Mini-Nanowrimo - Week 3

[kellifer]

Title: Aegis
Rating/Warning: PG13
Wordcount: 6,741
Spoilers: None
Fandom: SGA
By: kellifer_fic
Category: Sheppard/McKay AU
Notes: A followup to The Blade.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No money, no sue.

It was not often that Rodney was awake before John. When he heard the morning birds and rolled over, planning to steal a kiss before he pushed his way out of bed to attend his early training session, John found only a dent where Rodney should have been.

The rustle of pages had John propping his head up on his hand and blinking around the room blearily.

“You know that’s not really fair,” Rodney observed from his place across the room at the small desk he’d set up near the window. He had an office, three in fact, but John had insisted on the addition of the desk to their bed chamber after Rodney had complained for what was probably the fiftieth time that he was hurting his back and losing his sight by reading in bed.

“What isn’t?” John asked, swinging his feet to the floor and casting about for his robe. He knew he’d had one the night before, but it had been tossed somewhere. He found the soft sleeping pants that Rodney had changed out of and pulled them on instead.

“You have permanent bed-hair so in the morning you wake up looking all like... you,” Rodney huffed, going back to his books. John crossed the room and dropped his hands on Rodney’s shoulders. He was nowhere near as tense as he used to be but John kneaded gently anyway, enjoying the contact as much as he knew Rodney did. Rodney sighed and leaned back into his touch, looking up at John with the top of his head pressed into John’s sternum.

“That’s not fair either.”

“Why am I supposed to play fair today?” John asked, smirking. “Whose bright idea was that?”

“I’m trying to get something done and I can’t concentrate.”

“If you wanted to get something done you would’ve gone to your office,” John pointed out, stroking a finger from Rodney’s temple, down his nose and to his lips where he pressed his fingertip gently, smiling when Rodney nipped at it.

“You know me too well,” Rodney said, a small measure of complaint in his voice but he was also smiling indulgently.

“You have Senate today?” John asked and Rodney groaned.

“I do. That’s why I wanted to get this done first.”

“What exactly are you doing?” John asked, rounding Rodney’s chair and dropping into his lap, leaning forward so his elbows were on the desk and shuffling through his books. “These are all about… bonding ceremonies?”

“I’m trying to quantify what we are,” Rodney admitted, letting his arms rest on either side of John and dropping his forehead against the middle of John’s back. John jerked a little when Rodney rubbed his face from side to side, the stubble tickling.

“You just woke up and… needed to do that?” John asked, looking over his shoulder. Rodney obviously couldn’t resist the sleepy-eyed look he was being cast and John smelling like warmth and bed. He reached up and around, cupping John’s jaw and tilting so he could run his lips along the skin behind John’s ear.

“No, I needed to do that because I’m starting to get the evil-eye from most of the Senate members. They’re forced by courtesy to ask after your health and they never know how to… refer to you.”

“That’s a problem?” John asked, turning back to the pages on the desk. He curled forward again and sighed when Rodney rubbed up and down his spine, arching into the touch like a cat.

“I’m walking very thin ice with a lot of people. The slightest misstep can put me back months. Annoying them or trapping them into a social faux pas is an inconveniently big deal.”

“So marry me and be done with it,” John ventured, only half joking.

“I don’t want to marry you,” Rodney dismissed and John tried to ignore the little stab of hurt that he felt. Rodney’s hands had paused and he pressed his forehead against John’s back again. “Wow, that really didn’t come out how I meant it,” Rodney laughed and John frowned and sat back up.

“What did you mean?” he asked.

“In marriage, the person of lower social and economic standing is regarded as subservient,” Rodney said. “If I married a woman of greater estate and title, I would be subservient to her which is ridiculous.”

“Is there something I should be worried about?” John asked, his voice teasing but the tiny tremor in it revealing his real worry. Rodney’s hands came to rest on his hips, thumbs brushing under the tied waist of the loose sleeping pants.

“You’re my equal in everything that matters,” Rodney said. “I just… I want the world to know that.”

