Geek Knight versus the Black Dragon 1/2 (SGA)
Title: Geek Knight versus the Black Dragon 1/2
Author: tari_roo
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: I don’t these characters, and I don’t claim to. Nor do I make any profit from them. But if I did own them, the budget for the show would have been bigger, certain people wouldn’t have died. And most importantly, it’d still be on.
Summary: The tale of Sir Rodney who went Dragon Hunting. Alternative title: Shep the Dragon has a bad day
Warning: Do you need to warn for crack? If so - crack ahead. But also some delicious h/c
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The stable smelt like every stable in the world - like shit. But the overwhelming aromas of hay, feed, leather oil and warm sunshine overwhelmed the stink, and drowned it out and well, Rodney had to admit, stables were pretty nice places.
He tightened the cinch on Aggy’s stirrups, and she whuffled at him in complaint. “Sorry, old girl. Bit of a hurry.”
Aggy returned to her feed, placated for now, but Rodney knew he’d have a devil of a time getting her out of her stall, let alone on the road. He’d learnt to ride on Aggy, years and years ago, and now both his growth into adulthood and her swaying back meant she was no longer the terrifying monster of his six year old self. Now she was a beloved old friend.
McKay checked his saddle bags, all three of them and hoped he had everything, because there was no going back. No, not this time. Tying on the bags, Rodney turned for the weaponry. His sword, his father’s, old, battered and well used like everything in the McKay household sat in prominence on bale of hay. A bag of lance tips, blessed by the doddering old priest in the village. And then Rodney turned to his masterpiece, the damn reason for all of this - insanity.
Steam powered. Mobile. Metal. Like nothing no one had ever seen. A ‘true’ invention. Oh yes, he’d show them.
Unable to leave his sword, his oath forestalling any such sacrilege, Rodney tied the broadsword onto the saddle as well. And then tried to get Aggy to back up and out of the stall.
As expected, she refused to budge.
“Stupid, ruddy, great behemoth! Move, come on!”
Rodney tugged, pulled, pushed, strained and considered finding a carrot or apple, or something. But Aggy turned her nose up at the carrot and ate the apple before Rodney could even get her to turn. Cursing royally, because well, this was all Sam’s fault, Rodney grabbed Aggy’s reins and heaved. “Please come on! I’ve got... I beg you! Agatha!!”
Aggy moved, barely but it was enough to startled Rodney, who lost his grip in his fright, stumbled and fell, narrowly missing a pile of horse dung. Laying prone on the floor, his angry breath sending stray bits of hay and dust up into little spirals of motion, McKay tried to gather himself - and not threaten Aggy with the knackers.
As if stirred by Rodney’s traitorous thoughts alone, Aggy suddenly shifted and slowly her hooves moved backwards, out of the stall and Rodney had to roll out of her way, quickly. “Wha..? Oh thank the Maker, you sweet, beautiful...”
Standing, brushing himself off, Rodney’s praise died on his lips when he saw the true reason for Aggy’s compliance. Teyla. Sir Teyla Emmagen of Athos.
McKay opened his mouth to say ... something, but Teyla’s cool appraising gaze as she gently, and expertly turned Aggy jammed those words in his throat and all that came out was an indignant squeak, “I don’t need your help!”
Teyla turned, her blue and gold armour glinting in the sunshine peeking through the old wooden roof. “Come along, Rodney,” she said quietly, accent soft and exotic, “we have far to go before nightfall.” She took Aggy’s reins and led the old warhorse out into the yard.
Rodney stood in the stable, a mix of fury and shame raging through him, but it was tempered by such relief and ... delight, that as Teyla and Aggy were silhouetted in the doorway, he couldn’t but help smile. And run after her.
“I’m serious, Teyla, I don’t need your.... help.”
In the bright morning sunlight, the courtyard was warm, and homey, but there was no hiding the dilapidation of McKay Manor, its rundown appearance, and shabby decor a constant reminder of Rodney’s failures. But it wasn’t his childhood home’s appearance that made him pause.
“No, no, no ... no!”
