fic: Widow's Pique by Tielan - PG-13 [amnesty 2008, harlequin challenge]
Title: Widow's Pique
Author: Tielan
Rating: PG-13
Category: AU crossover with the Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop. WIP.
Pairing: John/Teyla
Disclaimer: The realm of the Blood is not mine, it's Anne Bishop's. I shouldn't have to tell you that the Atlantis characters aren't mine, either.
Notes: This is the start of the prequel to my Elizabeth/Ronon story To Serve A Queen, and yes, I will be finishing it in 2009.
SUMMARY:
Among the Blood, Black Widows are witches who are feared and distrusted for the skill with which they can weave tangled webs to see visions of the future - or entrap the mind. But when Teyla Emmagan of Athos village is called to the court of the Queen of Atlantis Territory, she is less concerned about being misunderstood, and more worried to step awry in the complex politics of the Atlantis court.
Then, too, there is the distracting presence of John Sheppard, a Warlord Prince whose interest in her is something Teyla cannot fathom. Does he distrust her motives? Is he merely protecting his Queen? Or is his interest something else - something that Teyla must learn to accept in order to best serve her Queen, her Territory, and her own heart?
Widow's Pique
Teyla felt the tension the instant she stepped off the Landing web.
The psychic currents in the garden were faint as a line of spidersilk by twilight and delicate as the strands of a tangled web, but they sang to her senses like Witchsong.
Before her, the gardens of Atlantis court were laid out in vivid array, long gravel pathways that meandered through trimmed hedges of flowers and leaves, past pruned trees taller than any house in Athos and elegant marble statues that cost more than the combined monthly incomes of the entire village. A picture-perfect landscape as unlike Teyla's village as could possibly be imagined.
And yet beneath the beauty, uncertainty lurked.
What she felt was not the scent of corruption and decay; Teyla knew the feel of that taint and the land here was clean, the people cared for, the Queens who ruled Atlantis Territory true to the Darkness from which all Blood came - whether aristo, merchant, or commoner.
No, this was the first faint undercurrents of trouble, lurking beneath the calm surface of the court - a tangling uncertainty, a clinging doubt, a lingering fear.
If things were not wrong in Atlantis court, then they were not wholly right either.
Was that why she had been called here; sent in Charin's stead to spin a dream-web for the Queen of Atlantis Territory?
As a small group of finely-dressed people approached the Landing Web, Teyla supposed she was about to find out.
Beside her, her escort stirred, roused from his awed stare at the magnificence of the gardens around them by the approaching males and the young Queen who led them. "Teyla?" Torran touched her arm, fingers pressing light upon her skin in question. An old friend, named for her father, he had fought both Halling and Kanaan for the privilege of escort before Teyla had made her decision. "Are you ready for this?"
"No," she said, a faint, wry smile touching her lips as she contemplating her own doubts of her skill. "But that is not something in which I have a choice, is it?"
She hoped her uncertainty did not show. While she was accustomed to serving the witches and males of her village and the villages of her province, a Queen's court was another matter - and the Queen of Atlantis Territory was something else yet.
And yet, when Charin had received the request for her services as a Black Widow from Lady Melia, she had called Teyla to go in her stead. "You know all that I know, and some besides. You have tended to Athos and the villages around us since you were eighteen, Teyla. Now you must learn about the ways of a Queen's court."
Teyla was not so certain she wished to learn. If she was sure in her Craft, in the arts of the Hourglass, she was less certain of the group coming towards her.
"Teyla Emmagan? Of Athos?" The witch who spoke was of an age with Teyla, perhaps two or three years older, dark-haired and pale-skinned, with greenish eyes and a warm, welcoming smile as she held out her hands, palms down. "Welcome to Atlantis court. I'm Elizabeth Weir, of the Lady Melia's First Circle."
Teyla brought her hands palm-up beneath Elizabeth's, matching the greeting, even as she noted the tension among the males of Elizabeth's escort.
She was surprised at the formal gesture - an age-old greeting of trust given and trust received. As the recipient would bring her hands under the palms of the other, there was a moment when the wrist was open to a nail's vicious slice. When greeting a natural Black Widow, it was a gesture all the more dangerous.
For a moment, she wondered if the young Queen was an innocent or a fool. Then she looked into ageless green eyes and knew the other witch to be neither.
Trust given and trust received; Teyla lifted her hands, palm up, to meet Elizabeth's greeting.
"Sister," she said, smiling. "This is my escort, Torran Arungen of Athos."
Torran bowed respectfully to Elizabeth, graceful and neat. "Lady Weir." He'd kept one step behind Teyla, both guarding her back and making it clear that he was merely her escort and therefore beneath their notice.
With a wave of one hand, Elizabeth indicated the two oldest males in the group. "These are members of Lady Melia's First Circle - Lord Anders Sharam and Prince Harrison Weir."
