Study of Strength [schools challenge]
Nov. 22nd, 2005 04:50 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
etben.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
sga_flashficTitle: Study of Strength
Author: etben
Rating: G or PG
Character: Teyla, Sheppard
Spoilers: None
Length: 748 words
Summary: This training, in her weapons and her ways, seemed to her another stretch, another extension of self that he made for them all, his way of continuing to be all that they could need.
Note: So for a change I manage to finish a story and have the guts to post it, and it winds up being Teyla? Who I like, but didn't think I really got. Hm.
At first, when they began to practice, she thought that he acted for the city, and was impressed. He is the man who is all things to all people. He is the leader of the warriors, urging them onwards, competitive and mad-eyed and predatory. He is the confidence and support of Doctor Weir, her one true thing, her weapon and her shining son. For Doctor McKay, he is balance and tranquility, soothing his edges and giving him a resting place. He is the reliance and faith of the scientists, those scared minds that make this city sing. For her people, he is something fair and glorious, righteousness made flesh. He appeared through the Gate, speaking the words of the Ancestors, flippant and upright and true, and it had been a long time since any of her people stood so tall, or spoke with such easy splendor. This training, in her weapons and her ways, seemed to her another stretch, another extension of self that he made for them all, his way of continuing to be all that they could need. That he would do this, be yet another wellspring of hope for them all, was to her a thing undreamt of, but beautiful once discovered. But the city is not all, not for him. After these months, she knows that he can be petty, and that while everything she thought of him was true, he is not the man to do all for nothing.
Then, after a time, she thought he was doing it for himself. She is no fool, and no backwards savage; she knows her appearance, knows the image she presents and the reactions it induces. She knows how to discourage the unwanted and accept those she chooses, with care and discretion, so as not to upset the delicate equilibrium of a hunting camp. John Sheppard would not have been unwanted—unwise, perhaps, but such things can be accommodated. It was soothing, even, in the way that steady things are. She was Teyla Emmagan, leader of Athos, but with Athos no more, her people uprooted and rearranged, the blazon of a strange world on her shoulders and the weight of the Wraith behind her eyes, she had begun to feel uncertain. This—the easy accord of their bodies, clack-flash of sticks in the air, sweat and salt and the tidal crash of blood—was something she knew, and it would not have been difficult for her to offer it.
When weeks passed, though, and he made no advances that were not purely in practice, she understood, and was more amazed than ever. This was not for the city, nor for his own gratification. This was something he did for her, to remind her of her people and her place, of teaching children and being, for a while, the tallest soul in the city, reflected in dark eyes so young, so wise. When it came to her, as he reached past her guard and toppled her to the floor, she lost her breath before the fall could take it from her, and could only stare in wonder. He understood, after a time, saw it in her eyes and the carefully neutral tilt of her mouth, and he shrugged, passed it onwards, acknowledging, but never too much. They continued to spar, and she felt a film of joy form across her skin, tenuous as spiderwebs and just as strong, holding her together while her past deserted her.
She wondered, then, where his strength ws. She thought perhaps it came from the city, from Atlantis, but Atlantis is frail, and needs all that she can take from him, and so it is not the city which strengthens him. She thought perhaps—oh, vanity!—that she was his strength, but now it seems that he is hers, and so there, too, she was in error. So she wondered, and she prepared for the day when that strength would falter, and he would need the return of all that he had given them.
Now, with Ford’s not-men surrounding them, their presence twisting knots in her muscles, she sees John Sheppard and Doctor McKay step aside, heads together, comfort and solitude and trust, and she thinks she knows where he finds his strength. When next they have the opportunity to practice with the sticks, after this is done and they have saved themselves and each other, when Atlantis rises above them again, solitary-bright in exultation and endurance...she will ask him, she thinks, about his strength. He is getting better, after all, and it has been some time since she has had the element of surprise on her side.
Author: etben
Rating: G or PG
Character: Teyla, Sheppard
Spoilers: None
Length: 748 words
Summary: This training, in her weapons and her ways, seemed to her another stretch, another extension of self that he made for them all, his way of continuing to be all that they could need.
Note: So for a change I manage to finish a story and have the guts to post it, and it winds up being Teyla? Who I like, but didn't think I really got. Hm.
At first, when they began to practice, she thought that he acted for the city, and was impressed. He is the man who is all things to all people. He is the leader of the warriors, urging them onwards, competitive and mad-eyed and predatory. He is the confidence and support of Doctor Weir, her one true thing, her weapon and her shining son. For Doctor McKay, he is balance and tranquility, soothing his edges and giving him a resting place. He is the reliance and faith of the scientists, those scared minds that make this city sing. For her people, he is something fair and glorious, righteousness made flesh. He appeared through the Gate, speaking the words of the Ancestors, flippant and upright and true, and it had been a long time since any of her people stood so tall, or spoke with such easy splendor. This training, in her weapons and her ways, seemed to her another stretch, another extension of self that he made for them all, his way of continuing to be all that they could need. That he would do this, be yet another wellspring of hope for them all, was to her a thing undreamt of, but beautiful once discovered. But the city is not all, not for him. After these months, she knows that he can be petty, and that while everything she thought of him was true, he is not the man to do all for nothing.
Then, after a time, she thought he was doing it for himself. She is no fool, and no backwards savage; she knows her appearance, knows the image she presents and the reactions it induces. She knows how to discourage the unwanted and accept those she chooses, with care and discretion, so as not to upset the delicate equilibrium of a hunting camp. John Sheppard would not have been unwanted—unwise, perhaps, but such things can be accommodated. It was soothing, even, in the way that steady things are. She was Teyla Emmagan, leader of Athos, but with Athos no more, her people uprooted and rearranged, the blazon of a strange world on her shoulders and the weight of the Wraith behind her eyes, she had begun to feel uncertain. This—the easy accord of their bodies, clack-flash of sticks in the air, sweat and salt and the tidal crash of blood—was something she knew, and it would not have been difficult for her to offer it.
When weeks passed, though, and he made no advances that were not purely in practice, she understood, and was more amazed than ever. This was not for the city, nor for his own gratification. This was something he did for her, to remind her of her people and her place, of teaching children and being, for a while, the tallest soul in the city, reflected in dark eyes so young, so wise. When it came to her, as he reached past her guard and toppled her to the floor, she lost her breath before the fall could take it from her, and could only stare in wonder. He understood, after a time, saw it in her eyes and the carefully neutral tilt of her mouth, and he shrugged, passed it onwards, acknowledging, but never too much. They continued to spar, and she felt a film of joy form across her skin, tenuous as spiderwebs and just as strong, holding her together while her past deserted her.
She wondered, then, where his strength ws. She thought perhaps it came from the city, from Atlantis, but Atlantis is frail, and needs all that she can take from him, and so it is not the city which strengthens him. She thought perhaps—oh, vanity!—that she was his strength, but now it seems that he is hers, and so there, too, she was in error. So she wondered, and she prepared for the day when that strength would falter, and he would need the return of all that he had given them.
Now, with Ford’s not-men surrounding them, their presence twisting knots in her muscles, she sees John Sheppard and Doctor McKay step aside, heads together, comfort and solitude and trust, and she thinks she knows where he finds his strength. When next they have the opportunity to practice with the sticks, after this is done and they have saved themselves and each other, when Atlantis rises above them again, solitary-bright in exultation and endurance...she will ask him, she thinks, about his strength. He is getting better, after all, and it has been some time since she has had the element of surprise on her side.