“We know it, isn’t that enough?” John asked, feeling a blush climb his neck and face. Rodney was many things, sometimes socially awkward, bull-headed and prone to mulishness on occasion, but he was also oftentimes surprisingly sweet, stating endearments as plain, bald fact and making John feel cherished in a way he couldn’t quite fathom.

“I know it should be…” Rodney sighed, breath warm on the curve of John’s spine.

“Okay,” John said, shifting until he could stand and then dropping into the other chair by Rodney’s desk, kicking his feet up into Rodney’s lap and pulling a couple of the books into his own lap.

“Let’s see what we have here.”

000

“I’m supposed to stop you.”

John looked down at the small satchel of coins that had been thrust into his hands and then back at Teyla, biting her lip and looking stricken. She was usually so self assured that John fought back the urge to smile at her appearing so pensive. If it wasn’t for the seriousness of what he was about to do, he might’ve laughed.

“And you giving me money is stopping me how exactly?” he asked, watching colour shade her cheeks.

“I gave no assurances to the Entat that I would actually do it. He asked and didn’t actually wait for my response.”

“Running out the door?” John hazarded. He opened the small purse and shook the coins into his hand. “Teyla, this is too much. This must be a couple of month’s worth of your earnings at least,” John scolded gently. When Teyla’s eyes skipped down and away, John rolled his own. “Okay, c’mon out,” he called and watched Lorne appear in the doorway, head bowed. “This is all the money both of you have, isn’t it?” he accused.

“Neither of us knows what to do with it,” Lorne admitted, scrubbing a hand over the back of his head. The scarring dragging down the skin of the right side of his face was only balanced out when he smiled. Looking defensive amplified the grimace his expression was already forced into.

“We have shelter, food and clothing. We have need for nothing else,” Teyla added, folding her hands across her chest and lifting her chin when John tried to hand the money back.

“You could set it aside. Earn enough to buy land of your own some day,” John urged.

“You trying to get rid of us already?” Lorne asked, but the smile was back on his face.

“Look, Rodney already gave me more than enough…” John’s voice trailed off when he saw Lorne and Teyla’s expressions fall. He could’ve kicked himself right about then. They had scrimped and saved just to give him what would be regarded as a pittance to anyone of higher station and John was stripping them of their pride with his words. It had not been so long ago that he was nothing, a possession. He knew that pride was a rarer commodity than land or money would ever be, especially to those that spent their lives in servitude. “But this,” John quickly amended, curling the purse back into his body protectively, “Will ensure my ability to save a life.”

At his words, Teyla brightened and Lorne positively beamed. “Can I come with you this time?” Lorne asked, looking like an eager puppy.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ John said, his tone careful. Lorne was now the head of John’s personal guard, something John had first balked at but Rodney had insisted. The fact that John was allowed to hand pick his own men had gone a long way towards assuaging John’s feelings of awkwardness. He understood in theory that he was now an important member of a large and influential household, but in practice it was still a little overwhelming. Despite Lorne having come a long way, he was still a gentle soul and John wished to protect him from some of the more grim realities. “Frelix and Anders already have business in the city so it’s just an extra stop.”

“The Gallows Market is not just an extra stop,” Lorne said, sounding miffed. John knew one day Lorne would actually realise he could assert his authority in this area, insist on being the one to escort John on outings considering he led the compliment of men assigned to protect him. John was just glad that day was not today.

“Next time,” John promised, reaching out a hand to ruffle over Lorne’s head, who grunted and ducked away, but was grinning when he came back up again.

“John,” Teyla called him back when Lorne had disappeared and he was about to leave. She reached up and placed hands on either side of his head, bringing his forehead down to meet hers. “You cannot save everyone,” she said in such a low voice that it was barely a tickle of air against his face.

“I know that,” John reassured, but his belly did a little flip at her words anyway.

000

The Gallow Market was the most evil of ideas John had ever come across. Men and women, who would otherwise be sentenced to death for the most minor of indiscretions, were instead sold off at a low price for the buyer to do with as they wished.