Lord Sharam merely inclined his head, the bare minimum of civil notice, but Prince Weir put out his hands, palms down, for the respectful greeting.
"I'm also Elizabeth's father," he said with a smile. "If that wasn't clear."
"Father." Elizabeth said, a little exasperated.
"I inferred that," Teyla said, amused by the young Queen's reaction, and touched by Prince Weir's courtesy. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but the lines in his face were as much laughter as age. A good-natured man, she sensed, and one who'd had a firm hand in his daughter's upbringing. Teyla warmed to him without difficulty. "My father would say that it was the right of a father to embarrass his daughter with affection; just as it was the right of a daughter to disdain it in the name of public pride."
The laughter lines creased. "A wise man."
"So he often told me."
Carson Beckett was next, a sturdy Prince with easy blue eyes over an easy smile. He held out his hands for the courteous greeting without hesitation or halt, and his fingertips against her wrist were as warm as his smile.
"Lady Emmagan. Welcome to Atlantis. I hope you enjoy your time here."
"As do I, Prince Beckett."
His accent was unlike that of the others, a softer, more melodious rise and fall of syllables, and as she decided that she liked the songlike tones of it. While she could feel the protectiveness within him, it was restrained, presently dormant.
Not so the next male gestured forward.
Teyla fought back the urge to tense in the face of the first of two Warlord Princes. He hesitated before he held out his hands, and the hesitation was more insult than if he'd chosen to forgo the greeting entirely. Against her palms, his fingers were as cold as the blue-grey gaze that regarded her, calculated her worth, and dismissed her. Clearly, Prince Marshall Sumner considered Teyla's presence unnecessary and unwelcome even as he murmured the appropriate platitudes of greeting.
Behind her, she felt Torran bristle, and sent him a soft warning on a private thread as she answered quite as politely.
*He could not have made his dislike clearer than if he had spat in the dust,* Torran protested.
*He is a Warlord Prince with a Queen to protect and serve.*
*Then you will not mind if I spit in the dust when he greets me, as I have a young Black Widow to protect and serve?*
Teyla bit back a laugh. *You presume he will greet you at all.*
Prince Sumner's response troubled her only a little. She was accustomed to suspicion and wariness - the Hourglass Coven was not always held in high regard, and Black Widows were not generally considered 'safe' witches to know - not when they dealt in visions, tangled webs, and the Twisted Kingdom.
In Athos and the surrounding countryside, Teyla was well-known, but she had encountered distrust when she went further out to other villages - why should a Territory Queen's court be any different?
Ultimately, a Black Widow practised her craft according to the needs of the Blood who came to her, not according to public comfort with her skills.
That was how the Hourglass Coven taught their members.
That was how it had always been among the Blood.
Time and familiarity might warm Prince Sumner to her; in the meantime, Teyla would not allow herself to be disconcerted by his wariness. She was not the threat he imagined, nor yet the trouble he thought her.
"I think I can introduce myself," said the last male easily, tossing unruly black hair back from his eyes before presenting his hands to Teyla with confident intensity. "John Sheppard."
Another Warlord Prince - did Atlantis breed them? Yet not just any Warlord Prince but the dominant male of the group. Teyla saw that even as she lifted her gaze from the proffered greeting to the hazel eyes that regarded her with a disconcerting intensity
The Lady Elizabeth Weir might not yet have set up a formal court, but it was instantly obvious to Teyla that the three younger males served her, whatever other allegiances they presently answered to. It might even be the beginnings of a Blood Triangle, Teyla thought as she lifted her hands in response to the greeting.
Palm touched palm.
If Prince Sumner's skin had been cool against Teyla's, Prince Sheppard's touch burned like fire, an unexpected conflagration. Teyla held herself carefully still, aware that here was a male who exemplified his caste: arrantly male, exquisitely confident, and with the undercurrent of passion and violence that was so much a part of every Warlord Prince. It roused something within her, an inner rebellion that rose to his challenge, and as their hand touched, she pressed upwards, a subtle reminder that a dark-Jewelled Black Widow was not to be lightly dismissed - even by a dark-Jewelled Warlord Prince.
As he had challenged, so she would answer.
It was a risky move; one that might yet backfire against her if he thought her challenge a threat to himself or his Queen.
Yet something sparked in his gaze as her fingernails grazed his wrist. The shade of his eyes was suddenly more green than hazel, and a sharp awareness grew on his expression. Teyla felt the psychic currents around them shift, and caught her breath. Something had changed and she didn't know what.
To cover her discomfort, she smiled lightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Prince Sheppard."
But as he smiled, she felt foreboding trace a chill finger down his spine, even if his answer was easy. "The pleasure's all mine, Lady."
