New York
Chapter note: Again, artistic license is claimed for the sight of the harbour at the beginning of the chapter, and a few titbits afterwards, for the sake of the story. Bare with me? - Rey
RMS Queen Mary 2, 16th May 2004
My relatively brand-new mobile phone has two numbers in it, now. Awesome.
More awesome… and much less so, at the same time… Ms. Langford’s famous-archeologist father found one of the Chappa’ai – the Stargates – that Teal’c once mentioned in one of the archeological sites he presided on. By the temple dedicated to Ra. Nearly eighty years ago. And the said Stargate has been in the United States government’s hands since then. United States military, to be exact.
Yep. Sai’yo and I exchanged information with the sharp old woman, in the end, after Hermione’s team advised us on a magical contract that would work with Muggles and be as airtight as possible. – I must reveal the fact that the contract we signed is binding in more than the usual sense because of my special ability, and the said ability is hereditary. Sai’yo must reveal the fact that he is a Jaffa who used to work for Apophis, and Ra is just as real as Apophis. And Ms. Langford must reveal her story about the necklace, which she nicked when the adults at that time were distracted by the Stargate.
It’s… overwhelming, to be honest; even now, the day after all the revelations.
And the sight of the harbour the ship is carefully approaching is no less overwhelming: more hectic than the one in South Ampton, with the background of the Statue of Liberty, which really brings to mind that I am presently nearing a foreign soil.
“First time out of your homeland?” Ms. Langford, standing to my right with her hands lightly placed on the railing, asks softly.
I nod mutely, with my eyes still glued on the famous statue, which is half shadowed by the sunset.
“Come to my home if you feel overwhelmed, Harry. We can chat,” she offers kindly, placing one wrinkled but strong hand over mine, which is gripping the railing. “That offer is for you too, Sai’yo.” She throws a smile to the aforementioned Jaffa, who is standing to my left and gripping the railing far harder than I am.
The ship rocks a little as we get closer. I put a hand on Sai’yo’s shoulder – more the crook of his neck, really, where his skin is not covered by his T-shirt – and channel a little bit of magic into him, in hope of soothing him. I already asked him to stay in our room and kel’no’reem till the ship’s moored at the pier, but he insisted to accompany me. What a stubborn and loyal friend… and still suspicious of Ms. Langford, I bet.
“You might find interesting remnants and titbits of history if you went into archeology,” Ms. Langford goes for another try to distract me as the ship finally docks and things seem… realer, thus even more overwhelming.
I chuckle nervously, with one hand still laid on Sai’yo’s shoulder and the other still grasped by the sharp but kindly old woman. “Looking for an apprentice, ma’am?”
She joins me in soft laughter. “Too old for that,” she demurs with a smile. “I could refer you to a few people, however. Big names in archeology.”
“Wouldn’t it be better if we got the small names first?” I reply with my own smile, which is sadly rather wobbly.
“No.” She pats my hand again. “Only the best for my young friend and his loyal companion.” Then she continues rather impishly, “But for that, I require visits and calls from the both of you, preferably regularly.”
I catch her hand in mine and, smiling, proclaim, “Deal.”
Manhattan, 16th May 2004
The sights, sounds, smells and feels of a busy city are always overwhelming, whether in London or in New York.
And now, I am finding out that the latter is more overwhelming than the former, especially because I am still acutely aware that we are traversing a foreign country.
Judging from how close Sai’yo is keeping to my person, he feels the same. He even puts a hand on my shoulder, though he does it tentatively at first, as we walk through throngs of rushing pedestrians.
My. We are overdue for some quiet and peace, I fear. If my pride and the time would allow it, I would have even considered dropping by Ms. Langford’s house right away….
JW Marriott Hotel, 16th May 2004
Bliss.
It is what I feel – with total relief – as I throw myself down on my stomach on the bed nearest the door, even before the escort manages to say anything but “This is your room, sirs.”
The position holds even after the escort is gone, bowing himself out soon after he turns on everything from the air conditioner to the telly for us, with no response from me and Sai’yo.