Suffice it to say, for the most part, ending their lives by a noose would have looked merciful by comparison compared to what was usually in store for them.

Thankfully, the Gallow Market was not an entirely common affair, but when it did occur, John was always chafing at the bit to attend and make sure he saved as many people as possible. The fact that Rodney was working towards making that very thing illegal was little comfort. Rodney’s household was already filled to the rafters with those that would have otherwise ended their sorry existences at the whim of crueller than usual masters.

”I understand your need to do this, I really do. What’s hard for me is the days and weeks afterwards where you agonise over the ones that you had to leave behind rather than find comfort in the those you did save,” Rodney had argued on more than one occasion. He had watched John time and again torn to shreds by the very act of choosing.

Frelix and Anders, the most trusted of men who had served with Ronon when he was Head of the Household Guard under the Patriarch McKay, stood at the gates to the Estate, looking grim. Frelix had a hold of John’s horse, a tan and black mare, as well as his own, waiting for John to join them before they mounted. There was a covered wagon and two stocky workhorses just behind them, a small and tough-faced girl by the name of Angeline at the reigns.

“You sure you want to do this?” Frelix asked, handing John’s reigns over.

“Absolutely,” John confirmed, his horse nudging him with her nose and whuffling a greeting.

“It’s just… we know how you get,” Anders added and John narrowed his eyes at the older man.

“How I get?”

Frelix and Anders looked at each other, something silent passing between them. “You’re edgy and depressed for days afterward and that makes Lord McKay… more edgy than you and none of us like seeing that,” Frelix blurted in a rush.

“So you’re saying we shouldn’t try helping people condemned to death?” John demanded, hackles rising. Both Anders and Frelix flinched.

“Gods, we’re not saying that at all,” Anders snapped, looking offended. “I’m just saying maybe you should let us handle it, on our own.”

John put a hand up to his face and rubbed. Even now, after he’d lived in a place where there were people who cared about him for more than a year, he still found himself on the offensive, guarding against hurt. Of course Frelix and Anders would still want to do what they could, but they were also trying to protect him as well. John felt like a heel for doubting their intentions even for a second.

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do, I really do,” John assured, mounting his horse in one swift, elegant movement. “I just… I need to do this for myself. I need for this not to be easy.”

Both men nodded, seeming to understand in their own way. Neither guardsman had ever been owned, couldn’t really comprehend what that meant. John’s actions that day would save a few, that he knew, but it also meant he was not saving hundreds. It was dirty work, despite the outcome and John needed to sully his hands, see the faces of those he was condemning by merely not choosing them. John’s gaze found Angeline who was wearing a tight little smile.

Sparing himself when there were those that hadn’t been… it just wasn’t in him.

000

“The vote’s not going to go our way.”

Rodney looked up at his assistant, a slight man, not long out of boyhood named Petar. He was one of John’s purchases and Rodney was fast running out of positions in his household to fill. It was John’s suggestion that Rodney actually have an assistant, mostly for carrying the arm loads of paperwork Rodney carted around. It turned out that Petar was a quick study and had a sharp mind and Rodney had grudgingly accepted his presence because he had the annoying habit of making himself useful.

That was the problem, Rodney often thought. He was all for freeing slaves. It was his life’s work after all and he would happily bankrupt his house in the pursuit of it if it was so needed but they tended not to leave. The sad cases and strays John kept picking up had little in the way of skills that would see them gainfully employed elsewhere despite Rodney farming most of them out to other households he was friendly with.

Neither he nor John could bring themselves to just hand over a purse of money and send them out into the world either. They were both cursed with hearts way too soft for that.

“I’m not expecting it to,” Rodney snapped, tugging the parchment Petar had picked up out of his hands and smacking it back down onto his desk. “I just need for the idea not to be laughed out of the counsel.”

“So, merely a starting point?” Petar hazarded and Rodney looked up at him, at his open and too-young face and big brown eyes fringed with dark lashes. Rodney shuddered to think what would’ve become of someone so delicate of feature if left where he had been. His thoughts strayed to John, as they often did, of the small boy tortured and trained to be a bed mate and a killer in the one attractive package.

