's bad."
Elizabeth nodded once in acknowledgement, but pushed his hand aside. "Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful," she breathed.
Down at the level of the Red, Ronan felt the resonance of her anger as it grew from shock to rage at what had been done to a member of her court. "She's alive," he said, not sure if she knew that.
"And Kate is on her way," she said, more statement than question. She took a step closer, towards the man who hadn't yet acknowledged her arrival, too caught up in the song of the blood that his lover had shed in the fight - caught up in the vicious, violent song of his nature as a Warlord Prince.
Ronan could understand it, sympathise - he felt the same rage singing through him. But there were other things that required his attention right now. He couldn't give in to the rage, not yet.
"Master of the Guard!" Elizabeth's voice was hard as diamond and she never looked away from Teyla's bloody body. "I want the Gennii males found and brought to my private audience room now." Her voice rang with dark steel, there was no question who ruled here in Atlantis. "I don't care if they're bathing or with a woman - bring them."
Caldwell was there in an instant. "Not Lady Sora?"
Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes not leaving Teyla. "Leave her to make the Offering. If she was responsible for this, then we'll deal with that then."
The Master of the Guard nodded and turned away. *Keep an eye on things, Prince. Sheppard's in no fit state for any kind of command right now.*
Ronan nodded, the barest movement of his head, but Elizabeth must have seen him from the corner of her eye because she turned and gave him an inscrutable look that said everything and nothing.
Then she crossed the room to John.
I don't want to have a war in Atlantis.
She might not have a choice anymore.
"Healer coming through!" The cry went up outside, and Ronan turned.
The woman who strode across the room was vaguely familiar. Blonde and tall, she gave him one brisk glance, then moved past him towards the unconscious woman, her dressing gown trailing behind her.
"Careful," he said, quietly.
She didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on her patient. "I know." But when Sheppard looked up, she had her hands spread wide to show she was no threat, and after a moment the haze across his eyes seemed to clear and he let her approach. Elizabeth crossed the room as well, reaching down to rest her hand on his shoulder. After a moment, Sheppard reached blindly for the hand, fingers closing over it.
The Healer swung her pack down to the floor and began rummaging through it as she knelt down beside Teyla. "Prince Dex," she said, formally, "do you have any healing abilities?"
"Basic healing Craft," he said. "Nothing more."
She glanced up at him. "It'll have to do. Hold her together. Assess the major damage, and heal what you can." *Carson?*
"Here." The Steward appeared and she tossed a jar of powder at him.
"Mix a teaspoon of that with a cup of water - hot is best. We'll use it as a salve."
"Do you want the comfrey potion?"
She was pulling out long flat boxes - the kind built to contain frames for healing webs. "Yes. If you can find someone to brew it."
Beckett nodded once, then glanced over at Elizabeth, who was holding Sheppard with the stiff tense pose of someone trying to offer comfort. He dropped his voice. "Will she live?"
"She's too stubborn not to," the Healer remarked, the sardonic words at odds with her soft voice. She unpacked one box and practically yanked out the healing web within it. A Grey Jewel-chip was woven into the centre of the web and Ronan felt a sudden chill.
Jewel chips were sometimes woven into healing webs - but it was a dangerous undertaking, only to be used in the direst of situations.
Kate set the frame on the floor and looked up at him. Her expression was urgent, yet oddly formal. "Prince Dex, three drops of blood are required on the Jewel chip - will you give your strength to a Sister in need?"
The words implied a formal relationship within a court, serving a common Queen.
Elizabeth half-turned, still holding Sheppard's hand. "Kate--"
Ronan interrupted her. "I will." It wasn't much to give - although the more formal implications of it were disturbing. He understood that Elizabeth didn't want him anywhere near her court, but he wasn't about to withhold help from Teyla just because her Queen wouldn't have him in service.
His blood gleamed on the Grey Jewel chip, and the web began to glow softly, seeping along the strands of the web.
"Lady?" A servant brought the salve and a bowl of heated water.
"Clean her body," Kate said. "And clear the room of everyone but the servants and First Circle. She's alive and likely to remain so now we've got the web stabilising her. It would be better if she was awake - we could transfer some of her strength to the healing web..."
His head jerked up as he heard McKay's appeal on a Green thread. *I need help here!* There was panic in the Green-Jewelled Prince's voice.
