Like a Bomb in a Birdcage | Stargate SG-1
Fandom: Stargate SG-1
Characters: Sam Carter, unnamed OFC
Prompt: #371 - Gilded Cage [tamingthemuse], Isolation [10_hurt_comfort]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam Carter awakes in a tower.
Opulent. It’s an archaic word, but the only one Sam can think of as she takes in the heavy-set armchair, the deep pile carpet, the velvet curtains hung at the wide window that overlooks a lake framed by mountains. Both room and view remind her of a childhood holiday in the Scottish Highlands, but the reality is she’s a world away from Scotland.
The reality is that, for all the room’s opulence, she is still a prisoner. The wooden door is locked, while an energy field shimmers at the window in the place of glass. She doesn’t quite remember how she got here - her last coherent memory is of the banquet she and the rest of SG-1 were guests at. She surmises that the wine was drugged, though she’s no idea why.
She’s no idea where the rest of her team is, either. Sam isn’t worried, not exactly, but she’s a reasonable amount of concern. This is largely because the hall where they enjoyed the banquet was nowhere near a lake. Where is she? Is it the same planet, or was she moved elsewhere while unconscious?
She was certainly stripped - she wears a medieval-style dress in deep blue velvet trimmed in silver in place of her familiar uniform. Her reflection shows that it fits well and that she even looks pretty good, but she’d rather have a revolver strapped to her thigh. She’d rather not be the princess trapped in a tower.
The question is: if she is a princess, then what guards her? Is it an ogre or a dragon? She’s seen nothing of her capturer. Heard nothing either - the young, blond-haired maid who’s brought her food will not engage in any conversation. Sam doesn’t even know her name.
As often as she’s worked late into the night, on her own, the hours of isolation are getting to her. The room has a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other, yet she feels confined, trapped. And frustrated as hell. She’d be angry, except there’s no target for that emotion. There’s nothing to do at all.
On the fourth morning, the maid brings a book along with breakfast. Sam picks up the leather-bound early edition of The Hobbit and arches an eyebrow in surprise.
“Our lord regrets that he has not been able to greet your properly,” the young woman says. “He hopes that this will alleviate any boredom you experience.”
It’s the first contact Sam’s had in five days and she dives on it. “Who is he? What’s his name?”
But the maid shakes her head and backs out of the room. Frustration snaps something within Sam and she flings the book at the locked door. After several minutes, her temper settles back to a begrudging acceptance that there’s nothing for it but eat.
When she’s done, she recovers the book, feeling a little sorry for abusing it. It’s survived its ordeal with only a few bent pages, which she smooths out before flicking to the first page. She reads until the setting sun means there’s no more light. Then she changes into the nightwear that’s been provided and climbs into bed.
It takes her ages to settle, though. She’s not used to doing so little and brims with unspent energy. Her frustrations return with a vengeance, leaving her antsy. She gets up and paces. A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded its bars are, and Sam is feeling hemmed in, feels like she’s set to explode.
Whoever has captured her doesn’t have a canary in their birdcage, but a bomb.
And she’s ticking down to detonation.
Characters: Sam Carter, unnamed OFC
Prompt: #371 - Gilded Cage [tamingthemuse], Isolation [10_hurt_comfort]
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sam Carter awakes in a tower.
Opulent. It’s an archaic word, but the only one Sam can think of as she takes in the heavy-set armchair, the deep pile carpet, the velvet curtains hung at the wide window that overlooks a lake framed by mountains. Both room and view remind her of a childhood holiday in the Scottish Highlands, but the reality is she’s a world away from Scotland.
The reality is that, for all the room’s opulence, she is still a prisoner. The wooden door is locked, while an energy field shimmers at the window in the place of glass. She doesn’t quite remember how she got here - her last coherent memory is of the banquet she and the rest of SG-1 were guests at. She surmises that the wine was drugged, though she’s no idea why.
She’s no idea where the rest of her team is, either. Sam isn’t worried, not exactly, but she’s a reasonable amount of concern. This is largely because the hall where they enjoyed the banquet was nowhere near a lake. Where is she? Is it the same planet, or was she moved elsewhere while unconscious?
She was certainly stripped - she wears a medieval-style dress in deep blue velvet trimmed in silver in place of her familiar uniform. Her reflection shows that it fits well and that she even looks pretty good, but she’d rather have a revolver strapped to her thigh. She’d rather not be the princess trapped in a tower.
The question is: if she is a princess, then what guards her? Is it an ogre or a dragon? She’s seen nothing of her capturer. Heard nothing either - the young, blond-haired maid who’s brought her food will not engage in any conversation. Sam doesn’t even know her name.
As often as she’s worked late into the night, on her own, the hours of isolation are getting to her. The room has a bathroom on one side and a bedroom on the other, yet she feels confined, trapped. And frustrated as hell. She’d be angry, except there’s no target for that emotion. There’s nothing to do at all.
On the fourth morning, the maid brings a book along with breakfast. Sam picks up the leather-bound early edition of The Hobbit and arches an eyebrow in surprise.
“Our lord regrets that he has not been able to greet your properly,” the young woman says. “He hopes that this will alleviate any boredom you experience.”
It’s the first contact Sam’s had in five days and she dives on it. “Who is he? What’s his name?”
But the maid shakes her head and backs out of the room. Frustration snaps something within Sam and she flings the book at the locked door. After several minutes, her temper settles back to a begrudging acceptance that there’s nothing for it but eat.
When she’s done, she recovers the book, feeling a little sorry for abusing it. It’s survived its ordeal with only a few bent pages, which she smooths out before flicking to the first page. She reads until the setting sun means there’s no more light. Then she changes into the nightwear that’s been provided and climbs into bed.
It takes her ages to settle, though. She’s not used to doing so little and brims with unspent energy. Her frustrations return with a vengeance, leaving her antsy. She gets up and paces. A cage is a cage, no matter how gilded its bars are, and Sam is feeling hemmed in, feels like she’s set to explode.
Whoever has captured her doesn’t have a canary in their birdcage, but a bomb.
And she’s ticking down to detonation.