The Garden's End pt 5
Rating: PG. Ish.
Genre: drama, action, Elizabeth-centric
Setting: Season 3, pre Sunday. Because I live in denial.
Summary: Elizabeth is taken prisoner. She's in no mood to play damsel in distress.
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Stargate Atlantis the show differs drastically from the way I write about it in my fics. I have way more respect and affection for Elizabeth than they do.
A/N: Okay, the format’s changed a bit here. This chapter and the next-to-be-posted will be on the same day. A two-parter within the series of chapters, so to speak, as this day ended up being a little longer than I had planned, and I had to break it up. So, here it begins, in all its unwieldy glory.
The Garden’s End Pt 5
Two days ago:
Elizabeth awoke suddenly to the unfamiliar sensation of someone shaking her out of sleep. Briefly, she wondered if she was late for a meeting, and why the alarm on her organizer hadn’t woken her up earlier. She blinked at the dark-haired woman who was bent over her, then sighed in recognition.
“Morning, Sekara.”
“You do not seem pleased to see me,” she observed, straightening up out of Elizabeth’s line of sight. She sounded amused as she continued, “My own son is rarely happy to be woken up either.”
“Oh, don’t take it personally,” said Elizabeth, sitting up in bed to face her properly, running a hand through her tousled hair. She felt a little tug as she pulled her hand away too soon, forgetting she had longer hair now. It was such an inconvenience. Before she could’ve made do without a hairbrush, as her hair simply fell into place with its simple waves. Now it required practically half an hour to brush out and weave into the complicated style all the women were required to adopt. “I was just hoping this was all a bad dream. My nightmares have been more vivid lately.”
Sekara gestured to the little table by the window. “I can do little to soothe your sleep, but I have brought breakfast.”
“Good answer,” said Elizabeth. “Forget 10, 000, I’m willing to get out of bed for food.” She waved a hand at Sekara’s questioning look, “Sorry, Earth reference. Famous model, very successful, refused to work unless offered exorbitant sums of money.”
If anything, Sekara now looked more baffled. “Model?” she asked, as Elizabeth went into the adjoining bathroom to splash her face with water so she could feel more awake. Of all the mornings, this was not the one to feel sluggish.
“Someone slender with appealing features who wears expensive, impractical yet highly sought-after clothing to impress others,” she answered, pressing a button that filled the shallow bowl with floral-scented water and then vigorously scrubbed at her face. After she dried off, Elizabeth studied her reflection critically, considering the hair that fell to her hips with a dire glance. It was just so strange to feel it swishing past her elbows.
She emerged from the bathroom to find that comprehension illuminated Sekara’s features.
“I see. You were making an analogy to our situation. Since we are required to dress according to high fashion to please the Lord, we are akin to these models, correct?”
Elizabeth tilted her head. “Yes. Although explaining it kind of kills the joke.”
“You were joking about the models?”
“No, no, the models exist.” She sat down at the table and began nibbling at the leafy vegetables first. When dealing with alien food, it was always safest to start off with the salad. She hadn’t detected much difference in the salads on planets throughout two galaxies, so it was always a newcomer’s best bet. There wasn’t much that alien environments could do to ruin a good vegetable.
Sekara slipped into the seat opposite hers, a brooding expression on her face. “Why would people be paid to wear high-status clothing? Are they not be required to pay for the clothing themselves? How does a person make a living if they give away clothing to others and pay them for the privilege?”
She thought of Rodney for a moment and smiled. “You remind me of someone I know. He’s always overanalyzing everything. Anyway, the whole point of modeling is that you have attractive people wearing outrageously priced outfits and the average citizen is then consumed with the need to emulate that same look and spends more money than advisable on trying to achieve it. The money that the models are paid is offset by the attention and profit they draw to the designer that provided them with the clothing.” She smiled again, this time at this whimsical scene of two female captives of a megalomaniac, who viewed them as his property and had them at his mercy, discussing Earth’s fashion industry on a planet thousands of light years away.
“What a novel idea,” Sekara said musingly. “Perhaps when we are free, I will test this system of yours. Our culture has been too preoccupied with the Wraith for as long as I can remember. Fear of their raids made art and design seem trivial in comparison. Of course, compared to the need for survival, all else is trivial, but living in a more obvious captivity these past few years has made it clear that our sacrifices need to be counterbalanced with some joys, with something that is pleasing to the eye, that is of purely aesthetic value, rather than plain and practical and bland.”
“You could design new uniforms for my expedition,” Elizabeth suggested helpfully. “I think we’ve had the old ones for too long,” she wrinkled her nose. “They always struck me as way too Galaxy Quest.” She held up a hand to forestall the obvious question. “It’s a movie about humans on a tv show about alien life forms, who discover genuine aliens. More of a parody in homage to the genre than a serious science fiction tale, quite enjoyable if you have a sense of humor. Actually, I can relate to the characters now, having discovered aliens do really exist after years of believing it was solely the province of X-files and Star Trek.”
Sekara stared at her blankly. “You do realize that I have not understood fully half of what you just said?” she enquired.
“I appreciate you listening to me anyway,” Elizabeth said warmly, before biting into a crunchy pastry. It was spicier than she expected, the small colored pieces that she had thought were fruit tasted more like chili, and she quickly reached for her glass of water to quench the burning sensation in her mouth.
