Everything Worth Having / SGA
Title: Everything Worth Having
Rating: PG
Fandom: SGA
Prompt: Write about passing time.
Summary: For fiordeligi, who said I really love the Twelve Dancing Princesses - with John worried about Rodney's sudden exhaustion during the day and absence at night? What a brilliant idea! :D (McShep.)
King Caldwell didn’t notice at first. To be honest, no one did-the entire castle was preoccupied with the marriage of Princess Jeannie, and there was so much to be done: sewing, cooking, building-that her older brother, Prince Rodney (who, according to every seer on the street, would never gain a wife) was left alone. Rodney was known to enjoy his studies and solitude, of course, but Jeannie wasn’t fooled. No matter how much he detested flower arrangements and wedding songs, it was unlike him to go so far as to skip meals. As a matter of fact, he’d undoubtedly want to criticize Jeannie’s choice of gown and music, so she thought it odd (almost frightening) that Rodney had barely shown himself in weeks.
Jeannie, being crafty, took an ear to the grapevine. Apparently, the head chef was making Rodney larger meals at his request, and servants (mainly Radek) were delivering them to Rodney's chambers. The castle’s wait staff knew everything about everyone, especially the prince: he hadn’t requested any new books from town, his experiments remained untouched, and his carriage hadn’t been moved for almost a month, a sure sign that something was wrong.
It was the abandoned experiments that concreted Jeannie’s fears, so finally, on a breezy September morning, she intercepted Radek on his way to Rodney’s quarters. “I’ll take that,” she offered, reaching for the tray of food in his hands; the man looked ready to protest, so she rose her full height, hoping he understood the silent message: you will do as I say.
He wasn’t intimidated.
Well, he was, but his refusal remained solid. “It is no bother, your Highness,” he said, holding the tray tighter. His voice was as accented as the day the King first granted him a position in the castle; his stubbornness hadn’t changed much, either. She frowned.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am paid to do these tasks. It would be an insult to have a woman such as yourself do them in my stead.”
They were the proper words, and would’ve worked on female royalty anywhere else. However, Jeannie wasn't an average princess, and her brother’s absence wasn't a normal situation. Aware there was little choice but to be direct, Jeannie dropped the act. “What are you hiding?” she demanded. “Is Rodney up to something?”
“No, Highness.”
“Is he building another bomb?”
Radek shook his head, frazzled hair going every which way.
“Is he-’’ Her voice caught and her eyes stung, but Jeannie brushed both sensations away. Truthfully, she preferred reports of explosives and plotting as opposed to hints of disease. “Is he unwell?”
When Radek didn’t answer, she knew her worst worries were coming true. With emotion unfit for Daedalus’ female heir, Jeannie took his arm and whispered, “Take me to him. Take me to my brother and tell me his symptoms.”
Somehow, the pleasant morning lost its charm when Radek pushed open the heavy door, revealing the interior of Rodney’s large room. His notes were in the same stacks as when she last saw them, indicating he hadn’t worked on anything for many days. Clothes, stained with sweat, were strewn about the furniture. His shoes were completely worn. Most disheartening was the sight of her big brother, usually so loud and there, balled up on his mattress. His face was nearly white with exhaustion, and he’d lost too much weight in too short amount of time.
“Rodney,” she breathed, stumbling over to him, uncaring of whether his sickness was catching or not. Behind her, Radek closed the door and placed the meal on the desk. “Rodney, what’s the matter? Why haven’t you called the doctor?”
“Jeannie,” he greeted, brightening at the sight of her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be covering yourself in white taffeta or some such nonsense?”
“Forget the wedding,” she snapped. “This is serious! I haven’t seen you in weeks. Your work is unfinished, and look at you! You’re death warmed over. What’s happened to cause this?”
“Nothing,” he insisted. “It’s just some stomach flu.”
“Yes, the stomach flu causes weight loss even as you eat double your usual portion,” Jeannie sarcastically replied. “I’m no imbecile, Rodney. You’re sick, and for a man so concerned with his health-’’
“I’m fine, Jeannie,” came the interruption, and Jeannie felt her temper rise. “Don’t worry yourself over it. If I’m not concerned, then you certainly have no reason to be.” Seeing her disbelief, Rodney continued. “It’s probably some sleeping spells. The witches have been playing tricks these past few months,” and while Jeannie couldn’t dispute the rampant magic overtaking the Daedalus kingdom, she remained unsatisfied.
“I will check on you every morning,” she promised (or threatened, depending on one’s point of view) before leaving, nodding to Radek, who returned the gesture with a grim expression of his own.
---
Despite Rodney’s sleeping spell speculation, Jeannie knew better. Rodney had taught her to be a critical thinker and observant bystander, two qualities that assisted her in everyday political matters. But her brother’s health was far more important than reports of dragons or Wraith warlocks, so between appointments with gardeners and cooks, Jeannie took to writing. Specifically, she wrote one letter to every prince and princess in every kingdom on the map. Along with her description of the problem was a plea for help, and the promise of marriage to her brother (looking back, that particular incentive probably did more harm than good) if they could discover where Rodney went at night. His shoes were a dead giveaway; they couldn't become so worn unless he was doing some significant foot travel, but there were never reports of his leaving during the day. Obviously, twilight would be his only opportunity.
Letters eventually came back. Princess Teyla from Athosia; Prince Ronon from Sateda; Prince Cowen from Genii; the various royalties traveled to Daedalus in hopes of solving Jeannie’s problem, arriving under the guise of business. They had no luck. She offered whatever recompense they felt necessary, and Rodney, in the midst of these visits, would greet each new guest on shaky legs and offer some wine.
Later, Jeannie would realize it was the wine that caused Teyla, Ronon, and Cowen to fall into deep, long slumbers, allowing Rodney to slip away.
But not before Prince John came along.
---
Atlantica was a city far from anywhere. It was built on a cliff by the sea, but after several magical disasters (which caused natural effects), the sea rose and rose until Atlantica was on water instead of land. It took days to reach that particular kingdom, and even then, its royalty was… odd. Prince John was known for his eccentricities, and never hosted balls or celebrations like the other kingdoms. Their magic, too, was unusual. While Daedalus dealt with the Wraith warlocks and Sateda with renegade Genii alchemists, Atlantica was consumed with Ancestral mistakes. The Ancestors were long gone, but Prince John was constantly falling upon half-cast spells and half-finished potions that wreaked havoc in every corner of their sea. It was one reason why they never hosted parties.
But despite his reputation, Jeannie was thrilled to receive Prince John on November eve. He was always escaping one adventure or another, so perhaps he was best suited for the mission Jeannie assigned him.
“John,” she said, smiling as she tossed custom through the window and hugged the man instead. “I’m glad you’ve come. It’s been years!”
“I’m surprised you even remember me. We met when you were twelve,” he replied, returning the hug. Jeannie, haggard from her brother’s mysterious sickness, managed a smile and a prayer of thanks that John was never one to follow custom, either.
“You and Rodney were sixteen. I’ve never known him to take so quickly to anyone, but with you…” She trailed off, regaining the anxiety that was cause for the reunion. “Thank you for traveling so far. To be frank, I don’t think he has much time left.”
“May I visit his bedside?” John, although a man of rich noble blood, appeared concerned that he was not welcome by the rest of the Daedalus family.
“Of course,” she answered, dragging him along the corridors while informing him of every detail she could remember. She made note of Rodney’s sweaty clothes and worn shoes, forgotten projects, and fluctuating appetite. When they finally arrived to Rodney's closed door, she barged right in without knocking.
“Rodney,” she said, poking her head inside. “We’ve another visitor. Are you well enough to see him?”
“Let me guess,” came the cross reply. “Is it Carson? I’m not sure I can take another second of you two making doe eyes at one another. It’s disgusting, and the only reason I ever approved of your marriage to begin with is the fact that he’s a decent human being with a decent intellect.”
Jeannie smiled sadly. Not even his rant sounded the same. It was too weak, too absent.
“It’s someone else,” she promised, and pulled John through the doorway. When her brother looked up, his eyes nearly outgrew his head, and he scrambled to stand.
“John,” he said, stumbling into an upright position. “It’s been ages. Jeannie never said-’’
“I asked her not to. Takes the surprise out of things, don't you think?” John interrupted, frowning as he saw Rodney’s fish-toned skin, the bruised bags beneath his eyes. “You look…”
“Terrible, I know. Sleeping spell, pissy witches, it’s a long story.” He gestured towards a chair. “Sit and have a drink,” Rodney offered, reaching for a bottle of wine. He poured three goblets with a trembling hand, and gave one to Jeannie before offering the second to John. Their fingers brushed as the cup exchanged hands, and Rodney looked as though he wanted to cry.
Jeannie fell asleep not long after that. Her goblet was empty.
---
The only upside to living in Atlantica was the cool stuff John managed to find. Sure, most of it was hazardous, but between black energy clouds and killer whales were things like personal shields and invisibility cloaks. No matter what anyone said or thought about Atlantica, John enjoyed living there. A little more human contact would be nice, but if he had to choose between constant socialization and constant solitary, he’d pick the solitary any day. When he’d received Jeannie’s letter, though, he had packed his bags that night and began travel the next morning. John felt heartsick with the thought of the brilliant Rodney McKay falling ill, and though they hadn’t seen each other in twenty-four years (well, they saw each other at weddings and funerals, but there was never an opportunity to go exploring as they’d done when they were teenagers), John remembered Rodney more vividly than he remembered his own deceased parents.
By midnight, Jeannie had retired to her room, nearly stumbling with exhaustion. She drank all her wine, but John had swallowed very little of his own. When John retired as well, Rodney wished him a good night’s rest; John echoed the words, but he knew neither of them would sleep. He left his friend’s quarters, and once he was sure the coast was clear, put on his invisibility cloak.
