Title: The Wounded King (3/4)
Author: Emma
Characters: Canonical Torchwood Three members… sort of.
Rating: Some chapters definitely not safe for work.
Disclaimer: Oh, please. If I owned them, would I let some of those idiots write the scripts? And if I were making any money off them, would I be where they could find me?
Summary: A young soldier is all that stands between the kingdom and disaster...
Author's Note: Canon calls this one To the Last Man
Author's Note: The story of Bran the Blessed: http://www.earlybritishkingdoms.com/bios/bran.html; the Uí Cheinnselaig was a real early Irish dynasty in Leinster, but I've appropriated it (surprise, surprise!): http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ui_Cheinnselaig

Part One is here; Part Two is here

Rhys hefted Aine onto his shoulder. She had woken up at the sound of the trumpets, but hadn't seemed scared. Now she held herself upright with her little hands on his shoulders, looking around, trying to find the source of the sound. He noticed the startled, if very discreet, looks they were getting from the gathered dignitaries, but he supposed it was a normal reaction under the circumstances. There couldn't be too many human couples around with a sidhe baby.

He decided to imitate his daughter and look around the room. He'd seen it before, of course, on the telly, when they showed the Queen's Christmas reception or the Taking of the Welsh Oath, but o the telly it seemed like a stage set, something out of a play. Being here made it real. Not only the place, but what would be happening. He, Rhys Williams, would be swearing personal allegiance to the Prince of Wales. Like Jack had said, it was old and real and he and his descendants would be Bound to the Crown by true Power. And it felt right.

He felt Gwen grip his arm and smiled down at her, mouthing all right, love? She jerked her head slightly towards the side door. Several men and women filed in, all dressed in black that would pass for mourning if he didn't know any better. They spread out along the walls, each taking up a position next to a door or window. They had pleasant, rather unremarkable faces and flat, blank eyes. He noticed the one in the lead nodded to Jack as he passed. Well, he supposed Special Ops still acknowledged Jack as their founder, even after a hundred years.

When she had returned from the Abbey, Gwen had given him a quick rundown of what had happened as they got ready for the ceremony. The idea of a Wounded King had thrown her for a loop, and no wonder. The lord Bendigeidfran, the Blessed Raven, whose castle this had been, was the last acknowledged one, and he had changed the history of both Wales and Eire. The idea of a twenty-three year old English boy being magically thrust into the role would make any good Pagan nervous. Put that next to a monk who turned out to be not who he said he was and a bodyguard under some sort of hypnotic trance and the Royal protection services, police departments, and military bases had been placed on high alert. If it had been up to Rhys they would have rushed the Prince off to the Tower until they found whoever was responsible, but it seemed that Royalty didn't hide.

“My dear Rhys,” the young Countess of Meirionnydd, first cousin to the Prince and recently married into one of the oldest noble houses of Wales, had chuckled as she bounced Aine on her knee, “if we stayed in every time someone threatened to toss a bomb we would never see the outdoors.”

Now he watched as the Royals filed in, to the sound of Land of My Fathers, the men dressed in the parade uniform of the Welsh Guards, the women in evening gowns, all with the green-and-gold sash of the Order of Dewi Sant across their chests. The Prince entered last, to stand in front of the throne. As the music came to an end, Jack stepped up to face him. Smiling, the Prince held out his cupped hands. Jack dropped to his knees and placed his hands between those of the Prince, and spoke in perfect Welsh.

“I, Jack Harkness, declare before the Land and its Guardians that I am your vassal and the servant and protector of your House for as long as I shall live, and any descendants of my body and my name I pledge to you and yours.”

Andy followed Jack – it was done strictly in order of your date of hire into Torchwood, Rhys had been told by one of the Prince's secretaries – then it was Owen's turn, then Toshiko's. Rhys noticed a certain sparkle of amusement in the Prince's eyes when Ianto knelt, and he inclined his head as Ianto moved away to let Rhiannon and her children take his place. Daffyd's had to be reminded of the words, and he was embarrassed when his voice broke towards the end, but Mica's assertive soprano and her look of adoration at the handsome prince made many people smile.

Then it was finally their turn. As Gwen knelt and spoke the Oath, there was a distant rumble of thunder, and both she and the Prince smiled widely. When she stood Rhys passed the baby on to her and took her place. There was no thunder for him, but there was a deep certainty, and the Prince's hands tightened around his in acceptance. He would have to tell Gwen that the rumours were right; the Prince was a strong empath, at least where his Office was concerned.

