--This is a what-if story. Don't confuse it with what actually happened on the show.--
The throne room of Kells was hushed, soft candle light cradling the worried faces of the Kellsmen gathered around their fallen captain. Torq had been laid out with care on the great table in the center of the room, and Cathabad, despite all his potions, could not help him. The spell Cathabad had placed over the chest with the chalice had knocked Torq temporarily unconscious, but it was Angus's dagger strike that was killing him, minute by minute as he bled through the bandage. Torq had fallen into unconsciousness again, eyes closed, and rough, strong, hands limp at his sides. The stab wound on his back was hidden beneath him. The red tunic he wore was stained darker red on the back, glistening wetly in the candle light.
Commander Uan was gazing out the window, his back to the throne room, the light, his fellow soldiers, and his dying captain. Before his eyes the stars swam, and he stood perfectly still, unwilling to betray his grief to the men behind him. Torq had recruited him, all those years ago. He had ridden into Uan's village, under the giant oak trees' branches, and asked if there were any men brave enough to stand with him against the Temras. Uan had put down his shovel, and followed him. Torq had trained Uan and the others in the arts of war, his first serious responsibility within the Kells army. Torq had done his work well, and been put in command of the newly-trained battalion. They fought for Kells and the king, in every corner of the realm, and after the battle of stone bridge, Torq had rewarded Uan's courage, putting him in command of a squad within the battalion. As they both rose within the Kells army's command structure, Torq had ever remained Uan's hero, embodying strength and loyalty, honor and skill. Uan would have followed Torq off the edge of the world, if Torq had led him there.
The problem was, Torq would never again be leading anybody anywhere. He was lying behind Uan's back, in that too-gently-lit room, bleeding to death from a wound dealt him by the prince of Temra. It was too much. For the great Torq to die like this, knifed in the back rather than in fair battle... Uan squeezed his eyes shut, and wiped off his face with his sleeve, roughly. The men would need a leader, and when Torq died, they would look first to him. Uan swore then, gazing out the barred window now clear-eyed, that he would not fail them, nor Torq.
"The king of Kells!" announced one of the door-guards. Uan took a long breath, then turned back towards the company in the throne room, and took his place.
Conchobar strode into the throne room, followed by Princess Deirdre and Prince Garrett of Regart, then Prince Ivar of Araby, only a few hours returned from Lynette's homeland. He had feared that some evil would befall Kells and the sacred chalice in his absence, but he had not been prepared for the grievous news that had met him at the castle gates. Rohan would pay, very, very much he would pay, if Ivar ever got his hands on the golden-haired thief. That was all he had really seen, the night his chalice was first stolen, Just a flash of gold disappearing out the open, latticed window, into the jasmine-scented desert night outside the palace. And as if that wasn't enough, now Torq lay dying. Torq viewed the world seriously, as Ivar did, and was a superb strategist. Ivar took Rohan's murderous act against the Kells captain personally.
Deirdre put a hand to her mouth in horror, at the sight of Torq's waxen face, and turned, burying her face in Garrett's shoulder. Garrett put his arms around her, powerless to do more than this to soothe the princess's sorrow, for he was no Miach, and had no knowledge of the healing arts.
"How long does he have?" Conchobar asked Cathabad. Cathabad shook his gray head sadly.
"Not long, I fear."
"Can you do nothing for him?" asked Garrett.
"If I could have, it would already be done." said Cathabad. "None of my potions can act quickly enough."
"Cathabad... I do not wish to give you false hope, but Lynette's father gave me a potion as a parting gift for escorting his daughter safely home. -Here it is." Ivar held out his hand to the druid, and in his palm rested a chestnut-sized vial of orange liquid. Cathabad's eyes widened, and he seized it, peering at the orange depths. He uncorked the vial, and smelled it, carefully.
"This is the elixir of vitality! It never existed on this island. I have seen it used only once, but the results were remarkable... -If I may?" Cathabad held the vial over Torq's head.
"Of course. Do it." said Conchobar, briskly. Cathabad put a few drops on Torq's scarred forehead, and spread them across his brow with one finger. An unearthly yellow glow suffused Torq's skin from within for a moment, then passed, and his scar faded into the smooth, unmarked skin beneath. His eyes flickered, then opened. He looked around in alarm for a moment, then relaxed when he realized he was among friends.
"Torq!" cried Deirdre, happily.
"Sir?" commander Uan helped Torq into a sitting position, with an arm around his shoulders to steady him.
"Thank Lugh!" sighed Garrett.
"Are you all right?" asked Ivar.
"Where are they?" asked Torq.
"Who?" asked Commander Uan.
"The Prince of Temra and that traitorous weasel of a thief who stabbed me in the back, that's who!"
"Who?" asked Garrett.
"Angus!" replied Torq. Conchobar exchanged worried glances with Cathabad, then ordered,
"You two, check the dungeons, quickly." the two soldiers he had indicated left at a run.