“I want to get some traction at least,” Rodney said, nodding. “Have some people maybe start thinking that it isn’t that ludicrous an idea.”

“You do realise you’re probably not going to see a change in your lifetime,” Petar prodded, his tone gentle. Rodney grunted in frustration, digging fingers through his hair and then self-consciously smoothing it down again because he didn’t want to look like a madman when he entered the Senate session.

Like he’d been literally pulling his hair out.

“Considering this will probably be the death of me,” Rodney finally huffed. “I suppose you’re right.”

000

It was the smell that always hit him first.

There was nothing quite like the stench of fear mixed with too much humanity. John was lucky to have never been part of a public slave auction, raised and sheltered in a private House as he was, but it still made everything in him clench because of the could’ve beens. John had been carted to the Jade House with more than twenty boys when he was six years old and over half that number by the time he was sixteen would have ended up in a market very similar to the one he was approaching.

John’s eyes skated sideways and he saw both Anders and Frelix dig black kerchiefs out of their collars and yank them over mouth and nose. John never did because he didn’t want to be inured to this. He wanted his stomach clenching and his eyes watering.

It was always a shock. Coming over the hill and into the natural amphitheatre that was the chosen location for the slave markets, it looked like a tent city from a distance with pens for livestock ringing the area. The livestock were people, the least troublesome in the open air, some tethered by stakes in the ground and leather collars and leads. Those that were more violent or likely to try and escape were in low bamboo cages, not tall enough even for a small woman to stand and twenty or thirty pressed into a space not even big enough for ten at the beginning of the day. John, Anders and Frelix arrived with the sun, the dawn casting long fingers down across the field.

“I never get used to that,” Anders murmured, his voice muffled through the cloth over his mouth.

“You never should,” John said, voice hollow as he kicked his horse into a faster canter.

“How many today?” Frelix asked. The question would seem callous but John knew that the man was just being practical.

“Maybe five?” Anders piped up from the other side and looked to John for confirmation. John didn’t like putting a number on those he could save so early but he knew Anders was right. It had been easier when his face wasn’t known. The slavers drove up the price as soon as they spotted him now, knowing they didn’t need to bargain much with a man who was looking to save lives rather than end them.

John left Angeline and the cart guarded by Frelix outside the market area. He and Anders made their way down, the smells of cooking breakfast meats mingling with the heady human scent and the stronger undercurrent of animal. Large, shaggy hounds darted in and out between the cages, nipping at those slow or unfortunate enough to be pressed to the very edges of the cages.

“Now, do I need to remind you that killing any of the slavers would be very bad,” Anders said, his voice a low warning but his eyes crinkled up.

“Why is that again?” John asked, seeing the first of the traders, a large man in a stained red tunic spot them and started waddling their way.

“I’d just prefer not to have to fight our way out today. I’m a little hung over.”

John looked at Anders and couldn’t help the smile that surfaced. He felt truly blessed by the people he’d been able to surround himself with. There was a grim task ahead and the man by his shoulder made it just that little bit easier.

The large trader slowed when he was close enough to recognise them, or if not specifically them, at least the house colours Anders was wearing, blue and slate grey. He faltered slightly, but decorum would not allow him to break off entirely. Despite its currently unpopular position and a head of household that was ruffling more than a few feathers, House McKay was still a wealthy house and had allies that would be forced to rally if any sleight was perpetrated.

“Welcome,” the man greeted, pasting a large smile on his face and looking from John to Anders and back again.

Anders stepped forward a little, putting a shoulder in front of John. He ducked his head, biting at his bottom lip. He had been trained to be a protector and it still rankled a little that there were others now whose sole job it was to protect him. The trader’s gaze shifted to John, automatically assuming the one behind the guard would be the one holding the purse strings.

“Are you looking for anything specific?” the trader asked, sliding into a seller’s patter almost automatically. He was rubbing his large, meaty hands together.