The cloak wasn’t something he packed for kicks. He knew discovering Rodney’s problem was going to call for more than a healer; it would require stealth and investigation, both of which the cloak offered. John had also brought along a few extra goodies he used when fighting the ghosts that plagued Atlantica’s castle: a stun-gun, a life signs detector, and an unrelated bag full of tech Rodney might enjoy. Yes, they were gifts meant to woo, and no, he wouldn’t apologize for it.
A few minutes later there was a rustling sound from within Rodney’s room. John had been waiting for that, but was perplexed when the prince never emerged into the corridor. Was he sneaking out through the window? No, of course not. There weren’t any trees to climb down, and they were in a very tall tower. Perhaps he was using some sort of levitation spell? But Jeannie had never mentioned Rodney learning magic.
A blade of light suddenly appeared from beneath the latched door - golden white, ethereal, and John would recognize that color anywhere.
Ancients.
…
The next morning, he told Jeannie of his suspicions, but nothing could be proven until he actually followed Rodney. Jeannie aided John by visiting Rodney that night: when she entered his room, John followed behind her while wearing the cloak. She wished her brother a good rest and left under pretense of fatigue, but once she was gone, Rodney deflated. He stared at the floor, resigned, and began to dress.
He was just slipping on his shoes when a portion of floor, seemingly made from solid stone, transformed into a bright patch of light. Laughter wafted through, as well as colors and music, but Rodney saw no joy in it. “I don’t want to go,” he snapped, as though the light could hear and abide by his request. Instead, a beautiful dark-haired woman appeared.
“Have we ever given you a choice?” she asked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down. John watched as both the woman and Rodney fell through the light, and the good prince followed without a second thought, soundless as a wind, determined to discover the source of Rodney’s sickness.
---
By the second night, John Sheppard was horrified.
It was a wonder Rodney was still alive, much less able to pretend everything was hunky-dory during the daytime hours. John was used to rough tactics, but this was cruel, almost ridiculously so.
The portal, which was certainly not part of the Daedalus kingdom, led Rodney to a great hall. The hall itself was beyond breathtaking: the ceiling was littered with chandeliers, the floor was flawless marble, and the windows rose hundreds of feet, revealing either an endless ocean or a stained-glass picture. The hall was filled with beautiful girls, every shape and color, but it was clear that Rodney hated them all. John would, too, if they did to him what they did to Rodney.
“I need to rest,” Rodney gasped, trying desperately to pull away from the blonde in his arms. “Please give me a moment-’’ The woman only laughed and spun him faster, passing him off to another and another until Rodney had danced with them all more than once. It was sick, twisted, and made no sense at all. What sort of curse was this? Why was it happening?
John sat in the corner and watched all night. At dawn, the portal reappeared, and Rodney stumbled through it. John quietly followed after, heartsick as Rodney all but collapsed onto the floor, too tired to make it to the bed. John wanted to help: bring water, run a bath, anything… but he’d no doubt be pushed away. Rodney was always so sure he could take care of himself.
Finally, Rodney managed to pull off his jacket and tattered shoes. He drank from the pitcher by his bedside table, pulled himself onto the mattress, and was so exhausted sleep came immediately.
---
By the third night, John was pissed. He settled in his usual corner of Rodney’s room, hidden beneath the cloak. This time, however, he was ready: on his chest was a personal shield, in his pocket was a grenade, and in his hand was a special weapon Jeannie had given him. They both knew regular means of death, such as knives and arrows, were useless against the Ancients. That had left them with only one option: digging through Rodney’s stash. Over the years, Rodney had acquired a large amount of Ancient technology; some of it was useless, some of it was playful, and some of it was lethal. (Imagine Rodney’s delight when he realized Carson had the ability to activate most of it, which he did if Rodney was ever going to approve of Carson's proposal to Jeannie.) John found a particularly deadly energy pistol wedged between two other pieces, and he felt it was the most powerful thing the Daedalus kingdom had to offer. His stun-gun was pretty much worthless, and anyway, Rodney wasn't going to notice someone had taken the pistol.
It was difficult to watch Rodney say goodnight to his sister and then prepare for the hours ahead. He dressed slowly, unaware of John’s eyes and grimacing as he bent abused muscles. Being a genius, he’d certainly tried sleeping in other locations, but the portal was unerring, and in the end, Rodney had given up. There was no choice.
The now-familiar square of light appeared in the corner of the room; deceitful laughter and music floated through, and Rodney’s shoulders hunched. John pulled the gun-an energy pistol, though Jeannie thought the name was stupid-closer to him, clutching the handle in a white-knuckle grip. Violin melodies wafted upwards, curling around them and dragging them down. Rodney went in first.
John quietly followed.
The hall was as disgustingly beautiful as always.
John’s father, the late King Sheppard, had taught him military tactics as soon as John could walk. He made him train with Generals, and even allowed John to become a pilot, something the prince loved more than anything. It was the tactics, though, that would help John most, and he quickly began to breakdown the situation.
First of all, they were outnumbered. John counted at least thirty Ancients dancing their way across the hall, shuffling Rodney this way and that. Secondly, the portal was closed, so he’d have to wait until morning since he had no clue how to open it again... or if it would lead to the right place. Third, he’d have all of sixty seconds to close the portal forever, which-again-he was sure would involve more than throwing a sheet over it. Fourth, why was this happening? When did it start?
As the hours pressed on, John’s trigger finger began to itch. When midnight rolled around, Rodney looked ready to crumble; when two A.M. passed by, he was being propelled by the Ancients, not himself; when four A.M. finally, finally came and went, Rodney was collapsing more than he was dancing. John counted the minutes until five o’clock, and like a God-send, five-thirty brought the tips of sunrise. Rodney was red with relief as the sky began tinting pink; his expression made John focus even more, because Rodney shouldn’t have to suffer this. John would get Rodney out of here, permanently, no matter what.
“Okay,” he breathed, ever quiet in his corner, concealed by the cloak. “What would Rodney do?”
Rodney would think it out, of course. But John had already strategized-though Rodney would prefer more facts than tactics. He’d ask about the source of this hall, what magic created it, when it was created-
It was then, as the music shifted from one waltz to another, as heels made no noise against the floor, as the gun became a warm, welcoming weight against John’s hand, that he realized his and Jeannie’s timeline was all but nonexistent. John had been in Daedalus for three days; Jeannie had sent the letter a week before; she hadn’t noticed Rodney’s declining health for a month; which was when, if John wasn’t mistaken, that Carson proposed. Carson was only allowed to propose if he did a favor for Rodney, which was to activate all the technology he discovered.
The portal had to be caused by one of the newly-activated tech pieces. But that would mean Ancients were trapping other Ancients in a floating dance hall, which made no sense whatsoever. Plus, the history books painted the Ancients as a peaceful, kind society. It begged the question: were these real Ancients, or were they fakes? In the back of his mind, tickling his memory, was the recollection of a race similar to this in mannerisms. Who were they?
Receivers? Reformers? Reproducers? Potential names ran through his mind. Recorders? Revelators? The sun began to rise, lighting the windows and revealing the unending ocean bellow them. A building in the middle of nowhere-that was a clue in itself.
Remakers? Rebuilders? Those were wrong, too. As Rodney would say, wrong wrong wrong-
“Replicators!”
He ripped off the cloak and aimed the pistol to the woman currently dragging Rodney in circles. The music and laughter instantly stopped, and Rodney’s expression morphed from exhaustion into shock and (possibly, though he’d never admit it) hope that someone had finally come to set him free.
“You aren’t Ancients,” John said, taking a step forward while the story unraveled itself in his mind. “You’re Replicators. That’s why this hall is floating above a goddamed ocean-you built it. You went to war with the Ancients and lost. They trapped you in here. In this-plane of existence, for at least ten thousand years.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, practically snarling and wiping away any outward beauty.
“None of your business. I’m here to get my friend back.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” came the challenge. John moved his hand a few inches to the right and shot at the first woman within range. She burst into pieces of… well, John wasn’t sure, but he had a bad feeling she’d be back in a few minutes.
“Questions?” he asked. When no response came, he grinned; it wasn’t a pleasant expression, but more feral, as though he’d take great joy in killing each Replicator, one by one, if given the chance. “No? Then I’ll just take Rodney and go. You enjoy your party.”
He calmly approached the center of the room, grabbed Rodney’s shoulder, and began leading him to the square of light that promised them a return trip home. Of course, the Replicators were in no mood to be ordered around, and just as several made a move to cut off his path, John fished for the grenade in his vest. He pulled the pin.
“Catch,” he said, tossing it to the woman closest. She caught it easily enough, and just as he and Rodney stepped through the portal, the blast went off, leaving the Replicators in a pile of dust for what was sure to be a short amount of time. Too short, really, and the moment John and Rodney tumbled into Rodney’s room, John grabbed a chair and gestured for him to sit.
“Which pieces did Carson activate?” John asked, pointing to Rodney’s work table, covered in blinking, humming machines. Rodney looked uncharacteristically helpless.
“I’m not sure. I gave him a boxful-’’
“Rodney.”
“Get rid of it all, okay? Just turn it all off!” he yelled, which, hey, good idea. John began touching each piece, thinking off off off. He went as fast as possible, and Rodney kept an eye on the portal, nervously awaiting the appearance of a hand and face angrily prepared to take him back.
It was a box that ended up being key. A little black box, actually, no bigger than the tissue container on Jeannie’s vanity. The moment John mentally commanded it to switch off was the moment the portal closed, only John had a feeling it was closed for good, and that the box had, at one point, acted as a prison, containing the Ancient’s captured enemies. The Replicators weren’t like other prisoners, though-they managed to build themselves a home of sorts, and the only question that remained was why they tried dancing Rodney to death instead of just leaving. Some form of failsafe, no doubt.
