A Tale of Two Villages

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Title: A Tale of Two Villages
Rating: PG
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagen, Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex
Word Count: 15,084
Categories: gen, adventure
Spoilers: Set between “Echoes” (3.12) and “Irresponsible” (3.13); no spoilers.
Warnings: mild language
Summary: The team travel to a world populated by two estranged villages, and split up to visit both. But between secrets and hidden dangers, nothing about the world is quite what it seems, and choices have to be made for them all to get back home safely.


“A literal crossroad; nice.”

Sheppard descended the steps of the Gate dais and walked toward the dirt road that ran parallel to it, Teyla at his side. He cast an amused glance at the solitary wooden signpost that stood by the road, exactly opposite the Gate. It reminded him of something out of a WWII movie.

“Actually, a ‘literal’ crossroad would require another road be present,” Rodney corrected as he came down the steps as well, Ronon just behind him. “So that there were two roads, y’know, actually crossing.” He crossed one arm over the other in front of him to illustrate his point.

Sheppard frowned in Rodney’s direction, before waving a hand back at the Gate. “The path out of the Gate counts as a road.”

“But it doesn’t cross the real one,” Rodney said, pointing to the thick forest that lined the opposite side of the road from where they stood. “So still not a crossroad.”

“A junction, then.”

Rodney paused, appearing to contemplate that option. “I’ll allow it.”

“Thank you so much to the Linguistics Police.”

Teyla, who had been studying the writing on the two signs that were attached to the post, each pointing in opposite directions down the thoroughfare, cut them an exasperated look.

“This one reads ‘Portos,’” she said, indicating the sign on the left. She pointed to the right one and added, “This one says ‘Agrima.’”

“And they really, really don’t like each other.”

“According to the reports we have been given, no, they do not,” she replied.

“It’s just neighborly spats, though, right?” Rodney asked, with a bit of uncertainty in his tone. “I mean, we’re not going to run into some ongoing battle, or—or, like, one of the towns waging a siege on the other, are we?”

Teyla shook her head. “No. Everything that I have been told about them indicates that the animosity between the villages is merely the result of long-held differences, and as such they simply avoid one another. No one from either village visits the other one, though people from off-world frequently visit both.”

Rodney relaxed. “Oh, well, that’s alright then.”

“We should split up, though,” Sheppard advised, eyeballing the numbers listed on each sign and doing the conversions in his head.

“Why?” Ronon asked.

“Because if I’m understanding the distances on these signs correctly, Portos is about four klicks that way—” he pointed left, then pointed right “—while Agrima looks to be closer to five that way.”

“I’ll take the left one,” Rodney quickly said.

Sheppard rolled his eyes, and caught Teyla doing the same. They shared a smile; of course Rodney wanted to take the shorter option, even when the difference wasn’t significant. No surprise there.

“Fine. You and Ronon go left,” Sheppard told him. “Teyla and I will check out this Agrima and see what we can find.” He checked his watch. “We’ll establish radio contact in three hours, at 1535.”

“Let’s go, McKay.”

Ronon was already striding down the road in the direction of Portos. Rodney, grumbling wordlessly, started after him.

“I was told that there might be bandits in the woods between the villages,” Teyla called after them.

“Bandits?” Rodney stopped in the middle of the road to look back at her, annoyance and fear in his eyes. “No one said anything about bandits before.”

“You’ll be fine, Rodney,” Sheppard told him. “Just be careful.”

“Oh, yes, because I’m well-known for my reckless tendencies.”

Sheppard gave him a bland look. “Do you want me to list all the things you’ve blown up? I can start with the accidental ones.”

Rodney shifted guiltily. “Uh, no. No, that’s fine.”

Ronon, who had tromped back to them, grabbed Rodney by the vest and began impatiently pulling him down the road. “C’mon, McKay.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” Rodney groused, smacking his hand away.