“Just looking,” John dismissed, tapping Anders on the shoulder that looked over for a second before stepping forward and past the trader, still keeping his body between the man and John. The trader went to follow and Anders swivelled and glared, a silent back off that the man was smart enough to heed.

They weren’t always.

The smell got worse as John headed in, his hands tightening down into fists. Here was the realm of the beaten and broken, people who’d lost hope and spirit. Downcast eyes, slumped shoulders and hollow faces were common. Any spark of defiance had been beaten down, long ago.

Which is why John wasn’t expecting, when he skirted too close to a cage he had thought empty on the outer edge of the pavilions, the arm that shot out and gripped him around the throat. John heard dimly Anders shout a warning but the grip on his throat wasn’t crushing, he was simply held. John turned slowly in the hand, fingers and thumb loosening enough to allow him to do so and then his eyes widened.

“Ronon?”

000

Rodney was walking with his head buried in his papers as he often did, so didn’t notice that everyone else was walking in the opposite direction until he nearly crashed head long into Elizabeth of House Weir.

“Sorry, sorry,” Rodney huffed and went to sidestep her but she moved with him, hand darting out to catch at his sleeve and his attention. “They’ve cancelled the session,” she said and waited until Rodney looked up, confusion on his face.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The session, it’s been cancelled. I assume that’s where you’re headed?” Elizabeth was one of the few people sympathetic to Rodney’s cause. She herself was quite an anomaly. She was of no particularly special birth or breeding, her family horse breeders who had done quite well and lived comfortably. She had managed to snare herself Brant Weir, a lush and fourth son, destined to either be packed off to a House of Faith or used to further House Weir’s ambition. He had done neither, marrying Elizabeth in a move that would have seen him banished from his house except that the Weir’s seemed strangely accepting. Elizabeth herself clawed her way up to an enviable social standing, appearing in place of Brant at his Senate seat after he had drowned in his own broth, and taking no prisoners.

“It can’t have been cancelled,” Rodney said, blinking at her. “I called it.”

“Well, the elders uncalled it,” Elizabeth said, shrugging. “I assumed you would’ve known.”

“I… no,” Rodney sighed.

“Too bad,” Elizabeth said, tapping a finger to her chin. “It might not have heralded sweeping social change but it would’ve been a start.”

“Yes, that’s it,” Rodney agreed, looking forlornly at his paperwork. Elizabeth rested a hand on Rodney’s shoulder and smiled.

“No one is going to take you seriously while you still have your kept boy,” Elizabeth said with a small, delicate grimace.

“Excuse me?” Rodney snarled, stepping away so her hand dropped. Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“You can clean him up but to all the elders on the Senate, he’s always going to be a freed slave from a destitute House. The rumour is that he is still, and how to put this delicately, working off his debt.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Rodney snarled, moving to brush by Elizabeth, but she caught his sleeve again, her eyes narrowed.

“I know you don’t like hearing it but you should. You’ve lost face and any sway you had with these people. I’m sorry if I’m the one to break it to you but that’s mostly because of who you choose to bed.”

“That’s not-”

“Fair? True? Come now, you know it is. You know that your position in this Senate has become merely symbolic. Nobody wants to try and unseat you because it would be too much trouble. They can, however, refuse to care about anything you say. You are, as it were, now impotent.”

Rodney opened and closed his mouth, rage burning through him and rendering him speechless, which was a rare thing in and of itself. Elizabeth merely smiled to see it, winding a finger through a curl by her cheek in such a coy gesture that it only made Rodney angrier. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know,” Elizabeth added gently. “You need to add a little… legitimacy to your House again. Quickest way I know of is to marry someone more powerful.” Elizabeth’s lips tilted up in a wry grin.

“Are you… are you offering?” Rodney spluttered.

Elizabeth opened her eyes wide and chuckled, a hand fluttering to her chest. “I wasn’t talking about me,” she laughed, arching a brow. “Considering your current consort, it would be probably more socially disastrous for you to try and marry a woman.”

Rodney crossed his arms and raised his chin, eyes flashing. “Who did you have in mind then?” he demanded.