Behind him, Rodney let out a deep breath. John turned and smiled.
“Hey,” he whispered, walking over and placing a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Want some water?”
Rodney nodded, watching as John poured a goblet from the pitcher. “You came,” he said, after drinking the whole thing in one go. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you.”
“Why wouldn’t I come? You needed help, so I pitched in. Jeannie might have had something to do with that.” He paused to refill the cup, and then asked, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, Rodney? I could’ve come sooner.”
“Jeannie was happy,” the prince miserably replied. “I didn’t want anything to ruin her wedding plans. Plus, I thought I could figure it out myself. Maybe have Radek do a little research, cast a few spells, be done with it. What’s another portal in a kingdom bordered with Wraith warlocks, right?”
John held on to the pitcher and let Rodney adjust to the concept of freedom.
---
The sun was just rising when John started for Jeannie’s chambers. Etiquette considered it improper to visit the princess before she was fully prepared, but John was a man who paid no mind to rules. He simply couldn’t sit and wait around for Jeannie to eat breakfast, pick out a nice gown, curl her hair; that was a waste of precious time, hours they could spend celebrating their victory. Luckily for John, Jeannie was a prompt woman. The door was opened the moment he knocked; she ushered him in, having already bathed and dressed, a carefully neutral expression on her face.
“Well?” she asked, expectant and hesitant all at once. “Is-that is, have you-’’ But at John’s slow smile, her posture crumpled and she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight and whispering thank you over and over again, until it became one long, indiscernible noise.
---
Jeannie, being Rodney’s sister and all, was wrecked with relief and itching with curiosity all at once. She was grateful-ridiculously so-of what John had managed to accomplish. In fact, she couldn’t concentrate on much else for the first few days; that is, until questions and common sense began popping into her mind at odd hours. Were the Replicators still around? What caused it to follow Rodney? Why did they inflict such a bizarre form of torture?
It was during an amiable, private lunch (away from the dress designer, thank god) with John and Rodney that she nearly voiced her questions. Or would have, anyway, had John not beat her to the punch.
“If you don’t mind my saying,” he began, smiling, “There’s one more thing to discuss.”
“There is?” Jeannie asked around a mouthful of potatoes.
“Payment?” John supplied, though it was more in the phrase of a question. “For services rendered?”
She jumped, as though instantly remembering that rescuing assistance didn’t come cheap. “Right, of course, you’ll excuse my forgetfulness. How much did we agree on?”
The prince blinked, his fork halfway to his lips. He carefully set it back down again and kept his eyes on her. “It… wasn’t a monetary number. In your letter, you promised-” He cut himself off, glancing at Rodney uncertainly. “That is, Rodney’s hand in marriage was offered in exchange for a cure, and considering I found the reason behind his illness-’’
John’s hesitant voice was overpowered by Rodney’s enraged one. Thankfully, he’d regained his color and was rapidly returning to his normal weight (which, in John’s opinion, was perfect-he’d been far too skinny before), but with those things came the rest of his previous quirks. Ranting came to mind.
“You did what?” he demanded, turning towards his little sister. “You offered my what? Please tell me he’s joking!”
Jeannie appeared startled, but didn’t back down. “What was I supposed to do? You were dying. Not only did I offer an inordinate sum of money, your betrothal, and trade assistance, but I practically promised my soul to anyone who could make you better!”
“And what if Ronon had managed to succeed instead? Or, God forbid, Cowen? I’d be sleeping with the Genii heir! Were you out of your mind?”
“With concern, yes!” she snapped. “I made a promise, and it’s not as though you have any suitors! In any case, would it be such a terrible match?”
“The fact that I escaped one prison and have to enter another! Marriage, Jeannie. Do I look like the married type to you?”
John’s appetite vanished. The food, so delicious only moments earlier, tasted like ash.
“Anyone can be the ‘married type’. And besides, John would make a wonderful husband-’’
“Oh, yes, let’s have the prince of Middle-of-Nowhere-Atlantica sweep me off my feet and carry me to his kingdom. Wouldn’t that be nice for all you? No more experiments, no more explosions, no more citrus-free food.”
John felt his face turn hot and his stomach hurt. He had no clue Rodney felt that way about him or his seaside city. Jeannie, on the other hand, merely shot her brother an ugly look.
“John saved your life! Can’t you at least pretend to be grateful? And anyway, I thought you’d be happy about having him. You two got on so well when you first met that I figured you’d get on now, too.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate being sold to the bravest bidder. Promising my hand in marriage-what do you think this is, a children’s story? We’ve progressed past selling each other off.”
John took a deep breath. Somehow, for some reason, he thought Rodney wouldn’t react this way. He knew there’d be some resistance, of course-but the sheer disdain in Rodney’s tone was disheartening. He hated the idea of being married to John. No, he despised it, and now he and Jeannie were fighting just when things were supposed to get better. Jeannie was to be a newlywed, Rodney was going to enjoy a regular life again, and now John had to ruin it all by being selfish. Yes, he wanted Rodney to be healthy-of course he wanted that-but at the end of the whole episode, he’d been hoping that marriage would be in their future as well.
Obviously not.
John could see Jeannie turn red. She was upset, too, and really, it was time for this to stop.
He gently touched her shoulder. She turned, apologetic and ashamed all at once, and seemed ready to offer the entire kingdom to compensate for his original wish. But John never wanted another kingdom or a sack of money. He had those things. What he didn't have was Rodney, and it seemed he never would.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I never meant to cause any disagreements.”
“John-’’
“I wish you the very best wedding,” he continued, ignoring her remorseful tone and taking her hand, kissing the knuckle as all princes were taught to do. “Carson is a good man and an excellent leader.”
“What about payment?” she burst out, unable to comprehend a favor without price. “What would you like? We have money, books, rare ingredients, trade... anything you want is yours.”
John only smiled before turning to Rodney. “And you,” he said, “are very lucky to have a sister like Jeannie. She was desperate. Please understand that.”
Rodney swallowed, and John took his hand as well, kissing the knuckle longer than he had Jeannie’s, with a softer touch of lips. He let his fingertips absorb the heat of Rodney’s wrist, brushing the soft skin there. He then rose and nodded his head.
“I’m glad you’re well again, Rodney, but I think it’s time to take my leave.”
“John, payment. What you did was priceless, but let me at least try-’’
“Jeannie,” he interrupted, “Atlantica is too far away for trade. We grow our ingredients, and books will only be used as fire kindle.”
“Gold? Gems? Both?”
This time, his smile was strangely kind. “What would we do with them, spend it on ghosts? Rodney’s health is its own reward, and I don’t want you to think otherwise. Besides, it was good to travel a bit. Too much sea can drive a man mad,” he laughed, but it was oddly sad, as though trying to cover disappointment with a blanket much too small. “Good night, the both of you. I’ll be off in the morning.”
“Going so soon?” Jeannie asked, just as Rodney said (each syllable dripping with acid), “Off to rescue another damsel in distress from a locked tower?”
John stared for a long moment, so long that Rodney began to look uncomfortable, almost ashamed.
“No,” John finally replied. “Despite the stories, Atlantica has a ghost problem. Sir Lorne tries his best, but it’s a two-person job,” and when Rodney added nothing to the conversation, John bowed and left, hands shaking, stomach hollow.
---
A month later, John received the wedding invitation.
It was in a lovely little envelope with script that curled and twisted. The letter even smelled good, which made John smile; it was so like Jeannie to consider every detail, even the scent of her wedding cards. The date was three weeks off, which would give him plenty of time to prepare, and wow, he’d be attending a social engagement. Not a visit, but a party, with crowds and a band and finger food. John hadn’t been to one of those in ages, not including the hellish Replicator nightmare.
“Nice,” Lorne said, plopping down in the chair next to John’s. It was a big chair by a big table in a huge hall, which made them seem even more pathetic. They were so small and alone on the edge of the map, resting on a sea that had yet to be fully explored, but these facts never seemed to bother Lorne. He just nodded towards the envelope instead. “Wedding?”
“From Princess Jeannie of Daedalus.”
“Am I allowed to attend, or is this fine honor not reserved for us measly knights?” Lorne asked, laughing. John snorted and shook his head.
“Feel free to take my place. I’m not going.”
“No offense, but aren’t you supposed to be a prince? Brave, fearless, headstrong,” he prompted, but paused at John’s expression. The castle of Atlantica was inhabited by only two men, a handful of courageous staff, and a plethora of ghosts. Fearlessness was a prerequisite.
“There’s a difference between headstrong and stupid. I’m not going back just for Rodney to explain how much he doesn’t want to marry me,” John groused. “Once was humiliating enough.”
“Maybe you should try harder.”
“I followed him into a realm filled with Replicators!”
“I meant woo him. Make him see how serious you are. Personally, if I were Rodney, I’d be hesitant about anyone wanting to whisk me away from civilization and into Atlantica. We’re not... conveniently located.”
“I’m still not going.”
“Are you pouting?”
“Not going, Lorne,” John reiterated, ignoring the question.
The other man rolled his eyes. “You’ll fight ghosts, but you won’t go win your husband. Very brave, sir. Your lionheart will be legendary.”
“I’m a prince. Why are you talking to me this way? Can’t I have you beheaded or something?”
“Or something,” Lorne muttered, ignoring the empty threat completely.
---
Through the first two weeks after the invitation arrived, John worked harder than usual. He hunted the ghosts longer, fought them more adamantly, and never walked away until he was victorious. He left the kinder spirits alone, of course, but the mean ones hiding in dark chambers or vaulted ceilings were taken care of immediately. When there were less reports of supernatural disturbances, John turned his concentration towards exploring his large castle, clearing out every room and transforming it from a lonely stone shell into something resembling home. Lorne monitored him carefully, never failing to inquire as to whether John had changed his mind about the wedding.