Sheppard shook his head as they disappeared into the shadows beneath the trees. He turned to study the direction he and Teyla would be taking. If there hadn’t been the signs to indicate which way led to which village, he didn’t think there would be any way to tell the two directions apart. The road was hard-packed dirt, with what appeared to be guide stones set along its edges at regular intervals, but with no other obvious markings. Once past the Gate clearing, the trees closed in on both sides, the canopy completely covering the roadway. It was actually rather picturesque.

“To Agrima we will go?” he playful asked Teyla.

She responded with a smile. “To Agrima.”

They began walking, Sheppard relieved when they reached the cool shade of the trees. P5X-297–otherwise known as Pyrum—was in the middle of its summer, and while not a humid planet by any means, being under its sun without cover wasn’t exactly comfortable.

“What do you think we’re going to find here?” he asked. They didn’t have any specific directives for the mission beyond meeting the people and seeing what the planet had to offer.

“I have seen pottery from Pyrum for sale in other markets,” Teyla advised. “Agriman pottery. It is very well made; sturdy, with simple yet attractive decorations. It is also often found in less common colors as well, which can lead to pieces being highly sought after.”

“I guess we could use some fancy dishes.” Not exactly a showstopper in terms of mission objectives, but he’d suffered through worse.

“Pyrum is perhaps best known for its fabrics, though. The most expensive cloth I have ever come across was from here, from Portos.” There was a wistfulness to her voice as she described the fabric. “It was a bright blue in color, like a spring sky at midday, and had fine silver and gold embroidery all over it in a leaf and vine pattern.” She let out the barest hint of a sigh. “It cost much more than everything I owned was worth.”

“But you wanted it.”

Teyla gave him a rueful smile. “Yes. But it was far too expensive and very impractical. I had no use for it, other than to look at it. And that was nowhere near enough reason to trade everything I had, even if that would have been enough to pay for it.”

Sensible Teyla, never one to dwell on the frivolous or the unattainable. Sheppard surreptitiously studied her from the corner of his eye, trying to image her wearing the fabric she’d described. He found he could easily do so, though he couldn’t quite picture a scenario that would call for that kind of attire. If only the Athosians had royalty.

“I’m not one for elaborate outfits,” he casually commented, earning him an amused glance, “but we could always get some napkins. Maybe some placemats?”

Teyla frowned faintly for a moment before she realized what he meant, and then she grinned. “To go with our fancy dishes?”

“All we’d need to do is get glasses and silverware, and we’d have the entire set.”

“We shall have to see what they have on offer,” she said with a chuckle.

Sheppard decided that if he spotted any sky blue cloth—something below the price point of “everything you own”—he was going to get it. Just for the hell of it. Teyla did have a birthday coming up.


-000000-


They’d been walking for a few minutes when Rodney turned to Ronon with a faint frown.

“Did we actually get any explanation for why we decided to come here?” he asked, the thought crossing his mind that he wasn’t entirely sure what they were doing on P5X-297. “Y’know, what we should be looking for?”

“Same stuff we always look for.”

Ronon was striding along, just slowly enough that Rodney could keep up without having to break into a trot. He didn’t glance Rodney’s way as he answered, his eyes instead scanning the trees to either side of the road. Rodney, meanwhile, shot an incredulous look his way.

“I highly doubt this place is going to have advanced weaponry and/or shields that will be effective against either the Wraith or the Replicators.”

Ronon just lifted one shoulder in a non-committal gesture. “Other stuff, then.”

“Oh, like what?” Rodney irritably asked.

“Food, medicine, clothing.” Ronon paused and gave him a teasing look. “Stuff for you to blow up.”

“What! I—I do not blow stuff up that much!” Rodney retorted, affronted. “At least not without a really good reason.” He didn’t. Usually. “And we already have plenty of stuff that I could blow up. We don’t need to go to other worlds to find it.”

Ronon shrugged. “I like it when you blow stuff up.”

“You—you do?” Rodney asked, somewhat taken aback. He didn’t think Ronon was ever all that impressed with anything he did.

“Yeah. I like explosions.”

“Of course you do.”