“There is another male in the Weir household,” Elizabeth said. Rodney noticed Petar appear at the end of the hall and he made a not now gesture.

“Are you talking about Daneth?” Rodney asked, astounded.

“Of course,” Elizabeth nodded. “He is a sweet boy, highly…suggestible. Think about it, the Weir and McKay Households united. No one would dare cross you. Not even Martavianne.”

Rodney’s hackles rose at the name of the man he most hated, who had almost been the death of John. “What’s in it for you?” Rodney asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Let’s just say… there’s a few ideas I would like to see get through the Senate also. It wouldn’t do my cause any harm to be owed a few… favours, especially by a man who holds two Senate seats.” Elizabeth put a hand to Rodney’s chest, drummed her fingers and then was gone in a swirl of silk and jasmine. Rodney took a deep breath and then rubbed his hands over his face as Petar rushed to his side.

“She’s a viper, that one,” Petar observed and Rodney could only nod.

The problem was, he had the sinking sensation that she was right.

000

A man named Bilou, who was nothing more than skin stretched over bones unlike most of the slave traders, narrowed his eyes at John, tongue flicking out to wet his thin lips. He was someone who John had been hoping to avoid dealing with, known for his cruelty and malice. Unfortunately, he also currently owned Ronon.

“That one, ye say?” Bilou asked, casting an eye over Ronon, now backed to the opposite edge of his cage, hunched over a little because he was too tall for his prison. His long hair was filthy and tied back from his face with a rotting piece of leather. His once coffee-coloured skin was sallow and his eyes and cheeks were sunken. Ronon had merely stared at John when he’d heard his name and John had felt a spike of pure white rage that such a proud warrior could be reduced to such a state.

John could feel Anders bristling just behind him, having to every now and again knock Anders’ hands away from his sword. John knew the guardsman wanted nothing more than to cut Ronon free and a bloody swathe through anyone that tried to intervene but while John would have liked nothing more than to do just that, the place was crawling with hired mercenaries and personal guards of the rich merchants and lower nobles starting to fill the place.

“How much?” John ground out through his teeth, fighting the urge to throttle Bilou and be done with it. He was relieved he had left Frelix out to guard their wagon. He wasn’t sure if he would’ve been able to reign in both men. He wasn’t sure he would’ve wanted to.

Suffice it to say, it was a blessing Lorne was back at the Estate.

“Sorry, sold,” Bilou grunted, waving a dismissive hand. John put a hand back to Anders to once again arrest his forward movement and jangled his purse instead.

“I can match the promised price,” John urged. “And more.”

Bilou gave out a short bark of laughter, his flinty eyes coming to rest on John. “His buyer is… very keen on this one. His buyer is shall we say, influential. I would never be able to show my face here again.”

“Surely there’s something we can work out,” John wheedled, hating himself for it. Anders had gripped his arm, a silent plea to be let loose.

“I’m afraid not, Lord Sheppard,” Bilou sneered and John froze. With a sudden cold certainty, he knew exactly who had purchased Ronon.

Martavianne.

“Alright. It’s a pity,” John said, stepping back with a smile pasted to his face. He heard Anders make a small noise of protest and John turned on him, smile frozen in place but not reaching his eyes. “Come back to the wagon,” John ordered.

As they were walking away, Anders made to turn back around and John grabbed his shoulder, wrenching him around. “If you won’t-”

“We’re hopelessly outnumbered here,” John hissed. “If we hit the transport that comes to take him we have a better chance.”

Relief flooded Anders’ features and everything in him relaxed. His face dropped though as they were making their way back to the wagon, Frelix and Angeline. “We can’t… take anyone else, can we?” he hazarded and John looked back at him, expression grim.

“We can’t risk it,” John dismissed, keeping his voice and face carefully neutral, trying not to betray just how hard he found it to walk away.

000

Ronon was unconscious when John and the others were able to pry him free of the surprisingly lightly guarded Martavianne transport. An elbow to the jaw when Ronon finally roused was not exactly the greeting John was expecting and he landed on his ass, cradling his face. Ronon was up on his haunches, breathing hard and looking like he wanted nothing more than to start swinging.