"You weren't stabbed by Rohan?" Conchobar asked, turning back to Torq.
"No, my king... though he did try." there was a note of pride in Torq's voice as he said this.
In the throne room of Temra, Angus was having himself a look around. This castle was entirely to his taste, with plentiful shadows and hidden ways, most of which he now knew, of course. He ran his fingers lightly over the smooth black lacquered surface of the round table by Maeve's throne, and couldn't help picturing her fingers gliding over the same place...
The chalice on the table glowed green for a moment, then the surreal flame on top formed itself into Mider, and died.
"Hello, Angus." said Mider, conversationally. Angus looked up from his tabletop reverie.
"Lord Mider. What can I do for you?"
"My, my... this is a nice change." Mider thought for a moment, rubbing two of his long, dirty, fingernails together. "Tell me, have you ever been inside Cathabad's chamber?"
"Oh, yeah." grinned Angus. "Whenever he wasn't!"
"Then you can tell me what he keeps there, perhaps...?" prompted Mider.
"Well... he keeps a lot of things. What are you looking for, exactly?" asked Angus.
"Anything unusual. A dragon's eggshell, or maybe a demon-skull?" suggested Mider.
"Hmm... I didn't see a skull, but there was a dragon's eggshell. It was a jar of light reddish-brown powder, all ground up. I remember because it looked like brown sugar."
"Useless..." hissed Mider. "That scheming druid knows, curse him!"
Angus watched Mider's outburst impassively. Mider returned to the present, and glanced up at him. "That's all for now." the evil fairy said, waving a dismissive hand at Angus.
"As you wish." said Angus, inclining his head towards the tiny figure on the tabletop in acknowledgment. Mider smiled, clearly pleased with himself, and returned to his chalice.
"Strange little fella." Angus observed, to the empty room.
Rohan was not in the best of moods. Any Temra soldiers with the brains Lugh gave a wild boar were staying out of his way, -and out of his sight, for preference. Rohan had ridden out of castle Temra the day before, in a rage. No one really knew what he did on these solitary excursions, but he usually came back in a slightly more approachable mood. Usually. Rohan reined in his horse in the muddy courtyard, and set his ram-horned black helm on the saddle in front of him, to run his fingers through his hair. There was something about curls and helmets that just didn't mix. He picked up his helmet by one of the horns, slid off the horse's back, and shoved the reins at a nearby guard.
"See to her." Rohan ordered.
"Yes, m'lord." the guard took the reins, and led the horse away, quickly. Rohan headed for the throne room, to speak with his mother. The sooner they cleared the air the better, especially with that accursed thief around. Angussss... Rohan's ice-blue eyes flashed, and he closed them for a moment, forcing himself to focus on the problem at hand. Maeve would be angry, but she would forgive him. He had returned her chalice, after all. Rohan's mother appreciated competence and results above all else, and he could give her results. Of course by now the thief had probably taken the credit for the whole mission... Rohan had just about decided what he would say to his mother, by the time he reached the throne room, but she wasn't there. Someone else was though, and Rohan recognized him instantly. Angus. Angus was sitting with one knee drawn up near his chest, and his back to the throne, head tilted back to rest on the purple cushion. He seemed to be deep in thought, or daydreaming. Rohan's hand made a grab for his sword, but he stilled it, with an effort.
"So, Maeve is tired of you already?" smirked Rohan.
"I believe 'tired' IS the right word." agreed Angus, innocently, opening his eyes.
"Don't flatter yourself, thief. You're a toy, nothing more." Rohan snapped.
"You know... when most people say they've had your mother, it's just a figure of speech." observed Angus.
"I'm going to kill you." Rohan told him, quietly.
"No you won't." said Angus, confidently. "You know what I think, prince? I think you're just mad 'cause she won't share." Rohan snapped.
he prince was across the room in seconds, pouncing on Angus and dragging him to his feet by a double handful of his dark hair. Rohan twisted his fist savagely, tightening his grip, then pulled the thief over to the far left of the room, and shoved the side of the Angus's face up against the cold stone wall.
"Listen well, thief. If I wanted ANYTHING from you, you would know of it... as would everyone else in this castle!" hissed Rohan. "Lucky for you,-" he rapped Angus's head against the wall for emphasis, then continued in a calmer tone, "-You're not my type." Angus said nothing, but looked over at Rohan, moving only his eyes. Rohan laughed, and released Angus, shoving him backwards onto the floor as he did so. Angus picked himself up, straightened his headband, then leaned against the wall, awaiting the prince's next move but no longer actively challenging him.
"Ha." Rohan scoffed, and walked out of the room feeling much better.
Angus watched the wall he'd disappeared behind for a long moment, then sank down with his back against the wall behind Maeve's throne, knees to his chest, and arms folded over them. Angus lay his head on his arms, suddenly tired. If this was the worst the prince would do to him, there was nothing to worry about.