He should have known that blowing things up was all it would take to get him on Ronon’s good side. A little violence, a little destruction, and suddenly you were Ronon’s best friend. Maybe Rodney should blow up more things, build that bond.

“And yours always seem to be the biggest.” Ronon gave him a grin tinged with something predatory. “I don’t think any other team’s gotten to blow up so many Wraith ships.”

“Well, there is that,” Rodney said, with a touch of pride.

“Teyla mentioned something about fabrics and pottery,” Ronon said, circling back to Rodney’s original question. “Maybe this is just another trip to, y’know, find allies, set up trade relations, all of that kind of stuff.”

Rodney was surprised that Ronon had managed not to sound completely underwhelmed by the idea. Usually he complained loudly about any mission that didn’t involve at least a slight degree of danger. Though Rodney supposed if there really were bandits in the woods, that provided a large enough probability of getting to shoot or hit somebody to keep Ronon satisfied.

“They could’ve sent Houser’s team for that,” he groused. “Negotiating for trade allies is what they were created to do.”

“They’re busy on Walletia,” Ronon reminded him.

“Oh, right. I’d forgotten about that.”

Rodney didn’t typically hold on to information that had no impact on him; he had too many other things demanding brain power. But Atlantis’ specially-formed diplomatic trade relations team being held up in a month-long ceremony to establish ties with the Walletians should have stuck in his memory for a bit longer. Especially since his team was their back-up.

“How much longer do they have?”

“Three weeks,” Ronon replied.

“Oh, god, this is going to be the type of mission we go on until they’re done, isn’t it?”

Rodney didn’t care about this kind of people-relations stuff. He wasn’t good at it and it usually didn’t bring him anything new or exciting to study. He knew Ronon shared the sentiment, if for different reasons, and his response held the same disdain that Rodney felt.

“Yeah, probably.”

Rodney grimaced in commiseration. “Maybe we can convince Elizabeth to send Stevens. He has, like, a doctorate in international relations or some other useless thing like that; he and his team can handle these kinds of missions. I mean, there’s gotta be more important stuff for us to d—”

Rodney cut himself off, something catching his attention from the corner of his eye. Stopping in the middle of the road, he turned to look in that direction, squinting at the trees off to his right. Ahead of him, Ronon had similarly stopped and was looking back at him, on alert.

“What is is?”

“I saw something.”

“Like what?”

“If I knew what it was, I would have named it instead of saying ‘something,’” Rodney retorted. “It was just a bit of color—there!”

Moving to the edge of the road, he pointed into the trees. As Ronon came up beside him and stared in the direction he was indicating, Rodney tried to figure out what he was seeing. A pile of fabric sat no more than four meters away from the road, but whether it was a pile on its own or whether it was covering something, he couldn’t tell. It had stood out in the green of the forest because it was orange. And pink. Perhaps a bit of mauve.

Curious, Rodney left the road and began walking toward it.

“McKay—”

“I just want to check if it’s a person,” Rodney responded, now just short of an arm’s length away. If there really were bandits in the forest, maybe this was one of their victims, left injured by the side of the road. If someone were hurt, they couldn’t just leave them there.

“McKay, stop!”

Ronon’s warning came too late. Even as Rodney reached out and pushed at the fabric, deducing that there was not, in fact, anyone hiding underneath it, he felt something slam into him. Almost instantaneously he heard a creak and a whoosh, before he was crushed up against what he realized was Ronon, and he felt himself leave the ground.


-000000-


They had traveled most of the way to Agrima in companionable silence, punctuated now and then by easy conversation.

Teyla appreciated that she could be quiet with Sheppard. When they were both in the mood for it, they had very interesting conversations. She had learned much about Earth, and about him, during such talks, and had found him to be a sincere listener who asked insightful questions. But they were also capable of being comfortable in each other’s silent company, something she rarely found with others. So many expected her to talk, looked to her to do so. John didn’t.

As the village came into sight at the end of the road, he glanced over at her, a question in his eyes.

“You want to take lead this time, or do you want me to do it?”