“Ease up, it’s John,” John reassured, having learnt his lesson and keeping a wary distance. Ronon had been laid out in the back of the covered wagon they’d brought with them but he was now pressed into the corner, hands searching for a weapon of some kind. Everything stilled when he heard John’s voice.

“John Sheppard?” Ronon asked, still sounding wary.

“Yes, it’s me,” John repeated, edging forward a little so Ronon could focus on him. John didn’t like how glazed Ronon’s eyes were. He’d heard of slavers drugging their product to keep them more docile, make them appear an easier purchase.

“Sorry,” Ronon apologised, grimacing and rubbing a forearm over his eyes. “My vision’s blurry and I thought…”

“It’s okay,” John assured. “Totally my fault. I think shaking you awake isn’t the best plan even when you’re at your best.” John was trying for jovial but it fell flat between them, Ronon’s eyes still darting about like a caged animal.

“You have to take me back,” Ronon suddenly barked, sounding panicked and John blinked at him, truly surprised. When Ronon lurched in the direction of the opening at the back of the wagon, John crabbed sideways, hands up in a defensive posture. He wasn’t exactly sure Ronon wouldn’t try and clock him again in his confusion.

“You’re safe now,” John tried to reassure. “We’re taking you back to the McKay House-”

“No!” This time when Ronon surged forward, there was no stopping him. All John could do was duck sideways, mindful that even with more than few skipped meals Ronon would still outweigh him by more than a little. Ronon hit the skins that protected the wagon from dust and growled when he found them tied, snaking underneath and hitting the road. John ducked out after him, watching Ronon start to make his way back the way they had come at a limping stagger.

John whistled and the wagon halted, Anders and Frelix dismounting when they saw what was going on.

“Ronon!” Frelix called, darting forward and around the larger man.

“I’m… setup… all… die,” Ronon was huffing before one of his legs gave out beneath him and he went to his knees. Frelix went to help him up but John waved him off, crouching down by Ronon and canting his head.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asked, tone gentle.

“I’m already marked,” Ronon said, bringing a hand up to drag his matted hair away from his neck. Just below his ear on the delicate skin was etched a stylised ‘M’ in black ink. “One House stealing from another is enough of an excuse to declare war.”

“Gods,” John groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Then his expression cleared and he grinned. “Only if they find you in the McKay House. I have somewhere else you can stay until we sort this out.”

“Where?” Ronon asked, looking wary.

“There’s a House Of Faith-”

“Urgh,” Ronon rolled his eyes. “Kill me now and be done with it.”

John was surprised into a bark of laughter, helping Ronon back to his feet when he held an arm out. “There’s a Sodan that was willing to hide me when Martavianne called for blood justice.”

“From what I remember,” Ronon grumbled, waving John off when he’d regained his feet. “You chose to fight for your life against eight consecutive foes instead.”

000

“Are you trying to kill me?”

John stopped dead at the shrillness in Rodney’s voice. He had to be pretty upset to reach the higher octaves he was now using and John tilted his head and held his hands out. “I’m late?”

“You were due back yesterday,” Rodney huffed, barrelling across the room and collecting John in his wake. They hit the wall just by the door to Rodney’s chambers, Rodney’s hands fisted in John’s tunic. “You were basically off annoying slave traders so you can’t be late!”

“Okay, alright,” John soothed, bringing his arms up and around, smoothing them down Rodney’s flank and spine in long, sweeping strokes that usually had Rodney relaxing. Rodney only tensed further however and stepped away, leaving John to sag against the wall a little.

“There’re enemies. We have enemies and every time you step outside the gates…” Rodney flailed his arms in what John supposed was a gesture to encompass the entire, big bad world and how it was out to get him.

“I know that,” John said, pushing away from the wall and moving to the window overlooking the estate. It had been his regular station when he was serving as Rodney’s Blade and every now and again, habit would take him there. “I might have some news on that front. I hear Martavianne has finally decided to make a move against you.”