I am just…. The rush of people outside was just too much. If a Sunday night is always like this, I never want to know how a Saturday night is like.
Sai’yo is of the same mind, apparently, for soon I hear him humming a little unsteadily on the bed adjacent to mine. He is trying to anchor himself with kel’no’reem, no doubt, just as I am grounding myself with this prolonged bellyflop on this soft, clean, comfy, steady, silent surface.
Well, I guess, I can add “sleeping” into the mix, despite the not-so-late hour. I didn’t get much sleep after Ms. Langford’s revelation yesterday, after all, and Sai’yo seemed equally preoccupied.
So, with an equally unsteady beginning, right where I am and in the same position, I match his humming and slowly add more variations and power into it, more and more as they come into my mind as if recorded by my earliest memory: peace-content-comfort-safety, home-quiet-secure-nice, rest-snug-protection-love….
I slide into dreamland still Singing.
JW Marriott Hotel, 17th May 2004
I slide out of dreamland fully rejuvenated and with a fresh longing for my mother – any of my mothers, preferably both alien and human.
Well, and feeling like a thirteen-year-old, too, but that’s maybe just the side effect of my Singing earlier, which always reverts me to my baseline… and I happen to be in a set of non-stretchy clothes, so no turning into my beyond-six-feet body.
I spend more time luxuriating in the relative silence of the hotel room from my position lying on my stomach on top of the bed covers, listening to my own soft, steady breaths.
And… some ragged breaths…?
I blink rapidly, bringing my sight into focus and emerging fully from the dreamland. Scrambling up into a seated position, I look wildly round for the source of the unusual sound.
And there, cross-legged on top of the covers and leaning against the wall, Sai’yo sits still with closed eyes… and tear tracks on his cheeks.
I gape. – Did New York affect him this much? I don’t think so, but….
Oh. The Song. The Song. The Song that I used to lull us to rest last night. It must be the Song – or rather, what I Sang. It evoked family love; a mother’s love, especially.
And the both of us still can’t get over our respective mothers, deep down. We established that already, several days ago.
The difference is, I’ve still got one living mother, though far far away, but his is most likely dead – probably in not quite a nice way, from what he implied – a long time ago.
What I Sang, it must feel like opening an old but still rather raw wound for him, instead of evoking a homely, peaceful, safe environment for his kel’no’reem. And he must have been helpless against it, unable to avoid or fight it, with how powerful the Song is in general and how deep it goes.
And, warrior or not, there are certain things that one is simply hopeless about, in more ways than three.
Damn. And I wished to just soothe our rattled nerves from the chaotic press of humanity down on the streets.
I must fix this, and apologise profusely.
So I scramble over to his bed and put a tentative hand on his knee. “Sai’yo? Sai’yo, wake up. I’m sorry. So so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please. I’m sorry.”
I suck a breath, bracing myself, when his eyes open.
But there is no condemnation in them, though lots of melancholy and old pain, plus a healthy amount of useless longing. Kind of what I might look, if someone asked me in an inebriated state, about me never having a mother figure that I could really remember, before I met my other, alien mum.
Still, I repeat my apologies, this time right to his face and into his eyes.
And, in reply to that, he gently cups my cheek with a trembling hand.
My breath hitches, and I instinctively lean into his touch.
The next breath lodges deep in my throat when he speaks at last, in a hoarse, wavering whisper, “You gave me a priceless gift. Thank you. For a while, I had my mother once more. It was the song that she always sang to me as we did our kel’no’reem together. A song that her mother sang to her, before they were lost to each other.”
My eyes burn.
“I think,” my voice is not that steady, either, “I heard the song from my mother, too.”
He opens his arms, then, and I fling myself into his embrace.
It really doesn’t help that I still feel like a thirteen-year-old, and most likely look like it. And I found that I still had tolerable living family when I was truly of that age.
A tolerable living family who died partly because of my fault when I was fifteen.
Well, Sai’yo is my family, now. Maybe not in blood, but definitely in Song. And by all that is holy and precious, this family member shan’t die before he is truly old, let alone because of me.
I vow it.