Midway through the third week, Princess Teyla was announced. She hadn’t written to say she was visiting Atlantica, so John was understandably surprised when Lorne led her to the study. She was dressed in her usual traveling clothes-a bodice, deerskin skirt, and multicolored jacket-but was no less beautiful.
“Teyla,” he said, jumping from his seat on the floor, embarrassed to have so many books piled everywhere. “I really wish you’d give me a heads-up when you drop by. Here, have a seat,” he offered, quickly clearing off a chair. Unsure with what to do with the chair’s previous contents (three rolls of parchment, two spell books, and an empty mug of coffee) he simply dumped them in the corner of the room before joining her.
“Please do not worry yourself,” she laughed, relaxing. “I am merely on my way to Daedalus, but wished to see you. I assume you are not attending?”
John mentally grabbed for a lie. “I would, but there’s so much to take care of here.”
Teyla raised an eyebrow and looked around. “You do not seem more busy that usual. I have not even been heckled by a single poltergeist since I arrived.”
“Like I said, working hard,” John said, smiling, but Teyla wasn’t fooled. She was never fooled. She reached over and took his hand.
“John, I heard of what you’ve done. I’m sorry Rodney declined your proposal.”
John’s face felt flushed. “Exactly how many people know about that?” he choked out. “He’s not-he’s not telling everyone, is he?” because John never thought Rodney would rub it in that way, but if he was-
“No, Jeannie informed me. She wished for Athosia’s assistance. Well, she wished for Halling’s,” and there, Teyla pulled a velvet satchel from her coat pocket. “I would like to give these to you in hopes you won’t let Rodney escape so easily. Halling took great care in making them.”
John blinked. Halling was known in every kingdom as being the best blacksmith and metal worker in the land. To have something of his was a great honor. John took the bag, feeling his stomach turn, and dumped its contents into his palm.
Wedding bands. Two of them, to be precise, each one platinum and embedded with a single star sapphire. They struck the light so perfectly, reflecting every color, every glimmer.
“Teyla-’’
“Nothing worth having is easy to obtain, John,” she gently interrupted. “You must keep trying.”
“You weren’t there,” he argued, frustrated. “He couldn’t have been anymore unhappier at the thought of being with me.”
“John-’’
“He made his opinion very clear, Teyla.”
She sighed. Stones from her coat caught the firelight, but she was no princess. She was his friend. They were equals, and Teyla only wanted what was best for him.
“Come with me to Daedalus,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Come just this once, and if he rejects you any further, I will not speak of this again. The rings shall be tossed into the sea.”
John was quiet. It was heartening that Teyla was so confident of his and Rodney’s marital match, but the thought of being rejected again made his hands shake with nerves. He was a moment away from opening his mouth and declining the suggestion when a hand fell onto his shoulder.
“You should take her advice, sir,” Lorne said. John closed his eyes and let out a huff of laughter.
“You guys are only pretending to give me a choice, aren’t you?” he asked. Teyla smiled, but John knew they wouldn’t let him run.
“Okay,” he sighed. “All right,” and was surprisingly unsurprised that Lorne had already prepared John’s bags for travel.
---
The journey was calming and Teyla made for a good companion, but it was hard to concentrate with the weight of the rings in John’s pocket. When they finally reached the gates of Daedalus, her presence was the only thing that soothed him to the point of only mild nausea, as opposed to the wreck he would’ve been otherwise. The gates were opened for them, and it took a mere half-hour to wander through the city and reach the palace that spiraled so proudly towards the sky.
“Teyla!” Jeannie happily greeted, spotting their approach. “You managed to ensnare him, I see.” Her voice was filled with laughter as she watched John slide from the saddle and land gracefully onto his feet. He turned and helped Teyla down as well, even though he was sure she was just indulging his ingrained manners.
“It was not easy,” came the reply, but there was a smile in her words. “He is here with much reluctance.”
“Should I be offended?” the princess teased, but placed a kiss on both their faces, resting a friendly hand on John’s arm. “The room you used during your last visit is prepared. Do you remember the way?”
“Of course I do. I never get lost.”
Teyla coughed at that. John grabbed his bag; on his way to his quarters, he passed Rodney's tower. He chanced a glance upwards, wondering if he could see Rodney through the window, but the glass was practically black with curtains, and John could see nothing at all.
Once John reached his quarters, he proceeded to take a short nap, worn out from the latest ghost chases and then the journey to Daedalus. He briefly wondered how Lorne was doing, but then let the thought go; they'd both worked so hard that the castle was much more pleasant, so if there were any problems while John was away, Lorne could surely handle them.
The short nap went on to a medium-length one, and then stretched into almost-too-long. He woke just as the sun was setting and stars were sprinkling themselves across the sky; with the window open, he could hear voices and laughter and tinkling wine glasses while the band tuned their instruments.
John was going to be late, something he couldn't afford if he intended to win Rodney's hand. He shot out of bed-Lorne would kill you if he were here, he thought to himself, somewhat frazzled-and quickly freshened up, changed into his best clothes, and (in the most princely way he could manage) hurried from his room and towards the party, passing paintings and doors and servants who were just as harried.
He tried to ignore the fact he was passing Rodney's tower again, but couldn't help but wonder whether Rodney was up there or if he'd already left for the party. Knowing Rodney, he was probably waiting until he absolutely, positively, Jeannie-will-kill-me-otherwise had to leave, trying to work on one of his experiments even as he was walking out the door.
John took a deep breath. He should go. Just go and meet people and bear it.
He bent to pick up a stone instead. Some may call it childish (John could be as childish as the next forty-year-old man), but, after a moment of careful aim, hurled it towards Rodney’s window. It landed true.
A moment passed, then two, before John picked up the second stone and launched it in the same path as the first. He repeated the process several times, careful to get it just right, before one of the panes was finally flung open and Rodney’s irritated face peered out.
“I don’t suppose you can knock on a door like a normal person, can you?” Rodney snapped, though it was a bit of a yell, too; after all, he was in a tower thirty feet above John’s head.
“As if you wouldn’t slam it in my face a second later,” John yelled back, taking a few steps back to get a better look. He couldn’t see much, but Rodney was wearing black - dress clothes, no doubt, with a high collar. On his head was an understated crown, nearly invisible to anyone not looking. He was obviously prepared to attend the party, but was still holed up in his room for reasons lost to John. “Are you coming down or not?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I have something to ask.”
“Please tell me how I’m not being clear enough. No. No. I won’t marry you, end of story, go away!”
“Fine, I will, but under one condition. Give me three reasons why you won’t even consider marriage.”
“You want reasons? Oh, that’s just-’’ Rodney made a face but shut the window, and just as John was preparing a few more stones, Rodney poked his head out again. “I’ll be down in a second. Hold your horses.”
Well, that was better. John had no desire to break any part of the Daedalus castle, but he was willing to do whatever required to get Rodney’s attention. He wondered what he’d say once Rodney was on ground level with him, but words, as usual, didn’t come as easily as they did for most others. He was a man of action, not speech. His best course would be to explain his intentions, prove his honesty, and give Rodney a ring. He wished Jeannie or Teyla were there. They always knew the right thing to say.
But John’s first mistake was assuming he’d be allowed to say anything at all, because Rodney threw open the tower door and gave John zero chances to argue his point.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re trying to con the wrong man. If you think I haven’t heard all about the women running after you-don’t give me that confused look! Do Princess Chaya and Princess Teer ring any bells?-then you thought wrong. Are you trying to tell me those women wouldn’t drop everything to be your wife? Chaya proposed, for God’s sake! She’s beautiful, she’s smart, and yet for some reason, you’re trying to get my hand in marriage? I don’t think so. It makes no sense, John, and I won’t be a part of whatever game you’re playing. Understand? So go away.”
“Rodney-’’
“Have you not heard a single word I said?”
“Of course I have! I had no other choice! But you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, and I’m saying I don’t want to marry anyone else, because I’m in love with you!”
It seemed, for the first time in ages, Rodney was lost for a reply. He took a step back, and John reached into his pocket, bringing out the rings, before bowing onto one knee. Rodney’s eyes got impossibly wide.
“Meredith Rodney McKay, prince of Daedalus, I’m asking you to be my husband. I don’t care what experiments you run, which tower you accidentally blow up, or what you can and can’t eat. I’m fully prepared to never eat another orange again, and if you feel Atlantica is too far away from everywhere else, then I’ll-’’ It was hard to say the next part, because John had grown to love his castle, despite its ghosts and strange happenings. “-build a new one, anywhere you want. I swear to be faithful, even when you immerse yourself in projects for days on end, and to protect you with my life, and to treat you as you deserve to be treated.”
John reached out and gently clasped his fingers around Rodney’s left wrist, drawing the man’s hand towards his. He took the slightly larger ring and slipped it onto the prince’s finger.
“John-’’
“I’m not above pleading, here.”
“John.”
John took Rodney's hand and squeezed, kissing the knuckle. “I’ll wait. If you need me to, I'll wait,” and Rodney sighed, a small sound of defeat, before twining his left hand with John's and bending to press a kiss against his hair.
When they arrived to the celebration, Teyla spotted them through the crowd: the revelers, the entertainers, the men and women so smartly dressed as they passed around wine. Sparkling fairy lights were everywhere, carefully levitated by the castle's own witches, and those lights caught the sparkle of John and Rodney's engagement bands.
Teyla smiled. “I am happy for you both,” she said, and touched her forehead to theirs.
---
The token seers were right. Meredith Rodney McKay, a king of Atlantica, never gained a wife.
FIN.
Rating: PG
Fandom: SGA
Prompt: Write about passing time.