That was another thing she appreciated: that he recognized and respected her knowledge of Pegasus cultures. She was happy to take point on negotiations in places where she already had a foothold, and she knew Sheppard was happy to let her. This time, however, she wouldn’t have that advantage, and she was honestly grateful that she could hand over diplomatic duties to him.

“You may have the lead,” she told him with a small smile. “I am unfamiliar with this world, so I do not already have contacts here, or insight into the people.”

Sheppard nodded as they stepped out from the trees and into the village. “Alright, Operation: Make Friends is a go.”

The dirt road had turned into a cobblestone street at the edge of the village, and it continued in a straight line directly to the village square, which Teyla could just spot up ahead through the crowd. While the street was wide, the booths and stalls ranged along each side of it narrowed the walking space by half, at least. And that space was full of people out to market.

Sheppard kept them moving toward the village square, him studying the right side of the street while Teyla surveilled the left. The wares on display were more diverse than she had initially anticipated, and she wondered how many of the vendors were not local, their goods brought in from elsewhere. None of the information the team had been given indicated that Pyrum was a central market planet, a place that would attract a continuous flow of off-worlders for trade. Otherwise Teyla would have been familiar with its market herself. But perhaps consistent interplanetary trade did occur here, yet simply on a more localized scale, with the bulk of the trade occurring between nearby planets.

She did spot some Agriman glaze ware, in a large booth at the corner of the street and the square, but as she turned to tell Sheppard, she found he was focused on two people who were moving across the square in their direction. The man and the woman appeared to be a little older than Sheppard and herself, and were looking at them with expressions that made Teyla slightly uneasy, though she could not put her finger on why.

The man came to a stop in front of them and greeted them with a toothy smile. The woman smiled as well as she stopped at the man’s elbow, though hers was smaller.

“Good morn,” the man said. “I am Eris, and this is Maderrin.”

“I’m John,” Sheppard said, placing his palm on his chest before gesturing to Teyla with the same hand. “This is Teyla.”

“Well met,” Maderrin replied, with a shallow nod of her head.

Nudging aside her unnameable discomfort, Teyla returned the gesture. As she studied Eris and Maderrin more closely, she realized that beyond standing close to one another, they were actually standing against each other. Maderrin’s left arm, which was hanging by her side, was actually tucked behind Eris’s right arm, flush with his side. They must be husband and wife, or perhaps brother and sister.

Glancing around, Teyla suddenly became aware that everywhere she looked, she saw people in pairs. It was something she had subconsciously made note of as she and Sheppard had walked to the square, but it had not registered as meaningful to her until their interaction with Maderrin and Eris.

There was no booth or stall that did not have two adults who appeared to be roughly the same age manning it. Many held a man and a woman together, but others had two men, or two women. There were never more, never less. Always two. But even when she looked past those spaces—where it was perhaps expected that people would work together—she saw pairs. Walking through the streets, sitting on benches, standing behind the counters of the businesses with permanent buildings: two adults together everywhere she looked.

“You have come to buy or sell?” Eris was asking. “Or to trade?”

“Yeah, we’d like to discuss trade, see if there’s anything your people and ours could exchange to our mutual benefit.”

Eris nodded. “Very good. I will take you to see the Council of Exumens. They will handle any negotiations.” He paused, looking between Sheppard and Teyla. “You are married, yes?”

Instantly, Teyla understood the importance of what she had been seeing. She did not know the reasoning behind such a cultural structure, but she had the distinct impression that if she and the colonel indicated that they were not married, things would not go well. At the very least, they might be asked to immediately leave, and at the worst? She decided not to risk it.

So as Sheppard opened his mouth, no doubt to tell Eris that he and Teyla were not married, she took control of the situation. Slipping her hand into his, she stepped closer until the length of her arm was pressed against his side in a mirror of the position Eris and Maderrin were in, their joined hands caught between their thighs. She ignored the mild look of surprise he shot her and instead smiled at the couple—for now she knew they were a couple—watching them.