Teyla was not alone. Sir Evan, Teyla’s second in the Veil Guard was lounging against the flanks of his Giant Elk, which bore bulging saddle bags and provisions. He tipped an insolent salute at Rodney, who scowled back. Near the dry fountain, no, on the dry fountain in the middle of the courtyard, Scholar Ronon was sprawled across the marble lip, paging through a heavy, dusty tome. Behind him, like a mountain in miniature, his steed slowly ate what remained of Mother’s roses. Trust Ronon to own a Battle Tortoise. The Tortoise’s shell was massive and made even more so by the piles of scrolls and books.
And finally, to make his humiliation and embarrassment complete, Carson and Radek were arguing near the kitchen doors while Jeannie plied them with food.
“No!” Rodney screamed and then blushed as everyone turned to look at him.
Going even more red, McKay growled, “Look, I get it. You’re worried and well... worried about me and want to help, but ... I am doing this ... on my own!” He gestured firmly at the three giant Mechanicals standing beside the stable as if to illustrate his point.
“Rodney,” Teyla began, her hands outstretched towards him, expression so damn understanding. But McKay would have nothing of it.
“No, Teyla. No. This is the worst quest ... party that ever tramped the hills of Equestria! The court painter! A scholar more proficient with knives than words. Two bumbling research mages. And me... the laughing stock of the Atlantean Court!”
McKay flapped his hands at her and forged ahead, ignoring her pursed expression of irritation, even though it was not a good idea to irritate Teyla. “I have to do this - my reputation, my .. everything rests on me doing this ... alone! Please.”
“Actually, not really,” Ronon’s deep voice rumbled, and with a lethal grace far more becoming of a knight than a scholar, Ronon slipped off the fountain and strode towards Rodney. “Princess Samantha’s challenge to you did not specify that you had to go alone, only that you were to use your devices to capture a...”
“Dragon! Great Galloping Gallants, Rodney. A Dragon! Have you lost your cotton-picking mind?” Carson yelled, waving a pastry at him. McKay inhaled to shout back but Evan interrupted smoothly with, “I’m here on the Queen’s orders. In fact most of us are, Rodney.”
That deflated Rodney completely and he slumped onto an upturned bucket, his armour rattling in concert. “The Queen? Queen Elizabeth? Is she determined to ruin me, throw me out of court?”
Teyla sank to her haunches, meeting him eye to eye, long copper hair tied back in a warrior’s que. It looked so much nicer lose and framing her face. “You have not made it easy for her to champion you, Rodney. Arguing with Kavanghan is one thing, but calling her General an idiot and undermining his authority, going behind his back and hers to divert resources to your devices is... “
“Stupid.”
“Idiotic.”
“Imbelic!”
Rodney shot the others all a glare but could not shake his head in disagreement. “But I am right, Teyla. Fighting the Asurans with magic doesn’t work. We have to find another way and my Mechanicals are the answer...”
“And Princess Samantha would almost agree with you, almost. But you, Rodney, you make it so unpalatable for her to admit it.” Teyla took his hands in hers and squeezed them tight, willing him to see her point, to see everyone’s.
Teyla was right. Everyone was. This was bigger than just him and his pride. Atlantis and the Realm of Equestria were at stake. “Rodney, you are a Knight of the Realm. Sworn to protect Atlantis. And while your prowess with the blade and staff have not ever commended you, your quick thinking and innovations have.”
Rodney winced at Teyla’s reminder that as a Knight, he failed at most knightly tasks. But as the last son of a long line of Knights of the Realm, Rodney had had no choice but to take his family’s place in the Service. Fortunately Queen Elizabeth was as far sighted as she was beautiful and had let him form an Experimental Artillery Division. A general ‘experimental’ weapons division. Radek and Carson, his fellow dreamers of things unknown and extraordinary were his sole colleagues. Everyone else in Atlantis and the outer lands put their trust in the tried and true strength of the Knights and the Battle Mages.
Even if Oberon and his Iron Soldiers had conquered Genia in a week. The Genii, old enemies, were strong, powerful fighters. And they had lost. Badly.