Before they could move away, the Prince reached for Aine and cradled her to his chest, speaking softly to her. She kept still until he was finished, but there were more than a few discreet laughs in the audience as Aine reached up and patted his cheek, a serious expression on her face.

And it was all over.

The uniform guards led the way to the adjoining hall, where tables had been set up. The heavenly smells drifting in from what Rhys guessed was a large kitchen reminded him that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Their little group was led to two tables at the head of the room. At one of them sat a young man in a wheelchair. Tosh hurried to sit next to him. He grinned at her, then looked the rest of them over curiously. When he got to Rhys's little family, he blinked and his eyebrows nearly crawled into his hairline.

“Now that is curious,” he mused. “Tosh, introductions?”

“I think you're familiar with most of the faces, right?” At his nod she continued, pointing to each one in turn. “Andy Davidson, Owen Harper, Rhiannon Crandell and her children Daffyd and Mica, she's Ianto's sister, and Gwen Cooper and Rhys Williams and their daughter Aine.”

Tommy made a sweeping gesture towards the chairs. “Please do sit. Jack will be expected to sit with the family, and so will Ianto, I'm sure. If the last time was any guide they will have one of the pretty, charming princesses come sit with us. I am reliably told that they are trained to gather information from childhood, so don't fall for the bright chatter.”

As if summoned, the young Countess of Meirionnydd came up to the table. “Oh good, a free seat. Please, everyone sit down. I am suddenly starving.”

“Mr Williams, would you sit next to me?” Tommy requested. “I'd like to meet your daughter, if I may.”

Gwen stiffened slightly. “Why?”

Tommy smiled sweetly at her. “Because I think I know who she is.”

He couldn't have shocked them more if he had announced himself a sorcerer's apprentice. Rhys sat in the chair Tommy had indicated. Aine turned to look at the stranger sitting next to her tad. After a few seconds, she extended her arms to him. Tommy took her, settling her in his lap, examining her carefully.

“I was sure it was her.” Looking at the circle of enthralled faces, he laughed. “Did Jack ever tell you anything about my family? No, I suppose not. Our family home was outside Chipping Norton, but my mother was Irish, from Fearna.”

Andy whistled. “The Uí Cheinnselaig.”

Tommy nodded. “Oldest and most mysterious of the Tuatha. About the time my parents got married, there was a huge scandal. The Lady Feidelm, sister of King Aodhan, fell in love with a mortal. She bore him a child, a girl. The night she was born, the Royal Bard prophesied that the girl would become very powerful and ultimately become Queen. King Aodhan had several sons of his own, and he didn't take kindly to that. He had his sister and her family exiled, and then sent a small troop after them. Several days later, one of the knights came back. It seems they caught up with the Lady and her retinue, killed her lover and mortally wounded her. With her last breath she opened a Path to another place, they didn't know where. One of the maids and several of her guards fled with the baby, even though they were also wounded. The knights tried to follow and they were thrust back with such force that most of them were killed.”

“But how did you recognize Aine?” Gwen asked.

“It's the hair,” Tommy rubbed his fingers over Aine's pronounced widow's peak. “The Lady Feidelm is described as having hair as dark as the night, soft as silk, and beaked like a bird's. And her father was said to have eyes the colour of emeralds. I heard the story often from my mother as I was growing up. Can I ask how you ended up adopting her?”

Rhys told him the story. When he had finished., Tommy stared at him in surprise. “Good Lord. I would say what a coincidence, except I don't very much believe in coincidences. She sent her child to you and your wife, Rhys.”

“Why in the world?”

Tommy shrugged. “Who can tell? The Tuatha are considered odd, even among the Fair Folk, and the Uí Cheinnselaig odder than most. But don't doubt it. She chose you to raise her child.”

Rhys looked at Gwen, wondering what she was thinking. He had fallen in love with Aine at first sight and had pushed Gwen about the adoption. Not that she had been very reluctant about it, but still... Her smile was answer enough. He clasped her hand as he hugged Aine to his chest.

“We'll take care of her.”

Tommy gave Aine one last pat, then turned to Toshiko. “So, Tosh, where did you learn to dance like that?”

