Though I Conquer All the Worlds 1/1 1/02/07 Mild Polar

[TheOtherWillow]

Title: Though I Conquer All the Worlds
Author: TheOtherWillow
Email: TheOtherWillow@gmail.com
Disclaimer: Roswell and its characters are not mine. They belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, and the WB. No infringement is intended.
Rating: All ages
Pairing: Polar at the end
Summary: One man decides what’s important. AU, 2020 AD.
Author’s Notes:
1.) Yeah, yeah - it says General Rath at first. It’s really Michael. Read on, you’ll see what I mean. This is totally a one shot; just a longish drabble my brain wouldn’t let go of until I wrote it.
2.) Story originally inspired by the poem below, though it took on a random life of its own immediately thereafter:

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“Though I conquer all the earth
Yet for me there is only one city.
In that city there is for me only one house;
And in that house one room only;
And in that room, a bed.
And one woman sleeps there,
The shining joy and jewel of my kingdom.”
-old Sanskrit poem, author unknown.
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Though I Conquer All the Worlds

General Rath, Supreme Commander of the TerrAntarian Allied Forces, sighed thankfully as he passed through the final set of security protocols necessary to enter his abode.

The interior locks disengaged with a quiet chirp, and the hatch before him slid open. He moved silently into the foyer and gently set his gear inside the door for his staff to deal with later. With noiseless grace, he slipped out his uniform boots and jacket and laid them across the arm of a high-backed chair in the parlor as he traveled through the darkened house towards his goal: the master bedroom.

As he keyed the unlock sequence for the room, he thought back half a day and several thousand light years to the field report that had led to his first trip home in almost five months:

“The Xrcipzians have agreed to the treaty and are awaiting a formal Negotiator to work out the terms, My King,” he declared as he stood, tall and imposing in his severe blue uniform, on the dais before the wall-mounted view screen contained by the bridge of the Ulysses, the flagship in a fleet of starships. Waving at the crowd of beings stationed at the control center behind him, he said, “My Aide, Ja’Rrnelle, has compiled a complete report of the campaign and is sending it via secure subspace link now.”

“Excellent,” the crowned man on the screen crooned happily from his throne. “Once again, your outstanding efforts have assured our victory in this endeavor, General Rath.” The King gestured behind himself, and a silver tinged creature bowed, “For your next assignment, I’m sending Zilic to rendezvous with you at…”

“No, you won’t, Max,” the sandy-haired man interrupted with a frustrated growl as he dismissed his staff from the room with a curt gesture. “If you’d read the report I sent in last week, you’d know that I’m taking vacation.”

“Michael.” His dark haired counterpart sighed condescendingly, “Be reasonable. The Utarans have requested you by name. They’ve already been waiting two galactic years to join the Alliance and…”

“Then it’s not as if it’s going to hurt ‘em to wait another week, now is it?” the unyielding Fleet Commander broke in. Crossing his arms firmly in front of him, the irate man rejoined, “Arrange the meeting for a Terran Standard Week from now, and I’ll be happy to let Zilic lead me wherever I need to go.”

The man on screen dismissed his own staff abruptly and stared at the obstinate form of his brother in exasperation. “I need you on this, Michael.”

“Yeah, big surprise your highness,” Michael said sarcastically as he scrubbed a tired hand through his hair. “Doesn’t matter what it is, you always seem to need me. Jojwars. Xrcipzians. Utarans. I know you have other generals; use them.”

“You’re the one I trust to act in the best interest of the Alliance,” Max said pleadingly. “All the others have their own political agendas that I have to contend with. If I send you, I know the situation will be handled correctly, not according to the highest bidder.”

“They’re not all crooked,” the uniformed man groaned. “And besides, it’s causing discontent in the ranks to have all the ‘best’ assignments always going to the same Commander.” Shaking his head at the man glaring at him from the screen he exclaimed, “Jesus, Max; you’re going to burn me and my crew out. Do you know how long it’s been since the Ulysses had a SINGLE day off that wasn’t in-transit to another mission?! Four. Months. This, if you’ll recall, exceeds Fleet crew regulations by two months. Damn it, Max!” He cried angrily, “At this point we shouldn’t even be allowed in the sky!”

“It’s unfortunate, but unavoidable,” the stern-faced ruler replied. “Sometimes sacrifices must be made...”

“Bullshit!” his brother growled. “What are you really up to, huh? Why the non-stop bull run?” He glared at Max determinedly, refusing to back down until he got an answer.

“The Council has decided to amend the Charter to limit all Presidents to a single term,” the dark haired man said finally. “This is to account for the massive amount of planets that have already joined the Alliance. In theory, it allows every member planet an equal chance once a decade to have a native of their home world elected as President of the Council.”