Rodney glared at Ronon, “I’m sure you aren’t here on anyone’s orders.”
Ronon shook his head, his long hair shaking like a wave, “No. I am not. But you go in seek of a creature not seen in these lands for hundreds of years. I would see it.”
“Typical. Only you would go looking for a Dragon just for the hell of it,” Rodney muttered. Carson stomped over, face covered in crumbs. Damn, Rodney had missed Jeannie’s blueberry hotpockets. “Rodney, you prideful Fool, better a quest for knowledge than one based on stubborn pride. If you had not insulted the Princess...”
McKay exploded, standing up to meet Carson eyeball to eyeball, well aware his anger was mostly directed at himself, “She practically tore our designs to shred, Carson. Our designs. The ones we have been working on for years!”
“That still don’t work except every other Tuesday when the wind blows from the sea!” Carson was just as angry, and went red in the face, poking Rodney hard in the chest with the hotpocket, smearing blueberry juice all along Rodney’s armour.
“Only because you and Rat Brain over there can’t overcome the magical dissonance between the metal stress and the energy ratios of the steam pulley!” Rodney snarled, jabbing his finger at Carson in equal heat.
Very firmly, Teyla stepped between them and separate them, Ronon pulling Carson to one side. “Enough! Rodney, your mechanical ‘soldiers’ work sufficient to prove your point, yes?”
“Yes,” McKay muttered, “no thanks to Carson McFumblecharms.”
“Carson, you and Radek insisted on coming with Evan and I, so - please stop arguing and fighting or else you will be left behind.”
Teyla’s expression brooked no disagreement, so Carson meekly nodded. “Sorry, Sir Teyla. I apologise. Unforgiveable of me. Just worried, I assure you.”
“Worried, yes. Convinced we are not going to our doom, no,” Radek chirped in as he brought his and Carson’s miniature elephant closer. George, the elephant was not exactly miniature. Large enough to carry both Mages, his breed’s odd distinction came from the tiny ears and trunk. Miniature elephants gave Rodney the creeps. They looked like demented reflections of the true creatures.
“Fine, fine. You can all come,” Rodney yelled, as if his permission was required. “Let’s get this circus on the road.”
And circus it was. Because the Mechanicals, while working, were not up for a prolonged walk, just yet. Snail would be towing them on a weightless platform. Snail, Rodney’s first working Mechanical was both his pride and joy, and his continued embarrassment. A lot of people in Atlantis still called him Sir Snail, or Sir Slime, in memory of his dismal failure at the tourney last year. Riding Snail in the joust had seemed like a good idea - a good way to show the metal of his Mechanicals.
Yeah, the result of that disaster was best left unmentioned.
Snail though, whose inner coils and cogs allowed him to mimic the motion of a snail, had a revolving track of fitted joints pushing him forward. Fortunately, his pace far outstripped his smaller inspiration. And he was stronger than he looked.
Walking over to Snail, Rodney yelled over his shoulder, “Ronon, Sir Evan, please go get my canon in the stable. The open road calls.”
By the time they all hit the road, Teyla on her Western Tiger leading the way, the sun was high in the sky. Rodney took second spot, holding Snail’s control’s gingerly, watching with a careful eye the weightless platform and its precious cargo. Evan and Ronon rode side by side, the Tortoise easily keeping pace with the Elk. Carson and Radek brought up the rear, their elephant snuffling in a congested fashion. The pair were already arguing about something.
The nearest Way Point was about an hour away, but they needed to have a destination in mind before stepping through the Portal.
Reigning Aggy in, Rodney let Snail pass him, the Mechanicals floating by on the airy platform. Once alongside Ronon and Sir Evan, Rodney shot them both a look of remonstration and said formally, “I had thought to try the Wingsong Mountains. The traditional home of Dragons.”
Evan snorted and tried not to laugh. Ronon openly smiled and said, “Sure, Sir Rodney. We can go there if you wish to die.”
Rodney flushed, “Where-else do you suggest, Scholar?”
