Fic: Goa'uld!Adam
So, in the interests of trying to actually get this finished, I'm reposting this WiP and going to try and finish it in comment-fic form - if you leave a comment, I'll try and write the next section as a comment fic (unless you ask me not to). =)
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Lonely, I have gone to bed having lit the fire. My soul has been a restless bird that leaves to seek itself…He may be tossed by storms of whirling sand or riding a hot wind above dunes. Far from here his voice may ring through the forests from the branches of a mango. By the Nile he may wait silent among the reeds, catfish spawning as he sleeps, his head tucked in his wing. If you see him, send him home to me. The heart is uncertain country.
I must rise, call the musicians and priests. I must have henna for the heads of dancers. I cannot dream like the idle, sleepless dead. I must rise and stir the fire. Burn moly and saffron, remember my prayers. The smoke of incense will bring him home… Perhaps now he hovers near, flurry of dark wings beating the door; or he follows the rivers and canals of gods, leading them through mountains; or he binds the souls to the rags of mummies, filling dry hands with balsam.
Ah, my soul’s a restless bird. Words flow like rivers. Through my veins water churns on; on dark wings he flies from yesterday, love in his throat, the warmth of life among his feathers, the sun risen in his hard, amber eye.
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R’cliff is punished, of course.
The punishment is intended for Kris’ benefit, of course.
Adam marches Kris out to the square where R’cliff is bound to the frame with his back bared to the lash. Two Jaffa flank him every second and one of the priests, an oily little man who Kris doesn’t know and doesn’t like. The priest has a nasal whine of a voice and Kris understands every word he says.
This is the fate of a traitor. See the wrath of your God and be humbled. See the punishment due to those who fail and repent. See the traitor break and wonder at your God’s infinite mercy.
Kris honestly believes Adam will kill the Jaffa. He should have known better. Adam is nothing like that merciful.
R’cliff is tied to that frame for weeks. An elderly couple dressed in rags, small and insignificant in the crowd, weep for him; R’cliff’s family or at least all that remains of it, Kris learns later. They cling to each other as braver souls in the crowd spit at them but most avoid them like the plague.
R’cliff’s once loyal troops each take a turn behind the vicious whip. It’s like Marquis de Sade and Torquemada were consulted on a brand new cat’o’nine tails. Every blow draws blood until R’cliff’s skin is dyed scarlet and the blood trickles down to stain the white marble in an ever-increasing pool.
Kris, safely enclosed by ranks of masked Jaffa, spends the weeks under a silk ceiling with water and plain bread to keep him alive. His guards bring him out as the sun rises and Kris stays right there as the priest whines and the lash draws more blood and Kris’ stomach heaves despite all the war and pain he’s seen already.
When the sun sets at last and the underlord with the healing device comes out to snatch R’cliff back from the brink again, the guards march Kris back into the Temple and Adam.
He’s chained to the bed now, with an intricate arrangement that could be a Replicator’s web for all Kris can break it. Adam doesn’t sleep anymore. He just lies in bed and stares at Kris. There’s just enough ambient light for Kris to see him and even in the darkest hours of the night, when Kris wakes from grey blurry dreams, Adam’s eyes glow gold.
Kris doesn’t sleep well.
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