Across the room, he saw Elizabeth's head lift, startled, and Beckett paused as he went for water. Ronan shook his head at them both. *I'll see to it.*
It was a right he didn't have, but there was nobody else to answer the call for help. Elizabeth and the Steward were needed here. Sheppard was too volatile and Caldwell was seeing to the Gennii.
Ronan was it, court or no court.
But it gave him some small satisfaction to know that he was serving, in his own way.
At least this time there was no blood.
Ronan found McKay and another man in an antechamber, bent over the young Warlord who they'd laid down on a couch. He looked whole, just out of it. "...breathing, just unconscious... But something's not right..."
The other man frowned - one of the warriors who'd been at training this morning. "'Something'?"
"I'm a Prince," McKay snapped, "not a Healer. Is Kate--?"
"Seeing to Teyla."
McKay looked up, startled. "What happened to--? Oh no!" He looked forlorn for a minute, before his expression set. "Get Elizabeth here."
"She's keeping an eye on Sheppard," Ronan warned.
"No, she's not," said Elizabeth from behind him. "Teyla's stabilising and John's being given things to do," she said briskly. "How's Aiden?" She crossed the room, only to be blocked by McKay. "Rodney."
"It's not that," he said, a warning note in his voice.
"Then what?"
The tension stretched painfully thin.
If the scene in Teyla's rooms had been madly busy, this one was deathly quiet. The young man lay on the couch, insensible to what was happening around him, and the few others were hushed as they waited for McKay to answer.
"He's been broken."
--
to Part Fourteen
SUMMARY: Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, their natures were too brutal for them to stand each other like this. Not when the protective instincts rose too fast in their veins, ignited by spilled blood. And a lot of blood had been spilled.
PAIRING: Liz/Ronan
RATING: R
NOTES: My inner bitch is telling me to say something very snarky about the content of this chapter and exactly who will like it. I'll try to resist. We have pivotal situations here, and you can gloat/rail at me at the end of the chapter - as you please.
To Serve A Queen - Part Thirteen
If Sheppard wasn't at the killing edge as he and Ronan patrolled the corridors of the house, he wasn't far from it.
The other warriors who'd been assigned to keep watch through the night were edgy enough, but they seemed glad of Ronan's presence. None of them said anything, least of all Caldwell, but Ronan had the impression that they were glad of a darker-jewelled Warlord Prince to rein in Sheppard.
He would have found it more amusing if the atmosphere hadn't been so tense. The males - Atlantis and Gennii - were still angry after the morning's events, and the anger had only grown through the day.
Dinner had been served in several smaller dining rooms, and people directed to the various rooms. Since Sora went into her chambers at sunset, closing the door behind her, Ronan had eaten with the Atlantis warriors.
The house was mostly quiet. It seemed everyone was laying low, not just Ford.
Ahead of him, Sheppard stalked through the corridors with a bladed stick in his hand and a set expression on his face.
Ronan paused by an open window, deeply inhaling the fresh night air. Everything was still outside - nothing to be seen or heard beyond the usual sounds of the night - and it was the same inside.
A murmur of voices caught at his ears. Caldwell and Sheppard stood at the next junction of corridors. A psychic wave of fear and anger washed over Ronan: a Warlord Prince rapidly rising to the killing edge.
He strode over with swift steps. "What is it?"
Caldwell met his gaze. "Ford's missing."
"Missing?"
"He's not in his room and he's not answering a summons at the Purple-Dusk," said Caldwell.
"Search the house," Sheppard said quietly.
Ronan couldn't help his surprise. Caldwell glanced at him and shook his head ever so slightly. Sheppard taking over Caldwell's position as Master of the Guard wasn't as important at this moment as finding the young man.
And they looked for the Warlord but didn't find him.
What they found was worse.
The rage blossomed along the Sapphire, resonating brutally in Ronan's mind. He was the only male in the court who could feel it at that depth - the only male who wore darker Jewels than Sheppard.
He was running towards the disturbance before he knew it.
Others were slower to feel what Ronan did - their Jewels were lighter, but when it washed over them, they would follow in Ronan's wake.
Or run.
The killing edge was the state of rage that Warlord Princes reached when their anger needed an outlet in violence. Ronan remembered it as a dark haze that swept across his vision. His concentration would narrow down to a single focus and a single purpose, and drawing back from it of his own accord was almost impossible.