“There are surely plenty of Dragons in the Wingsong Mountains, McKay,” Sir Evan laughed, “The problem is they have a dim view of Dragon Hunters. And besides it’d take three portal trips at least.”
Ronon picked up a small book and opened it, “I have an idea, McKay. This is the record of a herbalist who travelled the world cataloguing regional plant species.”
Rodney stared at the massive man on the Tortoise. He wanted to sneer derisively but despite his apparent love of knowledge, Ronon was not one to sneer at. “So?” Rodney sighed.
“He noted that in the far North, notably near the Wingsong Mountains, the very common herb meldo-sweet cannot be found. At all.”
Eavesdropping no doubt, Carson called from behind, “Oh, Aye. That’s true enough. Up in Gael its a right rare herb. Down here in Equestria its practically a weed.”
Rolling his eyes, McKay rolled his tongue as he said, ”Really. Fascinating. Please go on.”
Smirking at Rodney, Ronon tossed him the book. “The herbalist was a bit eccentric and lived oh, a thousand years or so, but take a look at the note he made about the name.”
Curious despite himself, Rodney read the little entry: “Meldo-sweet groes in meadows and vales high and lowe in the Realms. Good for rubbgago and gout in olde men of ill use, but it nare is found in North. Long ago name was Dragoen’s Bane. Ole Jaime swore it so.”
“Dragon’s Bane?” Rodney squeaked, glancing up at Ronon. “Surely that’s a myth?”
“When last did a Dragon visit the Realms, Sir Rodney?” Evan said, doodling on his sketch pad. “Maybe all that meldo-sweet in our meadows kept them away.”
Desperate enough for this quest to work, Rodney clung onto any hope offered, and clutched the little book. He snarled half-heartedly, “Well, that’s just great, but we still have no idea where to look for a Dragon.”
Several beats of silence passed before Radek mused, “Well, we could try Khandahar. Cousin of mine there said they saw a Dragon, not a week ago. Orbed me about it. Well, orbed me about Great Aunt Hya’s foot, but mentioned the Dragon. Did I not say already?”
Rodney stared at Radek, who paled under the glare. Khandahar was only one Portal trip away, to the west. Dry desert land. Supposedly rich with gold and jewels. Maybe enough to entice a few Dragons. Rodney smiled. Maybe the circus would turn out to be a real quest afterall.
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The Khandahar rumours were confirmed by a woodsman they met near the Way Point. As a small desert town whose main product was sheep, Khandahar traded a lot with villages with a ready supply of wood. In return, they traded good lamb meat, spices and salt. The woodsman had nodded and shrugged, confirming only that he had heard the same story about a dragon attacking the flocks.
And fortunately, favour continued to shine on them. The meadow that the tall Way Point stood in was filled with meldo-sweet. While Snail, Evan’s Elk and the Tortoise assisted in harvesting the plant, everyone else with two hands sat down to weave, wrap or tie the plant onto the net and ropes. Carson, Rodney and Radek were using Mechanicals Two, Three and Four. One had died a nasty death a few days ago, exploding while trying to think beyond the last command.
As Mechanicals with human ‘operators’, Rodney’s devices worked perfectly. The majority of their moving parts and strength came from cogs, wheels, pumps and pistons. Powered by steam, lightning and absorbed sunrays, the mechanicals relied on a combination of heat and water sigils, contained lightning in a bottle and battle magic symbols for their internal power. Rodney would have preferred them to be entirely self powered without any magic. But it was not to be. Or rather he hadn’t found a way yet.
Rodney also wanted true Automatons, like the Asuran Iron Soldiers. Mechanicals who did not need a human operator to function. So far every test to turn his machines into true golems had resulted in disaster, especially with Number One. For the task at hand though, Rodney was confident that between Radek, Carson and himself, they would be able to direct the Mechanicals. Right now, the three machines were making quick work of the net, the finely detailed work well within their capabilities.
The rough plan they had hatched relied heavily on the meldo-sweet actually being Dragon’s Bane. If it wasn’t, Plan B was to beat a hasty retreat, leaving Ronon behind as a snack for the Dragon. Or that was the plan in Rodney’s head.