“Yes, John and I have been married for a few years now.”

She glanced up at him then, keeping the loving smile on her face, but backing it with a look that she knew he would be able to read and trusted that he would heed. He did, squeezing her hand in understanding, before his face broke into a slightly bashful smile and he turned to address Eris.

“Is that problem?” he asked, with what Teyla knew was false concern that would elicit further explanation.

“No, quite the opposite,” Maderrin advised him. “In Agrima, all adults must be married. It is the law. If the two of you were not married, you would have to leave; we cannot trade with a single. It would be inappropriate.”

“Why is it so important?” Teyla asked, testing the boundaries of this new world they had found themselves in. She felt Sheppard go tense beside her. “Are there some sort of rituals or rites that must be partaken of for trade, and those require two people?”

“Oh, no, it is nothing like that,” Maderrin said with a faint laugh.

“Adults are simply meant to have partners,” Eris advised them in a patient, if faintly incredulous tone, as though he couldn’t understand how they didn’t already inherently know that. “Life requires much of us, and we each need a person who will be our support, and us theirs. To try to partake in the duties of adulthood without such support is unthinkable. No one would be able to handle it.”

Teyla felt Sheppard relax slightly, but she was still worried, though she couldn’t explain why. Eris’s explanation had a sort of logic to it; in fact, it reminded her of the Athosian belief in community, of being able to rely on each other for anything. The Agrimans might have condensed it into a more singular form, with a focus on individual partnerships, but perhaps it wasn’t that much different in the end.

“So there are no unmarried adults in the village?” she asked in a casually curious tone as Eris and Maderrin led them into a side street.

“No, none. Once a person reaches majority, they go through the Coming of Age ceremony, where they are married and thereby become an adult.”

There was a look in Maderrin’s eyes that Teyla could not quite read.

“If there are no single adults in the village, who do they marry?” Sheppard asked, confusion evident in his voice.

“Any of the others who are going through the ceremony,” Eris advised. “Or any adult who chooses to marry them.”

Sheppard frowned. “So, some of you have more than one partner?”

“Oh, no. I apologize if I was unclear.” Eris actually looked very uncomfortable at the implication. “During the Coming of Age ceremony, someone who is currently married can marry a New Adult. If they choose to do so and the marriage is approved, their previous marriage is immediately dissolved.”

“Their former partner must then find a new partner and marry anew while the ceremony is still in progress,” Maderrin added in a dull tone.

“Or they may leave the village,” Eris said shortly. “There is always that choice.”

And yet Teyla got the impression that no one would willingly choose that option. Where, in fact, would they go? Would they be welcome in Portos? Or would they be shunned there, having come from Agrima? It didn’t seem a viable solution, not for anyone wishing to remain on Pyrum.

“What happens if someone’s partner dies?” she tentatively asked.

“They stay in mourning, living alone in their home, until the next Coming of Age,” Eris advised, with a sad frown. “The village cares for them, delivering food and other necessities, until that time to ensure that they can stay sequestered.”

“And how often does the Coming of Age happen?” Sheppard asked.

“Three times a year.”

It looked as though Maderrin was going to add more, but Eris glanced her way and she kept silent. Teyla looked between the two of them, the same feeling she had experienced when she first saw them rising in her again. Glancing at Sheppard, she found him watching her with a curious gaze. He cast a quick look at Eris’s and Maderrin’s backs, before leaning into to Teyla so that he could whisper near her ear.

“Nice catch.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Hopefully we will not wish we had left instead.”

“It should be okay,” he responded, throwing a small frown at their escorts. “I’d say we just need to stay together but they probably won’t even let us be apart, so we have that going for us.” He paused, looking a little more wary. “But, y’know, let’s really stick together this time.”

She nodded and clutched his hand a little tighter as they continued down the street.


-000000-


They were in a net, swinging from a tree. And it was McKay’s fault.