--
Author: Tielan
Rating: PG-13
Category: AU crossover with the Black Jewels Trilogy by Anne Bishop. WIP.
Pairing: John/Teyla
Disclaimer: The realm of the Blood is not mine, it's Anne Bishop's. I shouldn't have to tell you that the Atlantis characters aren't mine, either.
Notes: This is the start of the prequel to my Elizabeth/Ronon story To Serve A Queen, and yes, I will be finishing it in 2009.
SUMMARY:
Among the Blood, Black Widows are witches who are feared and distrusted for the skill with which they can weave tangled webs to see visions of the future - or entrap the mind. But when Teyla Emmagan of Athos village is called to the court of the Queen of Atlantis Territory, she is less concerned about being misunderstood, and more worried to step awry in the complex politics of the Atlantis court.
Then, too, there is the distracting presence of John Sheppard, a Warlord Prince whose interest in her is something Teyla cannot fathom. Does he distrust her motives? Is he merely protecting his Queen? Or is his interest something else - something that Teyla must learn to accept in order to best serve her Queen, her Territory, and her own heart?
Widow's Pique
Teyla felt the tension the instant she stepped off the Landing web.
The psychic currents in the garden were faint as a line of spidersilk by twilight and delicate as the strands of a tangled web, but they sang to her senses like Witchsong.
Before her, the gardens of Atlantis court were laid out in vivid array, long gravel pathways that meandered through trimmed hedges of flowers and leaves, past pruned trees taller than any house in Athos and elegant marble statues that cost more than the combined monthly incomes of the entire village. A picture-perfect landscape as unlike Teyla's village as could possibly be imagined.
And yet beneath the beauty, uncertainty lurked.
What she felt was not the scent of corruption and decay; Teyla knew the feel of that taint and the land here was clean, the people cared for, the Queens who ruled Atlantis Territory true to the Darkness from which all Blood came - whether aristo, merchant, or commoner.
No, this was the first faint undercurrents of trouble, lurking beneath the calm surface of the court - a tangling uncertainty, a clinging doubt, a lingering fear.
If things were not wrong in Atlantis court, then they were not wholly right either.
Was that why she had been called here; sent in Charin's stead to spin a dream-web for the Queen of Atlantis Territory?
As a small group of finely-dressed people approached the Landing Web, Teyla supposed she was about to find out.
Beside her, her escort stirred, roused from his awed stare at the magnificence of the gardens around them by the approaching males and the young Queen who led them. "Teyla?" Torran touched her arm, fingers pressing light upon her skin in question. An old friend, named for her father, he had fought both Halling and Kanaan for the privilege of escort before Teyla had made her decision. "Are you ready for this?"
"No," she said, a faint, wry smile touching her lips as she contemplating her own doubts of her skill. "But that is not something in which I have a choice, is it?"
She hoped her uncertainty did not show. While she was accustomed to serving the witches and males of her village and the villages of her province, a Queen's court was another matter - and the Queen of Atlantis Territory was something else yet.
And yet, when Charin had received the request for her services as a Black Widow from Lady Melia, she had called Teyla to go in her stead. "You know all that I know, and some besides. You have tended to Athos and the villages around us since you were eighteen, Teyla. Now you must learn about the ways of a Queen's court."
Teyla was not so certain she wished to learn. If she was sure in her Craft, in the arts of the Hourglass, she was less certain of the group coming towards her.
"Teyla Emmagan? Of Athos?" The witch who spoke was of an age with Teyla, perhaps two or three years older, dark-haired and pale-skinned, with greenish eyes and a warm, welcoming smile as she held out her hands, palms down. "Welcome to Atlantis court. I'm Elizabeth Weir, of the Lady Melia's First Circle."
Teyla brought her hands palm-up beneath Elizabeth's, matching the greeting, even as she noted the tension among the males of Elizabeth's escort.
She was surprised at the formal gesture - an age-old greeting of trust given and trust received. As the recipient would bring her hands under the palms of the other, there was a moment when the wrist was open to a nail's vicious slice. When greeting a natural Black Widow, it was a gesture all the more dangerous.
For a moment, she wondered if the young Queen was an innocent or a fool. Then she looked into ageless green eyes and knew the other witch to be neither.
Trust given and trust received; Teyla lifted her hands, palm up, to meet Elizabeth's greeting.
"Sister," she said, smiling. "This is my escort, Torran Arungen of Athos."
Torran bowed respectfully to Elizabeth, graceful and neat. "Lady Weir." He'd kept one step behind Teyla, both guarding her back and making it clear that he was merely her escort and therefore beneath their notice.
With a wave of one hand, Elizabeth indicated the two oldest males in the group. "These are members of Lady Melia's First Circle - Lord Anders Sharam and Prince Harrison Weir."