“I have a question, Rodney.”
Carson didn’t look up from his task to ask the question, he just barrelled on. “This rope and net are all well and good. But what if the dragon just, you know, breathes fire at us and burns the rope. What then?”
Rodney paused, and number Four did as well. He stared at Carson with huge eyes and stammered, “How the hell am I supposed to know? We just have to shoot the thing first before it can flame us!”
Teyla and Evan shared a knowing look, and Radek looked sick. “I think I’ll wait here, perhaps,” the traitors Zech muttered. Squeezing the thing rope in his hands like it was a neck to throttle, McKay snarled, “I didn’t ask you to come!”
Ronon, who was ‘researching’ and not meldo-sweet wrapping mused to himself, nose in a book, “Maybe we should burn the meldo-sweet before the Dragon burns us?”
The collective heads of the group turned towards him, including the Mechanicals. “Say that again, oh wise one,” Rodney growled.
“Legend has it that Dragon’s Bane in any form is effective against dragons. I read an account were a farmer saved his herd by burning his meadows. The smoke of the meldo-sweet burning drove the dragon away.” Ronon didn’t look up either, and turned a page, engrossed in what he was reading.
“Legend? Great, so we’re trusting our lives on your recollection of a tall tale some goat herder told to explain why the fields were on fire!”
Carson thought looked constipated, which meant he was thinking. “Perhaps a pending pot would be the answer. Construct one around a burning meldo-sweet plant and then ... “
“Have the Mechanicals throw them at the Dragon!” Radek concluded, bouncing up and down with excitement.
“We are not throwing clay pots at a Dragon!”
As usual, everyone ignored Rodney and soon Carson and Radek stopped making ropes and started laying pots.
In all too soon a time, the circus was ready to depart. Rodney though was feeling decidedly anxious. “Ok, ok, let me understand this new and improved plan. We find the dragon’s cave. Throw in some pots, hope this meldo-thing works.”
“At least this way, we’ll know right up front if the meldo-sweet is Dragon’s Bane.”
Rodney ignored Sir Evan.
“We are then going to distract the dragon enough with pots and arrows until I can shoot the net from my cannon and capture it.”
Everyone nodded.
Rodney snarled. “We are going to die.”
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An odd rattling sound drew Shep from restless slumber. The comforting darkness of the cave blanketed him, the rocks cool and soothing, the blistering heat of the desert outside completely absent.
The rattling continued, something like uniform, forced steps accompanied by a more familiar sound - a horse.
Crap.
The noises stopped, and Shep lay perfectly still, aware that from outside he was invisible in the dark.
“Dragon! Foul beast of the ... fiery pits of ... Fiery Pits! I challenge you! Come forth and do Battle!”
Shep sighed and buried his nose under his wing. Great, an idiotic fool of a knight out to make a name for himself. Or worse, trying to impress a girl. Shep was not budging, no way, no how.
The fool outside waited about five minutes before bellowing, “Hey! You! Get out here and face me! Or are you a coward? A yellow livered chicken! With scales.” Shep snorted to himself, and twitched a little with laughter. The movement pulled on the open wound on his left hind leg, and he winced, stilling. He wasn’t going anyway today, not if he could help it.
In the silence of his non-appearance, Shep hoped the uppity Knight outside would take the hint and leave, or figure that no one was home. In retrospect, he should have stayed hidden until the moon set before going hunting a few nights ago. Those sharp eyed sheep herders must have seen his kill and since this was the only cave in the area big enough for a dragon ... it was a matter of deduction. But he needed food to heal, and time. And lots of rest.
A murmur of voices outside was abruptly followed by something small and round being tossed into the cave. It landed with a loud crack and instantly grey smoke billowed out of the ball. Snorting, and growling, Shep scrambled back, away from the fumes. Dragon’s Bane. Burning Dragon’s Bane. The biggest, most important reason not to fly so far south - Dragon’s Bane.
The vicious fumes were stinging his eyes and already irritating his breathing, lungs wheezing, head thick with the smoke. There was no rear entrance in the cave, so Shep had no choice but to head towards the trap waiting for him outside, but he had to escape the smoke, now, before it overcame him.