John heard the agitated rustling of Rodney stop dead and he turned, raising an eyebrow. Rodney was chewing his lip and looking stricken, hands twitching at his sides. “What is it?” John prodded.

“There might be a way to protect us… the House and everyone in it plus… there might be a way to make sure Martavianne can’t touch us.”

“How?” John asked, excited. He crossed the room back to Rodney but slowed when Rodney moved sideways, putting an ornate table between them.

‘Possibly…maybe… marriage,” Rodney managed to get out, sounding strangled.

“Really?” John asked, putting a hand to his chin. “I didn’t think you wanted to with the whole subservience and…” John’s voice trailed off when he noticed Rodney’s expression grow grim. “You don’t… you don’t mean us, do you?” he accused.

“There are plenty of unions that are purely for political and ceremonial gain,” Rodney got out in a rush.

“No,” John snapped, surprising himself as much as Rodney.

“I… what?”

John knew Rodney only had himself to blame, instilling in John a strong sense of self and purpose. Along with that came the desire to fight for what he wanted and dig his heels in when there was something he didn’t want. If there was one thing he was damn certain of, it was that he didn’t want Rodney marrying anyone else.

“We may not have a choice,” Rodney stated, lowering into a chair and dropping his head into his hands. “It doesn’t have to change anything,” he added, looking up, a small measure of hope in his face.

“Well, at least you won’t have to worry about what the Senate members will refer to me as,” John snapped, not being able to stop the hurt bleeding through his voice. “Once you’re done marrying someone important they’ll know exactly what I am.”

“John-” Rodney reached out but John had already fled from the room, face burning and tears prickling behind his lids. John had thought he’d had the capacity to cry beaten out of him long ago but as always, Rodney had managed to touch a part of him that he’d thought was lost.

Lorne found him in the practice courtyard an hour later and merely sat by John’s side, not speaking a word.

000

Rodney was sitting exactly where John had left him when he returned. John paused in the doorway, watching how Rodney was hunched in on himself. “If it’s the only way,” John began to say but Rodney was up and moving, a solid mass as undeniable as a landslide and John found himself on the floor, back scraped raw against the rushes and stone underneath and Rodney’s weight completely pinning him, Rodney himself laying fiery kisses along John’s jaw and down his neck.

“We’ll fight… I can’t… if it means…” Rodney murmured between fevered presses of his lips. John managed to wedge an arm between them both and lever Rodney just enough so they were eye to eye, still breathing each other’s air.

“We have more at stake here than just you and I,” John reasoned, knowing that while it would tear him up inside, he would do what was needed to ensure that the home they’d built and the people they sheltered were forever safe.

“I don’t care,” Rodney hissed, smacking a palm down right by John’s head.

“You do,” John said, voice gentle. “Gods, but you do. Your work started before me. If I’m the reason that it’s-”

“No,” Rodney denied, shaking his head. “They would’ve found another excuse. I was frustrated and tired… so tired and I let… I can’t believe I let it all get to me.” Rodney’s expression changed, from desperation to tenderness and a hand came up and cupped John’s head, thumb stroking his cheek bone. “Those decrepit old skeletons won’t best me. I’m smarter than all of them combined!”

“So you keep saying,” John chuckled. His back was starting to sting a little but he wouldn’t have moved then for all the world, Rodney’s weight still mostly pressing him down and Rodney’s gaze locked with his.

“We’ll find a way through this,” Rodney said, determination on his face. “It’s just not worth it. I won’t cower behind some empty-brained dilettante, not so long as I… as we have the will to fight.”

Rodney rolled slightly so that he was on his side and off John. “We may not see the change we desire in either of our lifetimes,” Rodney added, looking a little forlorn.

John smiled, rubbing an affectionate hand over Rodney’s head. “I don’t think anyone was expecting sweeping social change in a few weeks,” he said and then dropped his forehead on Rodney’s shoulder. “But we’ll make a crack in the wall, weaken the foundations. Sooner or later there’ll be a flood.”

“How do you know that?” Rodney asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I know you.”