Ronon had known something wasn’t right the second McKay had stopped to stare at something off the side of the road. He’d felt uneasy the entire time they’d been on the way to Portos, just a feeling he couldn’t shake that something was off. Teyla’d mentioned bandits, so he’d kept his eyes on the forest around them, waiting for something to happen.

He hadn’t expected it to be McKay spotting something he’d missed. But he probably should’ve expected that McKay would stumble right into a trap.

He growled in frustration, trying to shift out from under McKay’s weight. Because of the position they’d been in when the net closed around them—Ronon attempting to tackle McKay from behind to get him away from the trap—he’d basically wound up spooning McKay, who was laying on his chest. His arms were squeezed against McKay’s sides, and he couldn’t get to his blaster, or to either of McKay’s guns, and he knew that any minute now the people who’d set the trap were going to show up.

Ronon tried using his legs, which were bent up on either side of McKay, to push himself out from under him. He could get a decent hold by putting his heels into the holes in the net, but doing so didn’t provide a lot of leverage. All that he managed to do was set the net slowly swinging in a gentle arc.

McKay was struggling to get up, too, and he nearly hit Ronon in the face with the back of his head.

“Watch it, McKay!”

“I thought we were supposed to be careful!” He snapped back as he tried to lift himself off of Ronon.

“I was being careful,” Ronon ground out. “You’re the one who stepped directly onto the trigger.” Which he had yelled a warning about.

“Then why are you caught up in the net, too, hmm?”

“Because I tried to knock you out of the way!”

McKay went still. “Oh. Well, thanks for trying.”

“You can thank me once we’re out of here.” Ronon tried heaving his whole body up, but the net just bounced slightly without him changing position at all. If anything, it almost felt like he was sinking deeper into the net, which had stopped swinging back and forth and was instead rotating slightly side to side.

“I—are you expecting a bigger thank you?” McKay was asking. “Like, a—a hug or something? Because—”

But Ronon wasn’t listening to him. “Shut up, McKay.” He had frozen, straining his ears. He was pretty sure he heard a twig crack, and maybe the faintest rustle of leaves. But it was difficult to make out anything over McKay’s voice.

“I was only asking since I thought my verbal gratitude was en—”

“Shh!”

“I’m just trying to—”

“McKay! Shut up! Someone’s coming.”

“What?!”

Whoever it was had stopped trying to be stealthy as soon as they’d heard McKay’s voice. In fact, it sounded like they were purposefully making noise as they approached. Either they wanted Ronon and McKay to know they were coming, or it was a distraction, and someone or something else was coming from another direction. Ronon tried to turn his head to see around them, but because his shoulders couldn’t move, he was limited in how far he could turn. McKay’s head was blocking the view to his right, so he turned as best he could to the left and then rolled his eyes to the edge of his vision.

“Looks like the fishing has been good today.”

It was a man’s voice, deep and clear despite the raspy tone. Again, Ronon tried to shift to get eyes on who it was. This time, as the net spun slowly around, he was successful.

The man who met his eyes through the net looked to be somewhere in his fifties, tall and fit with black hair and a black and silver beard. There were others with him, all standing back a bit: men and women of different sizes and colors and ages, wearing an assortment of clothing in styles that didn’t match. They all had weapons of one kind or another, too, from basic clubs to stunners in a style Ronon hadn’t seen before but whose purpose was clear from their design.

The man grinned sharply as he held Ronon’s gaze, and Ronon glared back. He got the impression that this man was one who would actually be able to hold his own, should he have to fight. Ronon looked forward to the possibility.

“Perhaps not what we expected to catch,” the man said, those others chuckling at some inside joke, “but any catch is a good one.”

“Look, we’re just trying to get to Portos,” McKay whined. “We’re here to meet people, maybe buy some stuff, that’s all.”

Whatever McKay had been hoping to achieve with his words, they definitely didn’t have that effect. Ronon saw the bandit leader’s eyes harden, his grin shifting from amused to angry.

“Of course you were,” he replied, a sneer in his tone. “And now you’ve met us!” He swept an arm to encompass those who were with him, and they all laughed.