Lord Sharam merely inclined his head, the bare minimum of civil notice, but Prince Weir put out his hands, palms down, for the respectful greeting.
"I'm also Elizabeth's father," he said with a smile. "If that wasn't clear."
"Father." Elizabeth said, a little exasperated.
"I inferred that," Teyla said, amused by the young Queen's reaction, and touched by Prince Weir's courtesy. His dark hair was streaked with grey, but the lines in his face were as much laughter as age. A good-natured man, she sensed, and one who'd had a firm hand in his daughter's upbringing. Teyla warmed to him without difficulty. "My father would say that it was the right of a father to embarrass his daughter with affection; just as it was the right of a daughter to disdain it in the name of public pride."
The laughter lines creased. "A wise man."
"So he often told me."
Carson Beckett was next, a sturdy Prince with easy blue eyes over an easy smile. He held out his hands for the courteous greeting without hesitation or halt, and his fingertips against her wrist were as warm as his smile.
"Lady Emmagan. Welcome to Atlantis. I hope you enjoy your time here."
"As do I, Prince Beckett."
His accent was unlike that of the others, a softer, more melodious rise and fall of syllables, and as she decided that she liked the songlike tones of it. While she could feel the protectiveness within him, it was restrained, presently dormant.
Not so the next male gestured forward.
Teyla fought back the urge to tense in the face of the first of two Warlord Princes. He hesitated before he held out his hands, and the hesitation was more insult than if he'd chosen to forgo the greeting entirely. Against her palms, his fingers were as cold as the blue-grey gaze that regarded her, calculated her worth, and dismissed her. Clearly, Prince Marshall Sumner considered Teyla's presence unnecessary and unwelcome even as he murmured the appropriate platitudes of greeting.
Behind her, she felt Torran bristle, and sent him a soft warning on a private thread as she answered quite as politely.
*He could not have made his dislike clearer than if he had spat in the dust,* Torran protested.
*He is a Warlord Prince with a Queen to protect and serve.*
*Then you will not mind if I spit in the dust when he greets me, as I have a young Black Widow to protect and serve?*
Teyla bit back a laugh. *You presume he will greet you at all.*
Prince Sumner's response troubled her only a little. She was accustomed to suspicion and wariness - the Hourglass Coven was not always held in high regard, and Black Widows were not generally considered 'safe' witches to know - not when they dealt in visions, tangled webs, and the Twisted Kingdom.
In Athos and the surrounding countryside, Teyla was well-known, but she had encountered distrust when she went further out to other villages - why should a Territory Queen's court be any different?
Ultimately, a Black Widow practised her craft according to the needs of the Blood who came to her, not according to public comfort with her skills.
That was how the Hourglass Coven taught their members.
That was how it had always been among the Blood.
Time and familiarity might warm Prince Sumner to her; in the meantime, Teyla would not allow herself to be disconcerted by his wariness. She was not the threat he imagined, nor yet the trouble he thought her.
"I think I can introduce myself," said the last male easily, tossing unruly black hair back from his eyes before presenting his hands to Teyla with confident intensity. "John Sheppard."
Another Warlord Prince - did Atlantis breed them? Yet not just any Warlord Prince but the dominant male of the group. Teyla saw that even as she lifted her gaze from the proffered greeting to the hazel eyes that regarded her with a disconcerting intensity
The Lady Elizabeth Weir might not yet have set up a formal court, but it was instantly obvious to Teyla that the three younger males served her, whatever other allegiances they presently answered to. It might even be the beginnings of a Blood Triangle, Teyla thought as she lifted her hands in response to the greeting.
Palm touched palm.
If Prince Sumner's skin had been cool against Teyla's, Prince Sheppard's touch burned like fire, an unexpected conflagration. Teyla held herself carefully still, aware that here was a male who exemplified his caste: arrantly male, exquisitely confident, and with the undercurrent of passion and violence that was so much a part of every Warlord Prince. It roused something within her, an inner rebellion that rose to his challenge, and as their hand touched, she pressed upwards, a subtle reminder that a dark-Jewelled Black Widow was not to be lightly dismissed - even by a dark-Jewelled Warlord Prince.
As he had challenged, so she would answer.
It was a risky move; one that might yet backfire against her if he thought her challenge a threat to himself or his Queen.
Yet something sparked in his gaze as her fingernails grazed his wrist. The shade of his eyes was suddenly more green than hazel, and a sharp awareness grew on his expression. Teyla felt the psychic currents around them shift, and caught her breath. Something had changed and she didn't know what.
To cover her discomfort, she smiled lightly. "A pleasure to meet you, Prince Sheppard."
But as he smiled, she felt foreboding trace a chill finger down his spine, even if his answer was easy. "The pleasure's all mine, Lady."
--