Summary: For fiordeligi, who said I really love the Twelve Dancing Princesses - with John worried about Rodney's sudden exhaustion during the day and absence at night? What a brilliant idea! :D (McShep.)
King Caldwell didn’t notice at first. To be honest, no one did-the entire castle was preoccupied with the marriage of Princess Jeannie, and there was so much to be done: sewing, cooking, building-that her older brother, Prince Rodney (who, according to every seer on the street, would never gain a wife) was left alone. Rodney was known to enjoy his studies and solitude, of course, but Jeannie wasn’t fooled. No matter how much he detested flower arrangements and wedding songs, it was unlike him to go so far as to skip meals. As a matter of fact, he’d undoubtedly want to criticize Jeannie’s choice of gown and music, so she thought it odd (almost frightening) that Rodney had barely shown himself in weeks.
Jeannie, being crafty, took an ear to the grapevine. Apparently, the head chef was making Rodney larger meals at his request, and servants (mainly Radek) were delivering them to Rodney's chambers. The castle’s wait staff knew everything about everyone, especially the prince: he hadn’t requested any new books from town, his experiments remained untouched, and his carriage hadn’t been moved for almost a month, a sure sign that something was wrong.
It was the abandoned experiments that concreted Jeannie’s fears, so finally, on a breezy September morning, she intercepted Radek on his way to Rodney’s quarters. “I’ll take that,” she offered, reaching for the tray of food in his hands; the man looked ready to protest, so she rose her full height, hoping he understood the silent message: you will do as I say.
He wasn’t intimidated.
Well, he was, but his refusal remained solid. “It is no bother, your Highness,” he said, holding the tray tighter. His voice was as accented as the day the King first granted him a position in the castle; his stubbornness hadn’t changed much, either. She frowned.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I am paid to do these tasks. It would be an insult to have a woman such as yourself do them in my stead.”
They were the proper words, and would’ve worked on female royalty anywhere else. However, Jeannie wasn't an average princess, and her brother’s absence wasn't a normal situation. Aware there was little choice but to be direct, Jeannie dropped the act. “What are you hiding?” she demanded. “Is Rodney up to something?”
“No, Highness.”
“Is he building another bomb?”
Radek shook his head, frazzled hair going every which way.
“Is he-’’ Her voice caught and her eyes stung, but Jeannie brushed both sensations away. Truthfully, she preferred reports of explosives and plotting as opposed to hints of disease. “Is he unwell?”
When Radek didn’t answer, she knew her worst worries were coming true. With emotion unfit for Daedalus’ female heir, Jeannie took his arm and whispered, “Take me to him. Take me to my brother and tell me his symptoms.”
Somehow, the pleasant morning lost its charm when Radek pushed open the heavy door, revealing the interior of Rodney’s large room. His notes were in the same stacks as when she last saw them, indicating he hadn’t worked on anything for many days. Clothes, stained with sweat, were strewn about the furniture. His shoes were completely worn. Most disheartening was the sight of her big brother, usually so loud and there, balled up on his mattress. His face was nearly white with exhaustion, and he’d lost too much weight in too short amount of time.
“Rodney,” she breathed, stumbling over to him, uncaring of whether his sickness was catching or not. Behind her, Radek closed the door and placed the meal on the desk. “Rodney, what’s the matter? Why haven’t you called the doctor?”
“Jeannie,” he greeted, brightening at the sight of her. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be covering yourself in white taffeta or some such nonsense?”
“Forget the wedding,” she snapped. “This is serious! I haven’t seen you in weeks. Your work is unfinished, and look at you! You’re death warmed over. What’s happened to cause this?”
“Nothing,” he insisted. “It’s just some stomach flu.”
“Yes, the stomach flu causes weight loss even as you eat double your usual portion,” Jeannie sarcastically replied. “I’m no imbecile, Rodney. You’re sick, and for a man so concerned with his health-’’
“I’m fine, Jeannie,” came the interruption, and Jeannie felt her temper rise. “Don’t worry yourself over it. If I’m not concerned, then you certainly have no reason to be.” Seeing her disbelief, Rodney continued. “It’s probably some sleeping spells. The witches have been playing tricks these past few months,” and while Jeannie couldn’t dispute the rampant magic overtaking the Daedalus kingdom, she remained unsatisfied.
“I will check on you every morning,” she promised (or threatened, depending on one’s point of view) before leaving, nodding to Radek, who returned the gesture with a grim expression of his own.
---
Despite Rodney’s sleeping spell speculation, Jeannie knew better. Rodney had taught her to be a critical thinker and observant bystander, two qualities that assisted her in everyday political matters. But her brother’s health was far more important than reports of dragons or Wraith warlocks, so between appointments with gardeners and cooks, Jeannie took to writing. Specifically, she wrote one letter to every prince and princess in every kingdom on the map. Along with her description of the problem was a plea for help, and the promise of marriage to her brother (looking back, that particular incentive probably did more harm than good) if they could discover where Rodney went at night. His shoes were a dead giveaway; they couldn't become so worn unless he was doing some significant foot travel, but there were never reports of his leaving during the day. Obviously, twilight would be his only opportunity.
Letters eventually came back. Princess Teyla from Athosia; Prince Ronon from Sateda; Prince Cowen from Genii; the various royalties traveled to Daedalus in hopes of solving Jeannie’s problem, arriving under the guise of business. They had no luck. She offered whatever recompense they felt necessary, and Rodney, in the midst of these visits, would greet each new guest on shaky legs and offer some wine.
Later, Jeannie would realize it was the wine that caused Teyla, Ronon, and Cowen to fall into deep, long slumbers, allowing Rodney to slip away.
But not before Prince John came along.
---
Atlantica was a city far from anywhere. It was built on a cliff by the sea, but after several magical disasters (which caused natural effects), the sea rose and rose until Atlantica was on water instead of land. It took days to reach that particular kingdom, and even then, its royalty was… odd. Prince John was known for his eccentricities, and never hosted balls or celebrations like the other kingdoms. Their magic, too, was unusual. While Daedalus dealt with the Wraith warlocks and Sateda with renegade Genii alchemists, Atlantica was consumed with Ancestral mistakes. The Ancestors were long gone, but Prince John was constantly falling upon half-cast spells and half-finished potions that wreaked havoc in every corner of their sea. It was one reason why they never hosted parties.
But despite his reputation, Jeannie was thrilled to receive Prince John on November eve. He was always escaping one adventure or another, so perhaps he was best suited for the mission Jeannie assigned him.
“John,” she said, smiling as she tossed custom through the window and hugged the man instead. “I’m glad you’ve come. It’s been years!”
“I’m surprised you even remember me. We met when you were twelve,” he replied, returning the hug. Jeannie, haggard from her brother’s mysterious sickness, managed a smile and a prayer of thanks that John was never one to follow custom, either.
“You and Rodney were sixteen. I’ve never known him to take so quickly to anyone, but with you…” She trailed off, regaining the anxiety that was cause for the reunion. “Thank you for traveling so far. To be frank, I don’t think he has much time left.”
“May I visit his bedside?” John, although a man of rich noble blood, appeared concerned that he was not welcome by the rest of the Daedalus family.
“Of course,” she answered, dragging him along the corridors while informing him of every detail she could remember. She made note of Rodney’s sweaty clothes and worn shoes, forgotten projects, and fluctuating appetite. When they finally arrived to Rodney's closed door, she barged right in without knocking.
“Rodney,” she said, poking her head inside. “We’ve another visitor. Are you well enough to see him?”
“Let me guess,” came the cross reply. “Is it Carson? I’m not sure I can take another second of you two making doe eyes at one another. It’s disgusting, and the only reason I ever approved of your marriage to begin with is the fact that he’s a decent human being with a decent intellect.”
Jeannie smiled sadly. Not even his rant sounded the same. It was too weak, too absent.
“It’s someone else,” she promised, and pulled John through the doorway. When her brother looked up, his eyes nearly outgrew his head, and he scrambled to stand.
“John,” he said, stumbling into an upright position. “It’s been ages. Jeannie never said-’’
“I asked her not to. Takes the surprise out of things, don't you think?” John interrupted, frowning as he saw Rodney’s fish-toned skin, the bruised bags beneath his eyes. “You look…”
“Terrible, I know. Sleeping spell, pissy witches, it’s a long story.” He gestured towards a chair. “Sit and have a drink,” Rodney offered, reaching for a bottle of wine. He poured three goblets with a trembling hand, and gave one to Jeannie before offering the second to John. Their fingers brushed as the cup exchanged hands, and Rodney looked as though he wanted to cry.
Jeannie fell asleep not long after that. Her goblet was empty.
---
The only upside to living in Atlantica was the cool stuff John managed to find. Sure, most of it was hazardous, but between black energy clouds and killer whales were things like personal shields and invisibility cloaks. No matter what anyone said or thought about Atlantica, John enjoyed living there. A little more human contact would be nice, but if he had to choose between constant socialization and constant solitary, he’d pick the solitary any day. When he’d received Jeannie’s letter, though, he had packed his bags that night and began travel the next morning. John felt heartsick with the thought of the brilliant Rodney McKay falling ill, and though they hadn’t seen each other in twenty-four years (well, they saw each other at weddings and funerals, but there was never an opportunity to go exploring as they’d done when they were teenagers), John remembered Rodney more vividly than he remembered his own deceased parents.
By midnight, Jeannie had retired to her room, nearly stumbling with exhaustion. She drank all her wine, but John had swallowed very little of his own. When John retired as well, Rodney wished him a good night’s rest; John echoed the words, but he knew neither of them would sleep. He left his friend’s quarters, and once he was sure the coast was clear, put on his invisibility cloak.