Ronon, as the net continued to spin gently, had been counting. There were at least a dozen people that he could see, and he wouldn’t be surprised if there were more spread out in the trees beyond his sight line. He didn’t like the odds, but if he could just get to his gun, and get McKay on his feet, they might be able to get away. Probably with injuries, but they could escape. Maybe.

The leader seemed to hear Ronon’s thoughts, because his smile faded as he strode forward and grabbed the net, stopping its motion. He stared first into Rodney’s eyes, then into Ronon’s, with a cold expression.

“You are going to regret ever coming here.”

“I already regret coming here,” McKay whined. “So if that’s what you’re after, mission accomplished! You can just let us go now.”

The man didn’t respond. Once he’d looked at Ronon, he hadn’t looked away. Ronon could see the calculation in his eyes, and figured the man was studying him and deciding what to do next. Ronon wasn’t stupid; he knew exactly how intimidating he was to people, especially people who didn’t know him. He definitely didn’t do anything to soften that image, and often played on it when he thought it was helpful. Like now. So he stared back at the man, unflinching, and slowly grinned.

The man’s expression shifted from cold to surprised to angry. He stepped back and called over his shoulder.

“Hit them.”

Two of the people holding stunners lifted them, and Ronon roared in fury before they fired and the world went dark.


-000000-


The Council of Exumens wound up being four old people sitting at a table in the upstairs of a nondescript building about two blocks from the village square. Sheppard wasn’t surprised that the Council had an even number of people on it; now that it had been pointed out to him, he was hyper-aware of how everyone in the village was paired up. When they’d entered the room, he’d taken note of how the two pairs on the Council—one a man and a woman, the other two women—shared one table, but sat distinctly separate from each other. The distance between the two pairs wasn’t large, no more than two or three feet, but there was also the impression of distance, of a clear delineation between the couples.

He and Teyla had been directed to sit at a smaller, two-person table, and they’d lowered themselves onto the bench there. That was another thing Sheppard had noticed: he hadn’t seen any chairs anywhere, no seats that would only accommodate one person. Instead, there were benches.

As he’d sat down, he’d made a point to sit right next to Teyla, their thighs pressed together and shoulders brushing. It seemed the standard practice on Agrima to maintain physical contact with your partner if you weren’t moving, and he’d decided to follow suit. He’d missed all the signs of the practice to start with and they’d only managed to stay in the village because Teyla had—as usual—been more socially astute than he was. So he planned to do his best to mirror whatever the Agrimans did to avoid making any faux pas that might get them evicted.

Until such time as they might need to be evicted. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen, but Sheppard was prepared.

The Council had introduced themselves as Alden Aelyn and Alden Brever, and Alden Charys and Alden Norrel, respectively. Alden Brever, one half of the female couple, was apparently the head of the Council, and it was she who led the conversation.

“We have been told that you wish to open a stall in our market,” she said in a reedy voice.

“Ah, no, sorry,” Sheppard apologetically responded. “That might have been our fault, using the wrong terminology. We were hoping to discuss trade between our people. We aren’t looking to become vendors in the market.”

“We visit other worlds, like yours, to find friends and establish trade relations,” Teyla added.

Sheppard could tell that she was still concerned, just as she had been since they’d met Eris and Maderrin. Though her voice was as calm as ever, he could feel how stiffly she was holding herself. He wondered if she’d noticed something else he’d missed that had left her so uneasy, and wished he could get the chance to ask her. Despite being on a world that expected them to be in each other’s pockets—something that might usually have made it easier for them to covertly share info—they hadn’t been left alone yet.

“What would you have of value to trade?” Alden Brever asked them, her tone faintly pompous.

“Lots of things,” Sheppard returned, choosing to stay vague. He was still trying to get a read on the Agrimans and didn’t want to play his hand too quickly.

“What sorts of things might you need?” Teyla asked. “Or that you might wish to have? It is possible that we could provide them, or that we might have other trade partners who could.”