“Well, I may not understand some of your references to human culture, but it is the most stimulating conversation I have been offered in a long while, and I am making the most of it,” replied Sekara, looking amused as she watching Elizabeth rapidly drain the entire glass. “The more I hear of your planet’s culture, the more appealing I find it. Much is frivolous, of course, but it sounds very entertaining. I hope that I will be able to take some of this spirit back to the city. It needs rejuvenation. Inspiration. Something to unite us other than our fear of the Wraith. I mean, at what point does a race lose its identity?” she said with a note of regret. “We have replaced art and traditional celebrations with training and drills and simulations, put aside small pleasures for militarism and scientific fervor.”
“And supplemented your food with scorching spices,” Elizabeth added, setting down her glass pointedly.
As she had hoped, the deliberately petulant remark brought a smile to the other woman’s face. “They are native to our planet, simple to grow,” Sekara explained. “See, we even sacrifice our taste buds for expedience!” She grabbed the plate of pastries for herself and pushed over another that contained something much like pie.
“Remind me to introduce you to the Athosians. Very traditional people, strong cultural beliefs, and their tuttleroot soup is delightful.” Elizabeth eyed the new dish warily before she dug in with her spoon and tasted the tip delicately. Then promptly got another spoonful and set about demolishing the generous slice of pie.
“More to your liking?” asked Sekara mildly.
“This is wonderful,” she agreed. “Maybe I should write a tourist handbook, ‘The Culinary Delights of the Pegasus Galaxy’. Advise people what tastes good and what they should probably avoid.”
Sekara had an innocent expression on her face. “And I can test my cooking on you, then?” she said, then grinned wickedly at Elizabeth’s suspicious look before sobering up. “But first you must make your escape. You will come out to the gardens with me and the other women after you have eaten and are properly attired. I have set your dress on the chair in the corner.”
Only the knowledge that she was making her bid for freedom soon allowed Elizabeth to regard it with a wistful gaze and sigh, “It’s a shame I’m going to have to leave all these designer dresses behind. Do you think it would look suspicious if I ask to pack a suitcase for our little stroll in the gardens?”
“I would not advise you draw attention to yourself at this point,” Sekara said dryly. “Do try your best to blend in. We are all wearing similar outfits today, so you should be able to fade into the background, and it will hopefully keep the guards from noticing that we are one fewer when we return. They are hardly vigilant with us anymore, so it may not be as difficult as one would assume.”
“They thought they had you broken,” said Elizabeth, shaking her head in admiration. “You are truly courageous to work with me against them like this.”
“It is at little risk to myself. You are the one that will be on the run, trying to evade recapture, survive the elements, find your way to safety…it is not a task I would lightly take on. Still, your determination makes it seem possible.”
“It’s good that one of us thinks so,” she replied.
Sekara glared at her. “Do not have second thoughts now. The other women are already skittish enough about covering for you without you backing out at the last moment-”
“I didn’t mean that I was giving up,” said Elizabeth said calmly, maintaining eye contact with the other woman til she sighed and nodded her understanding.
“Sorry for being antagonistic,” said Sekara. “You have my faith, which is remarkable as I have only known you for a short time. I can tell that you are a good leader, you make it all too easy to trust you,” this last was said with a hint of accusation. “Then the slightest suggestion that you were not confident of your own ability to make this plan work…” she shrugged. “I overreacted.”
She really was quite young. Her air of self-assurance was misleading, but Elizabeth thought that Sekara was a few years younger than her. Not nearly as well-traveled before being taken prisoner, having to fend for herself in captivity, now faced with a stranger offering her freedom, and feeling the stress and tension associated with weighing up her options, considering the risks and the painful infusion of hope. Elizabeth didn’t take her outburst personally. “My people have something we call gallows’ humor,” she explained lightly. “When confronted with seemingly insurmountable odds, we prefer to treat the situation with mockery and sarcasm rather than the gravity it deserves. It’s supposed to make us feel more in control.”
The tension eased from Sekara’s face. “Does it work?”
“Hmm…” Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and pretended to consider it, then smirked at Sekara “No, not really. But it relieves the pressure a little.”
“Is it also supposed to irritate other people around you?” said Sekara pointedly.
“That too. Usually it’s meant to be employed against any parties involved in creating or perpetuating the difficult and often dangerous situation, but you were unlucky enough to wander into the line of fire.”
“‘Line of fire’?” Sekara repeated. “The Lord escaped mostly unscathed after each of his encounters with you. To my recollection, this ‘gallows humor’ made no appearance.”
“He was in possession of a torture device at the time,” said Elizabeth, brow raised to emphasize her point. “It didn’t seem wise to provoke him if there was nothing I could gain from it except pain. And since I am not male, military and obstinate, I recognize that prudence is not a sign of weakness.”
“Well, if he does regain possession of you, it does not matter how prudent you are. The severity of the punishment will be extreme, in all likelihood. Not to the extent that it would mar you physically- he does not like to leave marks on us- but you would need to insult him all you could from the start, as the pain would be excruciating-”
“Sekara,” she interrupted. “Is this really necessary?” the other woman stared at her innocently. Elizabeth sighed. “Just when I thought I had my self-confidence at optimal levels. You are a master at pep talks, has anyone ever told you that?”
“I was attempting to develop my ability to use gallows humor in casual conversation,” said Sekara. “It was not suitable?”
Elizabeth leveled a calm gaze at her for a long moment. Then swung out of her seat and headed to pick up her dress and get changed.
“What?” called Sekara after her, barely suppressing her laughter. “What did I say?”
--
A/N #2: I just realized that it was rather unusual for the bulk of a fic to concentrate on a main character’s interaction with an original character. Or at least, an OC that isn’t a Mary Sue, and isn’t involved in a romantic relationship with the main character. So thanks to everyone who’s kept up with this fic so far, despite the narrow focus.
Previous chapters:
Part 4
Part 3
Part 2
Part 1