Michael shrugged, “So this time next year you won’t be Council President. Big deal, as King of Antar you’ll still have a seat in the Cabinet. We’ve got good relations with the majority of the other Cabinet members, it’s not as if you’re going to loose your ability to make policy. Hell,” he said with a laugh, “we both know the Presidency is largely a figurehead role anyway.”

“I hope to see you succeed me.” Max announced and then pushed on before Michael could object, “I’ve been careful in ensuring that your name remains favorably in the public eye until the announcement for elections is made to help your candidacy.”

“You know I have no interest in politics,” the officer sneered.

“Which is why you’d be the best man for the job,” the king replied persuasively. “No one who actually wants this position should have it.”

The tall hybrid rolled his eyes in disgust, “YOU wanted it, Maxwell.”

“Exactly,” his brother replied from the screen serenely.

“Look,” the general said wearily as he massaged his temples, “I do my duty. I’m a soldier. If the Jurlaxia Concordance breaches our demilitarized zone, then I’m the guy to call. Need a resistance movement cleared from Clorina’s moons? Send me in. But if you’re looking for a politician, you’ve got your eye on the wrong man.” He raised his head from his hands and met the dark eyes on the screen, “Everyone has a part they were born to play, Max. You’re the King. I’m the Warrior. Isabel’s the Diplomat; if you should be having this conversation with anyone then it should be her.”

“The original Charter states that the President of the Council can’t come from the same planet twice in a row,” Max admitted through gritted teeth. “Isabel is considered Antarian. With your marriage, the Alliance lists Earth as your planet of residency.”

The fair skinned man began to laugh uproariously, “Brilliant. So it’s not as if you really thought I’d be the best man for the job; I was just your only option!”

“General Rath!” The King roared and the Commander quieted accordingly. Desperately, the other man tried another approach, “This is your chance, Michael! Your chance to show everyone who called you a white trash human gutter rat! You were mocked on a hundred worlds when I appointed you as Supreme Commander! Don’t you want to show them all that you’re BETTER than that?!”

“I already have,” Michael said calmly. “I am a soldier. And none of the rest of that matters to me,” he stated resolutely. “As my King, you may move me as your pawn, but my soul is still my own.”*

The two studied each other intently before Michael continued, “Take the next decade to build up Isabel’s campaign. I have no intention of being your figurehead; I just want to go home to my wife.”

The king’s stern visage sagged at that pronouncement. Finally, the dark head below the crown bowed in defeat. “Take two weeks. The Utarans will still be here when you get back.”

“You have my most sincere thanks, My King,” the unsympathetic soldier said with a formal bow.

“None of that, Michael,” the tired man on the throne said wearily. “Just...tell your wife hello. From all of us.”

“I will, Max,” Michael proclaimed somberly. “Give Isabel and Kyle our best, as well. General Rath, Supreme Commander TerrAntarian Allied Forces, out.”

Max nodded, “Enjoy your vacation. King Zan, President TerrAntarian Allied Council, out.” The command center went dark as the picture on the screen faded away.

Michael shook his head ruefully as he realized exactly how close he had come to having Max railroad him into a life of bureaucracy. A triumphant smile spread like wild fire across the general’s tired face. “Ja’Rrnelle!” he barked commandingly. Light spilled into the room as a hatch opened to reveal the willowy alien.

“Yes, My Lord General?”

“Have Navigation set course for Earth, and inform the crew we’ll have a two week rotating shore leave schedule posted before we make it planet side.”

The creature’s blue skin darkened to a deep indigo to show its pleasure at the thought of shore leave for the first time in a Klpsitf. “As you will it, so shall it be done, My Lord!” it said with a bow as it scurried to do the General’s bidding.

“Michael?” the sleepy voice of his wife broke through his musings as he entered the bedroom and sat down next to her on their bed. “Is it really you? Am I dreaming?” she asked tentatively as she reached up to lovingly trace the planes of his face in disbelief.

“No dream, baby,” he whispered softly as he caught her hand and pressed a lingering kiss to her palm. Looking down into Liz Guerin’s dark smiling eyes, he drew her gratefully into his arms for the first time in over four long months. Clutching her to him, he breathed happily into the smooth silk of her hair, “I’m home.”

Fini.


Source credit:
1.) Michael’s statement, “As my King, you may move me as your pawn, but my soul is still my own.” is paraphrased from the following speech given by King Baldwin IV in the movie Kingdom of Heaven:

“You see, none of us chose our end really. A king may move a man; a father may claim a son. But remember that, even when those who move you be kings or men of power, your soul is in your keeping alone. When you stand before God you cannot say ‘but I was told by others to do thus’ or that ‘virtue was not convenient at the time’. This will not suffice. Remember that.”