The cloak wasn’t something he packed for kicks. He knew discovering Rodney’s problem was going to call for more than a healer; it would require stealth and investigation, both of which the cloak offered. John had also brought along a few extra goodies he used when fighting the ghosts that plagued Atlantica’s castle: a stun-gun, a life signs detector, and an unrelated bag full of tech Rodney might enjoy. Yes, they were gifts meant to woo, and no, he wouldn’t apologize for it.
A few minutes later there was a rustling sound from within Rodney’s room. John had been waiting for that, but was perplexed when the prince never emerged into the corridor. Was he sneaking out through the window? No, of course not. There weren’t any trees to climb down, and they were in a very tall tower. Perhaps he was using some sort of levitation spell? But Jeannie had never mentioned Rodney learning magic.
A blade of light suddenly appeared from beneath the latched door - golden white, ethereal, and John would recognize that color anywhere.
Ancients.
…
The next morning, he told Jeannie of his suspicions, but nothing could be proven until he actually followed Rodney. Jeannie aided John by visiting Rodney that night: when she entered his room, John followed behind her while wearing the cloak. She wished her brother a good rest and left under pretense of fatigue, but once she was gone, Rodney deflated. He stared at the floor, resigned, and began to dress.
He was just slipping on his shoes when a portion of floor, seemingly made from solid stone, transformed into a bright patch of light. Laughter wafted through, as well as colors and music, but Rodney saw no joy in it. “I don’t want to go,” he snapped, as though the light could hear and abide by his request. Instead, a beautiful dark-haired woman appeared.
“Have we ever given you a choice?” she asked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him down. John watched as both the woman and Rodney fell through the light, and the good prince followed without a second thought, soundless as a wind, determined to discover the source of Rodney’s sickness.
---
By the second night, John Sheppard was horrified.
It was a wonder Rodney was still alive, much less able to pretend everything was hunky-dory during the daytime hours. John was used to rough tactics, but this was cruel, almost ridiculously so.
The portal, which was certainly not part of the Daedalus kingdom, led Rodney to a great hall. The hall itself was beyond breathtaking: the ceiling was littered with chandeliers, the floor was flawless marble, and the windows rose hundreds of feet, revealing either an endless ocean or a stained-glass picture. The hall was filled with beautiful girls, every shape and color, but it was clear that Rodney hated them all. John would, too, if they did to him what they did to Rodney.
“I need to rest,” Rodney gasped, trying desperately to pull away from the blonde in his arms. “Please give me a moment-’’ The woman only laughed and spun him faster, passing him off to another and another until Rodney had danced with them all more than once. It was sick, twisted, and made no sense at all. What sort of curse was this? Why was it happening?
John sat in the corner and watched all night. At dawn, the portal reappeared, and Rodney stumbled through it. John quietly followed after, heartsick as Rodney all but collapsed onto the floor, too tired to make it to the bed. John wanted to help: bring water, run a bath, anything… but he’d no doubt be pushed away. Rodney was always so sure he could take care of himself.
Finally, Rodney managed to pull off his jacket and tattered shoes. He drank from the pitcher by his bedside table, pulled himself onto the mattress, and was so exhausted sleep came immediately.
---
By the third night, John was pissed. He settled in his usual corner of Rodney’s room, hidden beneath the cloak. This time, however, he was ready: on his chest was a personal shield, in his pocket was a grenade, and in his hand was a special weapon Jeannie had given him. They both knew regular means of death, such as knives and arrows, were useless against the Ancients. That had left them with only one option: digging through Rodney’s stash. Over the years, Rodney had acquired a large amount of Ancient technology; some of it was useless, some of it was playful, and some of it was lethal. (Imagine Rodney’s delight when he realized Carson had the ability to activate most of it, which he did if Rodney was ever going to approve of Carson's proposal to Jeannie.) John found a particularly deadly energy pistol wedged between two other pieces, and he felt it was the most powerful thing the Daedalus kingdom had to offer. His stun-gun was pretty much worthless, and anyway, Rodney wasn't going to notice someone had taken the pistol.
It was difficult to watch Rodney say goodnight to his sister and then prepare for the hours ahead. He dressed slowly, unaware of John’s eyes and grimacing as he bent abused muscles. Being a genius, he’d certainly tried sleeping in other locations, but the portal was unerring, and in the end, Rodney had given up. There was no choice.
The now-familiar square of light appeared in the corner of the room; deceitful laughter and music floated through, and Rodney’s shoulders hunched. John pulled the gun-an energy pistol, though Jeannie thought the name was stupid-closer to him, clutching the handle in a white-knuckle grip. Violin melodies wafted upwards, curling around them and dragging them down. Rodney went in first.
John quietly followed.
The hall was as disgustingly beautiful as always.
John’s father, the late King Sheppard, had taught him military tactics as soon as John could walk. He made him train with Generals, and even allowed John to become a pilot, something the prince loved more than anything. It was the tactics, though, that would help John most, and he quickly began to breakdown the situation.
First of all, they were outnumbered. John counted at least thirty Ancients dancing their way across the hall, shuffling Rodney this way and that. Secondly, the portal was closed, so he’d have to wait until morning since he had no clue how to open it again... or if it would lead to the right place. Third, he’d have all of sixty seconds to close the portal forever, which-again-he was sure would involve more than throwing a sheet over it. Fourth, why was this happening? When did it start?
As the hours pressed on, John’s trigger finger began to itch. When midnight rolled around, Rodney looked ready to crumble; when two A.M. passed by, he was being propelled by the Ancients, not himself; when four A.M. finally, finally came and went, Rodney was collapsing more than he was dancing. John counted the minutes until five o’clock, and like a God-send, five-thirty brought the tips of sunrise. Rodney was red with relief as the sky began tinting pink; his expression made John focus even more, because Rodney shouldn’t have to suffer this. John would get Rodney out of here, permanently, no matter what.
“Okay,” he breathed, ever quiet in his corner, concealed by the cloak. “What would Rodney do?”
Rodney would think it out, of course. But John had already strategized-though Rodney would prefer more facts than tactics. He’d ask about the source of this hall, what magic created it, when it was created-
It was then, as the music shifted from one waltz to another, as heels made no noise against the floor, as the gun became a warm, welcoming weight against John’s hand, that he realized his and Jeannie’s timeline was all but nonexistent. John had been in Daedalus for three days; Jeannie had sent the letter a week before; she hadn’t noticed Rodney’s declining health for a month; which was when, if John wasn’t mistaken, that Carson proposed. Carson was only allowed to propose if he did a favor for Rodney, which was to activate all the technology he discovered.
The portal had to be caused by one of the newly-activated tech pieces. But that would mean Ancients were trapping other Ancients in a floating dance hall, which made no sense whatsoever. Plus, the history books painted the Ancients as a peaceful, kind society. It begged the question: were these real Ancients, or were they fakes? In the back of his mind, tickling his memory, was the recollection of a race similar to this in mannerisms. Who were they?
Receivers? Reformers? Reproducers? Potential names ran through his mind. Recorders? Revelators? The sun began to rise, lighting the windows and revealing the unending ocean bellow them. A building in the middle of nowhere-that was a clue in itself.
Remakers? Rebuilders? Those were wrong, too. As Rodney would say, wrong wrong wrong-
“Replicators!”
He ripped off the cloak and aimed the pistol to the woman currently dragging Rodney in circles. The music and laughter instantly stopped, and Rodney’s expression morphed from exhaustion into shock and (possibly, though he’d never admit it) hope that someone had finally come to set him free.
“You aren’t Ancients,” John said, taking a step forward while the story unraveled itself in his mind. “You’re Replicators. That’s why this hall is floating above a goddamed ocean-you built it. You went to war with the Ancients and lost. They trapped you in here. In this-plane of existence, for at least ten thousand years.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, practically snarling and wiping away any outward beauty.
“None of your business. I’m here to get my friend back.”
“And how do you propose to do that?” came the challenge. John moved his hand a few inches to the right and shot at the first woman within range. She burst into pieces of… well, John wasn’t sure, but he had a bad feeling she’d be back in a few minutes.
“Questions?” he asked. When no response came, he grinned; it wasn’t a pleasant expression, but more feral, as though he’d take great joy in killing each Replicator, one by one, if given the chance. “No? Then I’ll just take Rodney and go. You enjoy your party.”
He calmly approached the center of the room, grabbed Rodney’s shoulder, and began leading him to the square of light that promised them a return trip home. Of course, the Replicators were in no mood to be ordered around, and just as several made a move to cut off his path, John fished for the grenade in his vest. He pulled the pin.
“Catch,” he said, tossing it to the woman closest. She caught it easily enough, and just as he and Rodney stepped through the portal, the blast went off, leaving the Replicators in a pile of dust for what was sure to be a short amount of time. Too short, really, and the moment John and Rodney tumbled into Rodney’s room, John grabbed a chair and gestured for him to sit.
“Which pieces did Carson activate?” John asked, pointing to Rodney’s work table, covered in blinking, humming machines. Rodney looked uncharacteristically helpless.
“I’m not sure. I gave him a boxful-’’
“Rodney.”
“Get rid of it all, okay? Just turn it all off!” he yelled, which, hey, good idea. John began touching each piece, thinking off off off. He went as fast as possible, and Rodney kept an eye on the portal, nervously awaiting the appearance of a hand and face angrily prepared to take him back.
It was a box that ended up being key. A little black box, actually, no bigger than the tissue container on Jeannie’s vanity. The moment John mentally commanded it to switch off was the moment the portal closed, only John had a feeling it was closed for good, and that the box had, at one point, acted as a prison, containing the Ancient’s captured enemies. The Replicators weren’t like other prisoners, though-they managed to build themselves a home of sorts, and the only question that remained was why they tried dancing Rodney to death instead of just leaving. Some form of failsafe, no doubt.