When a Warlord Prince rode the killing edge without a Queen or a woman he trusted to rein him in, people died, often brutally.
And Sheppard was riding it now.
*Elizabeth!* He was barely aware of having called her - barely aware of the brush of her mind against his own, sensing his concern. He was too busy navigating through the halls, pushing past the people who'd been closer and were only now feeling the wave of dark rage that pulsed through the house.
He flung himself in the door of the room, and nearly crashed into Caldwell coming out. "We need a Healer. Get Kate."
Before Ronan could point out that he didn't know 'Kate', Caldwell shook his head, realising his mistake. "Never mind. See to John."
Ronan took two strides into the room and stopped.
She was lying on her side, shapely legs showing bare through the slits of her skirt. The dusky skin was oddly pale, leeched of colour in the witchflames that burned in their lampstands, contrasting brutally with the dark stains of blood smeared across her body. And as he approached her, he was only too aware of the man who knelt beside her, his face stiff with fury and shattered with pain as he pressed his hands against a wound that still seeped blood.
Sheppard was using basic healing Craft to hold her together, but it wasn't enough. He was also at the killing edge - and Ronan knew better than to step any closer.
Warlord Prince to Warlord Prince, their natures were too brutal for them to stand each other like this. Not when the protective instincts rose too fast in their veins, ignited by spilled blood.
There was a lot of blood spilled.
And the Blood shall sing to the Blood.
He'd been a warrior: blood was nothing new. But the blood shed from warfare was different: it was clean, breathless, and jumbled together in the montage of thoughts and feelings that ran through a warrior as he fought.
Ronan trembled as this blood spoke to him in images: desperation and pain, fear and determination, a protectiveness that burned - and a stubbornness that ached in its solitude. For whatever reason, she hadn't called for help when the attack came. Why, he couldn't guess. He pushed past that, looking for more important things - for any sign of life - or, failing that, for a sign that she'd made the transition to demon-dead.
It was the most shallow of breaths - almost too much effort to inhale - but even that motion was enough.
Teyla was alive.
"The Healer's coming."
It wasn't enough to draw the other Warlord Prince back from the killing edge; but at least Sheppard looked up in acknowledgement. "How much healing Craft do you know?"
"Not much more than you."
"She should have called for help," Sheppard rasped. "I told her she could call--" He broke off, breathing heavily.
She'd fought - Mother Night, she'd fought! If the bladed stick that lay just beyond the limp hand was any indication, she'd blooded at least one.
How many of them had fought against her in the first place?
Someone dared to enter the room, and Ronan spun as he caught her psychic scent. Elizabeth. She'd thrown on a dressing gown over silky pyjamas and for a minute, he could barely think. Then he took a step towards her and took her by the shoulders to keep her from seeing the scene. "It's bad."
Elizabeth nodded once in acknowledgement, but pushed his hand aside. "Mother Night and may the Darkness be merciful," she breathed.
Down at the level of the Red, Ronan felt the resonance of her anger as it grew from shock to rage at what had been done to a member of her court. "She's alive," he said, not sure if she knew that.
"And Kate is on her way," she said, more statement than question. She took a step closer, towards the man who hadn't yet acknowledged her arrival, too caught up in the song of the blood that his lover had shed in the fight - caught up in the vicious, violent song of his nature as a Warlord Prince.
Ronan could understand it, sympathise - he felt the same rage singing through him. But there were other things that required his attention right now. He couldn't give in to the rage, not yet.
"Master of the Guard!" Elizabeth's voice was hard as diamond and she never looked away from Teyla's bloody body. "I want the Gennii males found and brought to my private audience room now." Her voice rang with dark steel, there was no question who ruled here in Atlantis. "I don't care if they're bathing or with a woman - bring them."
Caldwell was there in an instant. "Not Lady Sora?"
Elizabeth shook her head, her eyes not leaving Teyla. "Leave her to make the Offering. If she was responsible for this, then we'll deal with that then."
The Master of the Guard nodded and turned away. *Keep an eye on things, Prince. Sheppard's in no fit state for any kind of command right now.*
Ronan nodded, the barest movement of his head, but Elizabeth must have seen him from the corner of her eye because she turned and gave him an inscrutable look that said everything and nothing.
Then she crossed the room to John.
I don't want to have a war in Atlantis.
She might not have a choice anymore.