The sun was bright, but his eyes adjusted quickly and he ducked the wave of arrows heading towards him, most bouncing off his scales, one or two pricking his skin. Out of flame range, a small group of human fighers, Knights mostly, stood. Three or four were archers, shooting at him. But Shep’s immediate problem, or threat, were the three mechanical warriors closing in on him.
Clunking and hissing, they were much larger than a knight, and as they closed, all three threw clay pots at him. Shep lowered his head and opened his jaws, calling forth a torrent of flame. As the fire dissipated and the air cleared, one of the mechanicals was glowing red, and falling apart, hot pieces of metal pinging off. The other two had spilt up and were running at him. Alas, the clay pots thrown before still landed and several more quickly followed, the mechanical’s throwing swift and accurate. Grey noxious smoke rose in a wave of miasma. More burning Dragon’s Bane. Shep turned, trying to keep out of the smoke. But his eyes were stinging and the extra lids for flying in fierce winds were obscuring his vision as his instinct to protect his eyes kicked in. He could barely see anything.
Desperately Shep roared and flamed in a wide arc, hoping to catch the mechanicals in the blaze. The crash of more pots were the only indication of his failure. Surrounded by smoke and wheezing madly, his lungs filling with smoke he could not absorb, Shep started flapping his wings before he even thought the next steps through. Escape through flight was his only option, but in order to gain enough altitude quickly to get away, he’d have to leap up. The moment he pushed down on his injured leg, he roared in pain, the leg almost collapsing under the strain. But by beating his wings furiously, both to the scatter the smoke and gain air, Shep ignored the fire of pain and leapt forward and up.
It was probably the most ungainly and uncoordinated lift off he’d ever made, but elegance was far from his thoughts. Through the opening columns of smoke, the mechanicals still steadily threw pots at him, and Shep glimpsed a short Knight running towards some sort of contraption. From above it was impossible to tell if this Knight was the source of his current pain, but Shep figured even if not, pay back was due. Good rear leg outstretched, claws curled, Shep dived and snatched the Knight up, mid step. The mindless shriek of terror that rent the air was music to his ears.
Already the clearer air was helping, the world less of a blur, but as Shep gained height, he could still feel the debilitating effects of the Dragon’s Bane, choking his lungs, making each muscle pull and strain to do what came so naturally. The little bastard in his claws was clinging tightly and wailing non-stop. He was both screaming and shouting at his colleagues below, probably a litany of pleas for rescue.
Brain a bit fuddled, worried about the burning pain in his leg and the shake in his wings, Shep banked left, when he should have gone right, and headed back towards the cave and his attackers. Through the gloom of stinging eyes, smoke and gathering darkness at the edges of his vision, Shep had a split second glimpse of something dark and fast heading towards him. Belatedly he heard the ‘snap’ and ‘thunk’ of the contraption and then the net hit him.
The force was not nearly enough to knock him out of the air, and he dropped a little in belated reflex, but one second it struck, and in the next wing beat, his wings were snarled, and tangled in the net. The fight to fly was shatteringly brief, and Shep sluggishly turned in the air, trying to bite the ropes of the net. Already falling and he was hardly at any real height, Shep caught one rope in his mouth, and instantly tasted more Dragon’s Bane.
Shep had fallen further before. Mating flights reached heights most dragons struggled to maintain. Shep loved pushing those limits, looking for the stars on a cloudy day. This fall was hardly in the same category, but the rapidly approaching ground would hurt just the same.
Instinctively Shep twisted in the air, trying to curl his wings, turning so that his back and the iron hard spines and spikes would take the brunt of the fall. The stupid little knight was still screaming - must have a serious pair of lungs, and Shep gently curled his claws around the knight, and managed to twist one wing into place, covering the claw.
Like a starving Grovaund Bear, the earth rushed up to meet him and Shep relaxed, tail whipping in the air, fragile cargo protected as best as possible. His last thought before he crashed into the unforgiving earth was that ....
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Continued in Part 2