Behind him, Rodney let out a deep breath. John turned and smiled.
“Hey,” he whispered, walking over and placing a comforting hand on the man’s shoulder. “Want some water?”
Rodney nodded, watching as John poured a goblet from the pitcher. “You came,” he said, after drinking the whole thing in one go. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you.”
“Why wouldn’t I come? You needed help, so I pitched in. Jeannie might have had something to do with that.” He paused to refill the cup, and then asked, “Why didn’t you tell anyone, Rodney? I could’ve come sooner.”
“Jeannie was happy,” the prince miserably replied. “I didn’t want anything to ruin her wedding plans. Plus, I thought I could figure it out myself. Maybe have Radek do a little research, cast a few spells, be done with it. What’s another portal in a kingdom bordered with Wraith warlocks, right?”
John held on to the pitcher and let Rodney adjust to the concept of freedom.
---
The sun was just rising when John started for Jeannie’s chambers. Etiquette considered it improper to visit the princess before she was fully prepared, but John was a man who paid no mind to rules. He simply couldn’t sit and wait around for Jeannie to eat breakfast, pick out a nice gown, curl her hair; that was a waste of precious time, hours they could spend celebrating their victory. Luckily for John, Jeannie was a prompt woman. The door was opened the moment he knocked; she ushered him in, having already bathed and dressed, a carefully neutral expression on her face.
“Well?” she asked, expectant and hesitant all at once. “Is-that is, have you-’’ But at John’s slow smile, her posture crumpled and she threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight and whispering thank you over and over again, until it became one long, indiscernible noise.
---
Jeannie, being Rodney’s sister and all, was wrecked with relief and itching with curiosity all at once. She was grateful-ridiculously so-of what John had managed to accomplish. In fact, she couldn’t concentrate on much else for the first few days; that is, until questions and common sense began popping into her mind at odd hours. Were the Replicators still around? What caused it to follow Rodney? Why did they inflict such a bizarre form of torture?
It was during an amiable, private lunch (away from the dress designer, thank god) with John and Rodney that she nearly voiced her questions. Or would have, anyway, had John not beat her to the punch.
“If you don’t mind my saying,” he began, smiling, “There’s one more thing to discuss.”
“There is?” Jeannie asked around a mouthful of potatoes.
“Payment?” John supplied, though it was more in the phrase of a question. “For services rendered?”
She jumped, as though instantly remembering that rescuing assistance didn’t come cheap. “Right, of course, you’ll excuse my forgetfulness. How much did we agree on?”
The prince blinked, his fork halfway to his lips. He carefully set it back down again and kept his eyes on her. “It… wasn’t a monetary number. In your letter, you promised-” He cut himself off, glancing at Rodney uncertainly. “That is, Rodney’s hand in marriage was offered in exchange for a cure, and considering I found the reason behind his illness-’’
John’s hesitant voice was overpowered by Rodney’s enraged one. Thankfully, he’d regained his color and was rapidly returning to his normal weight (which, in John’s opinion, was perfect-he’d been far too skinny before), but with those things came the rest of his previous quirks. Ranting came to mind.
“You did what?” he demanded, turning towards his little sister. “You offered my what? Please tell me he’s joking!”
Jeannie appeared startled, but didn’t back down. “What was I supposed to do? You were dying. Not only did I offer an inordinate sum of money, your betrothal, and trade assistance, but I practically promised my soul to anyone who could make you better!”
“And what if Ronon had managed to succeed instead? Or, God forbid, Cowen? I’d be sleeping with the Genii heir! Were you out of your mind?”
“With concern, yes!” she snapped. “I made a promise, and it’s not as though you have any suitors! In any case, would it be such a terrible match?”
“The fact that I escaped one prison and have to enter another! Marriage, Jeannie. Do I look like the married type to you?”
John’s appetite vanished. The food, so delicious only moments earlier, tasted like ash.
“Anyone can be the ‘married type’. And besides, John would make a wonderful husband-’’
“Oh, yes, let’s have the prince of Middle-of-Nowhere-Atlantica sweep me off my feet and carry me to his kingdom. Wouldn’t that be nice for all you? No more experiments, no more explosions, no more citrus-free food.”
John felt his face turn hot and his stomach hurt. He had no clue Rodney felt that way about him or his seaside city. Jeannie, on the other hand, merely shot her brother an ugly look.
“John saved your life! Can’t you at least pretend to be grateful? And anyway, I thought you’d be happy about having him. You two got on so well when you first met that I figured you’d get on now, too.”
“Well, I don’t appreciate being sold to the bravest bidder. Promising my hand in marriage-what do you think this is, a children’s story? We’ve progressed past selling each other off.”
John took a deep breath. Somehow, for some reason, he thought Rodney wouldn’t react this way. He knew there’d be some resistance, of course-but the sheer disdain in Rodney’s tone was disheartening. He hated the idea of being married to John. No, he despised it, and now he and Jeannie were fighting just when things were supposed to get better. Jeannie was to be a newlywed, Rodney was going to enjoy a regular life again, and now John had to ruin it all by being selfish. Yes, he wanted Rodney to be healthy-of course he wanted that-but at the end of the whole episode, he’d been hoping that marriage would be in their future as well.
Obviously not.
John could see Jeannie turn red. She was upset, too, and really, it was time for this to stop.
He gently touched her shoulder. She turned, apologetic and ashamed all at once, and seemed ready to offer the entire kingdom to compensate for his original wish. But John never wanted another kingdom or a sack of money. He had those things. What he didn't have was Rodney, and it seemed he never would.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I never meant to cause any disagreements.”
“John-’’
“I wish you the very best wedding,” he continued, ignoring her remorseful tone and taking her hand, kissing the knuckle as all princes were taught to do. “Carson is a good man and an excellent leader.”
“What about payment?” she burst out, unable to comprehend a favor without price. “What would you like? We have money, books, rare ingredients, trade... anything you want is yours.”
John only smiled before turning to Rodney. “And you,” he said, “are very lucky to have a sister like Jeannie. She was desperate. Please understand that.”
Rodney swallowed, and John took his hand as well, kissing the knuckle longer than he had Jeannie’s, with a softer touch of lips. He let his fingertips absorb the heat of Rodney’s wrist, brushing the soft skin there. He then rose and nodded his head.
“I’m glad you’re well again, Rodney, but I think it’s time to take my leave.”
“John, payment. What you did was priceless, but let me at least try-’’
“Jeannie,” he interrupted, “Atlantica is too far away for trade. We grow our ingredients, and books will only be used as fire kindle.”
“Gold? Gems? Both?”
This time, his smile was strangely kind. “What would we do with them, spend it on ghosts? Rodney’s health is its own reward, and I don’t want you to think otherwise. Besides, it was good to travel a bit. Too much sea can drive a man mad,” he laughed, but it was oddly sad, as though trying to cover disappointment with a blanket much too small. “Good night, the both of you. I’ll be off in the morning.”
“Going so soon?” Jeannie asked, just as Rodney said (each syllable dripping with acid), “Off to rescue another damsel in distress from a locked tower?”
John stared for a long moment, so long that Rodney began to look uncomfortable, almost ashamed.
“No,” John finally replied. “Despite the stories, Atlantica has a ghost problem. Sir Lorne tries his best, but it’s a two-person job,” and when Rodney added nothing to the conversation, John bowed and left, hands shaking, stomach hollow.
---
A month later, John received the wedding invitation.
It was in a lovely little envelope with script that curled and twisted. The letter even smelled good, which made John smile; it was so like Jeannie to consider every detail, even the scent of her wedding cards. The date was three weeks off, which would give him plenty of time to prepare, and wow, he’d be attending a social engagement. Not a visit, but a party, with crowds and a band and finger food. John hadn’t been to one of those in ages, not including the hellish Replicator nightmare.
“Nice,” Lorne said, plopping down in the chair next to John’s. It was a big chair by a big table in a huge hall, which made them seem even more pathetic. They were so small and alone on the edge of the map, resting on a sea that had yet to be fully explored, but these facts never seemed to bother Lorne. He just nodded towards the envelope instead. “Wedding?”
“From Princess Jeannie of Daedalus.”
“Am I allowed to attend, or is this fine honor not reserved for us measly knights?” Lorne asked, laughing. John snorted and shook his head.
“Feel free to take my place. I’m not going.”
“No offense, but aren’t you supposed to be a prince? Brave, fearless, headstrong,” he prompted, but paused at John’s expression. The castle of Atlantica was inhabited by only two men, a handful of courageous staff, and a plethora of ghosts. Fearlessness was a prerequisite.
“There’s a difference between headstrong and stupid. I’m not going back just for Rodney to explain how much he doesn’t want to marry me,” John groused. “Once was humiliating enough.”
“Maybe you should try harder.”
“I followed him into a realm filled with Replicators!”
“I meant woo him. Make him see how serious you are. Personally, if I were Rodney, I’d be hesitant about anyone wanting to whisk me away from civilization and into Atlantica. We’re not... conveniently located.”
“I’m still not going.”
“Are you pouting?”
“Not going, Lorne,” John reiterated, ignoring the question.
The other man rolled his eyes. “You’ll fight ghosts, but you won’t go win your husband. Very brave, sir. Your lionheart will be legendary.”
“I’m a prince. Why are you talking to me this way? Can’t I have you beheaded or something?”
“Or something,” Lorne muttered, ignoring the empty threat completely.
---
Through the first two weeks after the invitation arrived, John worked harder than usual. He hunted the ghosts longer, fought them more adamantly, and never walked away until he was victorious. He left the kinder spirits alone, of course, but the mean ones hiding in dark chambers or vaulted ceilings were taken care of immediately. When there were less reports of supernatural disturbances, John turned his concentration towards exploring his large castle, clearing out every room and transforming it from a lonely stone shell into something resembling home. Lorne monitored him carefully, never failing to inquire as to whether John had changed his mind about the wedding.