"Healer coming through!" The cry went up outside, and Ronan turned.
The woman who strode across the room was vaguely familiar. Blonde and tall, she gave him one brisk glance, then moved past him towards the unconscious woman, her dressing gown trailing behind her.
"Careful," he said, quietly.
She didn't look at him, her eyes fixed on her patient. "I know." But when Sheppard looked up, she had her hands spread wide to show she was no threat, and after a moment the haze across his eyes seemed to clear and he let her approach. Elizabeth crossed the room as well, reaching down to rest her hand on his shoulder. After a moment, Sheppard reached blindly for the hand, fingers closing over it.
The Healer swung her pack down to the floor and began rummaging through it as she knelt down beside Teyla. "Prince Dex," she said, formally, "do you have any healing abilities?"
"Basic healing Craft," he said. "Nothing more."
She glanced up at him. "It'll have to do. Hold her together. Assess the major damage, and heal what you can." *Carson?*
"Here." The Steward appeared and she tossed a jar of powder at him.
"Mix a teaspoon of that with a cup of water - hot is best. We'll use it as a salve."
"Do you want the comfrey potion?"
She was pulling out long flat boxes - the kind built to contain frames for healing webs. "Yes. If you can find someone to brew it."
Beckett nodded once, then glanced over at Elizabeth, who was holding Sheppard with the stiff tense pose of someone trying to offer comfort. He dropped his voice. "Will she live?"
"She's too stubborn not to," the Healer remarked, the sardonic words at odds with her soft voice. She unpacked one box and practically yanked out the healing web within it. A Grey Jewel-chip was woven into the centre of the web and Ronan felt a sudden chill.
Jewel chips were sometimes woven into healing webs - but it was a dangerous undertaking, only to be used in the direst of situations.
Kate set the frame on the floor and looked up at him. Her expression was urgent, yet oddly formal. "Prince Dex, three drops of blood are required on the Jewel chip - will you give your strength to a Sister in need?"
The words implied a formal relationship within a court, serving a common Queen.
Elizabeth half-turned, still holding Sheppard's hand. "Kate--"
Ronan interrupted her. "I will." It wasn't much to give - although the more formal implications of it were disturbing. He understood that Elizabeth didn't want him anywhere near her court, but he wasn't about to withhold help from Teyla just because her Queen wouldn't have him in service.
His blood gleamed on the Grey Jewel chip, and the web began to glow softly, seeping along the strands of the web.
"Lady?" A servant brought the salve and a bowl of heated water.
"Clean her body," Kate said. "And clear the room of everyone but the servants and First Circle. She's alive and likely to remain so now we've got the web stabilising her. It would be better if she was awake - we could transfer some of her strength to the healing web..."
His head jerked up as he heard McKay's appeal on a Green thread. *I need help here!* There was panic in the Green-Jewelled Prince's voice.
Across the room, he saw Elizabeth's head lift, startled, and Beckett paused as he went for water. Ronan shook his head at them both. *I'll see to it.*
It was a right he didn't have, but there was nobody else to answer the call for help. Elizabeth and the Steward were needed here. Sheppard was too volatile and Caldwell was seeing to the Gennii.
Ronan was it, court or no court.
But it gave him some small satisfaction to know that he was serving, in his own way.
At least this time there was no blood.
Ronan found McKay and another man in an antechamber, bent over the young Warlord who they'd laid down on a couch. He looked whole, just out of it. "...breathing, just unconscious... But something's not right..."
The other man frowned - one of the warriors who'd been at training this morning. "'Something'?"
"I'm a Prince," McKay snapped, "not a Healer. Is Kate--?"
"Seeing to Teyla."
McKay looked up, startled. "What happened to--? Oh no!" He looked forlorn for a minute, before his expression set. "Get Elizabeth here."
"She's keeping an eye on Sheppard," Ronan warned.
"No, she's not," said Elizabeth from behind him. "Teyla's stabilising and John's being given things to do," she said briskly. "How's Aiden?" She crossed the room, only to be blocked by McKay. "Rodney."
"It's not that," he said, a warning note in his voice.
"Then what?"
The tension stretched painfully thin.
If the scene in Teyla's rooms had been madly busy, this one was deathly quiet. The young man lay on the couch, insensible to what was happening around him, and the few others were hushed as they waited for McKay to answer.
"He's been broken."
--
to Part Fourteen
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