Rhys chuckled as Tosh blushed to the tips of her ears, but he had to admit it was a damn good question. Tosh had gotten, well, not quite rat-arsed, at Jack and Ianto's engagement party, and when Owen taunted her about her lack of dancing skills she had put on an exhibition of something she called “fan dancing” that had set everyone in the room, male and female, to drooling. Owen's strangled I guess that's not a traditional Japanese art, then? had made Rhys laugh until tears ran down his face.

“I don't like regular exercise classes,” she answered pertly. “And you are not, repeat not, deceiving me. Eat something.” She touched his arm. “Please.”

He made a face. “For you.”

He started to pick at his food. Rhys tucked in a great deal more enthusiastically, and the Countess turned the conversation expertly to matters of general Welsh interest. They were down to dessert – something chocolatey and gooey and absolutely marvelous – when Rhys realized something was wrong with Tommy. At first he just seemed unnordinated, having difficulty moving the spoon from the bowl to his lips, and not catching comments directed at him. It reminded Rhys of his own state after one of those six-day-fourteen-hours-a-day runs to the Continent, and he wondered if waking up after so many years could be as exhausting as all that; but then Tommy's shoulders started shaking, very slightly at first, then with more severity, until he looked as if he would shake himself apart.

“Tommy!” Tosh threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and holding on. “Jack!”

Rhys tried to pass the baby to Gwen, but Rhiannon was suddenly there. “I have a feeling they're going to need you both, Rhys. I'll take her.”

She was bustled out of the room by armed guards, surrounded by Royal ladies and most of the assembled dignitaries. Rhys noticed that the Countess had her arms around Mica and Daffyd's shoulders and was speaking to them reassuringly. He turned back to find Jack and the Prince kneeling next to Tommy while Owen ran some sort of scanner over him. Tosh and Gwen stood at either side, guns drawn, while Ianto, a short distance away, was speaking rapidly into his earphone. Some of the Special Ops people had left with the family and guests, but the rest had formed a loose circle around them, facing outwards.

“It's like energy is slamming into him at high speed, Jack,” Owen said, putting down his scanner and pulling out a small syrynge. “I'll give him a tranquilizer. If he keeps of shaking like this, his bones will start to snap.”

Before Rhys was even fully conscious of what he was doing, he was throwing himself forward, pushing Owen's hand away. “No!”

The doctor rounded on him angrily, but something in Rhys's face stopped him. “All right. What should be do, then?”

“Lay hands on him. Draw some of the energy off. He's fighting something, I don't know what, but drugs will make him weaker.”

Jack nodded. Standing behind Tommy, he placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. The Prince, still kneeling, gripped Tommy's hands. Ianto stalked over to wrap his arms around Jack and intertwine their fingers together. For a few terrifying minutes – what if he had been wrong? – Tommy didn't seem to react, but then they could see the tremors slow down. Owen picked up his scanner and ran it over Tommy again.

“Rhys!” He barked. “Over here.”

Rhys moved to stand in the spot where Owen was pointing, on Tommy's left. He reached out to place his hands on the boy's arm.

“No! Jack is doing most of the work. Put your hands on him instead.”

Rhys swiveled slightly until he was facing Jack. “How?”

“You would know best, Rhys,” the Prince's voice was low but firm. “Just trust your Talent.”

Nodding, Rhys took a deep breath and reached out. His right hand went to rest against Jack's heart, while his left crossed Jack's body to lay over Jack and Ianto's twinned hands. It felt like touching his hands to a live electrical wire, like being stabbed with millions of fiery needles, like plunging his hands into an ice bath until he was numb and his skin turned blue. He felt the energy pass from Tommy to Jack and be released in a controlled stream and he felt Jack's own pain and Ianto's supporting strength taking the worst of it so Jack could still function. Then, after what seemed like hours of pain, the energy started to slow and diminish and then finally it was all over and he staggered back and into Gwen's fierce embrace.

“Gwen...” He croaked. “Need to tell Jack... need to...”

Jack's voice reached him from a very long distance. “What do you need to tell me, Rhys?”

“He's supposed to die for them, isn't he?” He sensed, rather than saw, Jack's nod. “For us. Tommy is the Sacrifice.”

“Yes.”

“Look closer! There's something else, something... underneath. If Tommy dies now, everything dies with him.”