Midway through the third week, Princess Teyla was announced. She hadn’t written to say she was visiting Atlantica, so John was understandably surprised when Lorne led her to the study. She was dressed in her usual traveling clothes-a bodice, deerskin skirt, and multicolored jacket-but was no less beautiful.
“Teyla,” he said, jumping from his seat on the floor, embarrassed to have so many books piled everywhere. “I really wish you’d give me a heads-up when you drop by. Here, have a seat,” he offered, quickly clearing off a chair. Unsure with what to do with the chair’s previous contents (three rolls of parchment, two spell books, and an empty mug of coffee) he simply dumped them in the corner of the room before joining her.
“Please do not worry yourself,” she laughed, relaxing. “I am merely on my way to Daedalus, but wished to see you. I assume you are not attending?”
John mentally grabbed for a lie. “I would, but there’s so much to take care of here.”
Teyla raised an eyebrow and looked around. “You do not seem more busy that usual. I have not even been heckled by a single poltergeist since I arrived.”
“Like I said, working hard,” John said, smiling, but Teyla wasn’t fooled. She was never fooled. She reached over and took his hand.
“John, I heard of what you’ve done. I’m sorry Rodney declined your proposal.”
John’s face felt flushed. “Exactly how many people know about that?” he choked out. “He’s not-he’s not telling everyone, is he?” because John never thought Rodney would rub it in that way, but if he was-
“No, Jeannie informed me. She wished for Athosia’s assistance. Well, she wished for Halling’s,” and there, Teyla pulled a velvet satchel from her coat pocket. “I would like to give these to you in hopes you won’t let Rodney escape so easily. Halling took great care in making them.”
John blinked. Halling was known in every kingdom as being the best blacksmith and metal worker in the land. To have something of his was a great honor. John took the bag, feeling his stomach turn, and dumped its contents into his palm.
Wedding bands. Two of them, to be precise, each one platinum and embedded with a single star sapphire. They struck the light so perfectly, reflecting every color, every glimmer.
“Teyla-’’
“Nothing worth having is easy to obtain, John,” she gently interrupted. “You must keep trying.”
“You weren’t there,” he argued, frustrated. “He couldn’t have been anymore unhappier at the thought of being with me.”
“John-’’
“He made his opinion very clear, Teyla.”
She sighed. Stones from her coat caught the firelight, but she was no princess. She was his friend. They were equals, and Teyla only wanted what was best for him.
“Come with me to Daedalus,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Come just this once, and if he rejects you any further, I will not speak of this again. The rings shall be tossed into the sea.”
John was quiet. It was heartening that Teyla was so confident of his and Rodney’s marital match, but the thought of being rejected again made his hands shake with nerves. He was a moment away from opening his mouth and declining the suggestion when a hand fell onto his shoulder.
“You should take her advice, sir,” Lorne said. John closed his eyes and let out a huff of laughter.
“You guys are only pretending to give me a choice, aren’t you?” he asked. Teyla smiled, but John knew they wouldn’t let him run.
“Okay,” he sighed. “All right,” and was surprisingly unsurprised that Lorne had already prepared John’s bags for travel.
---
The journey was calming and Teyla made for a good companion, but it was hard to concentrate with the weight of the rings in John’s pocket. When they finally reached the gates of Daedalus, her presence was the only thing that soothed him to the point of only mild nausea, as opposed to the wreck he would’ve been otherwise. The gates were opened for them, and it took a mere half-hour to wander through the city and reach the palace that spiraled so proudly towards the sky.
“Teyla!” Jeannie happily greeted, spotting their approach. “You managed to ensnare him, I see.” Her voice was filled with laughter as she watched John slide from the saddle and land gracefully onto his feet. He turned and helped Teyla down as well, even though he was sure she was just indulging his ingrained manners.
“It was not easy,” came the reply, but there was a smile in her words. “He is here with much reluctance.”
“Should I be offended?” the princess teased, but placed a kiss on both their faces, resting a friendly hand on John’s arm. “The room you used during your last visit is prepared. Do you remember the way?”
“Of course I do. I never get lost.”
Teyla coughed at that. John grabbed his bag; on his way to his quarters, he passed Rodney's tower. He chanced a glance upwards, wondering if he could see Rodney through the window, but the glass was practically black with curtains, and John could see nothing at all.
Once John reached his quarters, he proceeded to take a short nap, worn out from the latest ghost chases and then the journey to Daedalus. He briefly wondered how Lorne was doing, but then let the thought go; they'd both worked so hard that the castle was much more pleasant, so if there were any problems while John was away, Lorne could surely handle them.
The short nap went on to a medium-length one, and then stretched into almost-too-long. He woke just as the sun was setting and stars were sprinkling themselves across the sky; with the window open, he could hear voices and laughter and tinkling wine glasses while the band tuned their instruments.
John was going to be late, something he couldn't afford if he intended to win Rodney's hand. He shot out of bed-Lorne would kill you if he were here, he thought to himself, somewhat frazzled-and quickly freshened up, changed into his best clothes, and (in the most princely way he could manage) hurried from his room and towards the party, passing paintings and doors and servants who were just as harried.
He tried to ignore the fact he was passing Rodney's tower again, but couldn't help but wonder whether Rodney was up there or if he'd already left for the party. Knowing Rodney, he was probably waiting until he absolutely, positively, Jeannie-will-kill-me-otherwise had to leave, trying to work on one of his experiments even as he was walking out the door.
John took a deep breath. He should go. Just go and meet people and bear it.
He bent to pick up a stone instead. Some may call it childish (John could be as childish as the next forty-year-old man), but, after a moment of careful aim, hurled it towards Rodney’s window. It landed true.
A moment passed, then two, before John picked up the second stone and launched it in the same path as the first. He repeated the process several times, careful to get it just right, before one of the panes was finally flung open and Rodney’s irritated face peered out.
“I don’t suppose you can knock on a door like a normal person, can you?” Rodney snapped, though it was a bit of a yell, too; after all, he was in a tower thirty feet above John’s head.
“As if you wouldn’t slam it in my face a second later,” John yelled back, taking a few steps back to get a better look. He couldn’t see much, but Rodney was wearing black - dress clothes, no doubt, with a high collar. On his head was an understated crown, nearly invisible to anyone not looking. He was obviously prepared to attend the party, but was still holed up in his room for reasons lost to John. “Are you coming down or not?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I have something to ask.”
“Please tell me how I’m not being clear enough. No. No. I won’t marry you, end of story, go away!”
“Fine, I will, but under one condition. Give me three reasons why you won’t even consider marriage.”
“You want reasons? Oh, that’s just-’’ Rodney made a face but shut the window, and just as John was preparing a few more stones, Rodney poked his head out again. “I’ll be down in a second. Hold your horses.”
Well, that was better. John had no desire to break any part of the Daedalus castle, but he was willing to do whatever required to get Rodney’s attention. He wondered what he’d say once Rodney was on ground level with him, but words, as usual, didn’t come as easily as they did for most others. He was a man of action, not speech. His best course would be to explain his intentions, prove his honesty, and give Rodney a ring. He wished Jeannie or Teyla were there. They always knew the right thing to say.
But John’s first mistake was assuming he’d be allowed to say anything at all, because Rodney threw open the tower door and gave John zero chances to argue his point.
“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re trying to con the wrong man. If you think I haven’t heard all about the women running after you-don’t give me that confused look! Do Princess Chaya and Princess Teer ring any bells?-then you thought wrong. Are you trying to tell me those women wouldn’t drop everything to be your wife? Chaya proposed, for God’s sake! She’s beautiful, she’s smart, and yet for some reason, you’re trying to get my hand in marriage? I don’t think so. It makes no sense, John, and I won’t be a part of whatever game you’re playing. Understand? So go away.”
“Rodney-’’
“Have you not heard a single word I said?”
“Of course I have! I had no other choice! But you haven’t heard a word I’ve said, and I’m saying I don’t want to marry anyone else, because I’m in love with you!”
It seemed, for the first time in ages, Rodney was lost for a reply. He took a step back, and John reached into his pocket, bringing out the rings, before bowing onto one knee. Rodney’s eyes got impossibly wide.
“Meredith Rodney McKay, prince of Daedalus, I’m asking you to be my husband. I don’t care what experiments you run, which tower you accidentally blow up, or what you can and can’t eat. I’m fully prepared to never eat another orange again, and if you feel Atlantica is too far away from everywhere else, then I’ll-’’ It was hard to say the next part, because John had grown to love his castle, despite its ghosts and strange happenings. “-build a new one, anywhere you want. I swear to be faithful, even when you immerse yourself in projects for days on end, and to protect you with my life, and to treat you as you deserve to be treated.”
John reached out and gently clasped his fingers around Rodney’s left wrist, drawing the man’s hand towards his. He took the slightly larger ring and slipped it onto the prince’s finger.
“John-’’
“I’m not above pleading, here.”
“John.”
John took Rodney's hand and squeezed, kissing the knuckle. “I’ll wait. If you need me to, I'll wait,” and Rodney sighed, a small sound of defeat, before twining his left hand with John's and bending to press a kiss against his hair.
When they arrived to the celebration, Teyla spotted them through the crowd: the revelers, the entertainers, the men and women so smartly dressed as they passed around wine. Sparkling fairy lights were everywhere, carefully levitated by the castle's own witches, and those lights caught the sparkle of John and Rodney's engagement bands.
Teyla smiled. “I am happy for you both,” she said, and touched her forehead to theirs.
---
The token seers were right. Meredith Rodney McKay, a king of Atlantica, never gained a wife.
FIN.