The Council exchanged looks that were slightly baffled, as though they couldn’t imagine what else they might want or need from the galaxy. Sheppard knew that traders came to Pyrum fairly regularly—the market in the square had shown that—but that didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be something the Agrimans might want that they didn’t already have access to. If they were satisfied with what they had, though, he could handle that, too. He decided to try the “let’s just be friends” tactic.

“It doesn’t have to be anything major,” he advised. “We have trade partners that we just exchange food with; they get stuff that’s found on our planet and we get stuff found on theirs. It’s just a way for us to maintain friendly relations.”

And if the Atlantis biochem department eventually found the cure to cancer or whatever in one of those alien plants, even better. But the Agrimans didn’t need to know about that.

Alden Charys, at least, looked intrigued by the idea of a food exchange. She turned to mumble into Alden Norrel’s ear. He, in turn, whispered to Alden Brever who then shared the thought with Alden Aelyn. Sheppard felt Teyla’s hand twitch.

As Alden Brever was speaking to Alden Aelyn, the door to the room opened and two young men entered. They paused at the threshold to direct courteous nods at the Council, before one of them swiftly moved around the Council table to speak to Alden Brever in a low voice. The other young man, still standing in the doorway, studied Sheppard and Teyla with bald-faced curiosity. Alden Brever, missive received, nodded sharply and the two young retreated from the room. She was smiling softly when she looked back at Sheppard and Teyla, but Sheppard also thought there was something slightly self-satisfied in her expression.

“You have been asked for,” she simply said.

“Excuse me?”

When she flicked her gaze in his direction then returned it to Teyla, Sheppard realized Alden Brever hadn’t been talking to him.

“The Coming of Age ceremony is in progress today, and you have been asked for,” she reiterated, that same smile on her face as she watched Teyla’s reaction.

“I am sorry,” Teyla told her. “I do not understand what you mean when you say that I have been asked for.”

Sheppard thought she did, though, and was just hoping to talk her way around it.

“A New Adult has asked for you in marriage,” Alden Brever slowly said, as though explaining to a child.

That was enough for Sheppard to know it was time for him to step in.

“Teyla isn’t going to be marrying anyone.” He felt the question in the room, and added, “Anyone else. Neither will I,” he tacked on for good measure.

Alden Brever was no longer smiling. Instead, her expression was a combination of glower and pout. “You wish to establish friendly relations, do you not? What better way than through the most basic kind of partnership: marriage?”

“I think you have misunderstood what we meant by friendly relations,” Teyla told her in a clipped tone. “We were talking in terms of trading goods, not trading people.”

An odd look passed over Alden Brever’s face, and the other Aldens shared glances. Alden Brever met Teyla’s unimpressed gaze and tilted her head.

“Perhaps you should see what you are dismissing.”

It might have been phrased like a suggestion, but the tone left little doubt that Teyla and Sheppard had no choice in the matter. The Aldens rose from their table and Alden Brever beckoned imperiously to them.

“Come. We will observe the ceremony in the square.”

As Sheppard and Teyla rose from their bench to follow them, Sheppard took Teyla’s hand again. She gave him a worried look and he paused, still inside the room. He could hear the Aldens making their way down the stairs, and he knew that he and Teyla would need to appear behind them shortly.

“It’ll be fine,” he quickly reassured her.

“We’ll stick together,” she replied, repeating his earlier words.

“Yeah. Though I’m gonna be a little annoyed if I have to fight any duels for your honor,” he joked.

Teyla just cut her eyes at him as she led the way into the hall. “If there are fights of any kind, we will both be participating,” she told him.

“If we have to fight,” he agreed. He hoped it didn’t come to that.


-000000-


Rodney came to on his back on the forest floor. He squinted up at the sky and lifted his right hand to shield his eyes from the sun, only to have his left hand come with it. They’d been bound together at the wrists, and he frowned at them in confusion for a second before he remembered.

“Great,” he grunted.

“You are awake, then.”

Rodney turned his head to find the man from before, the one who had menaced him while he was still stuck in the net, staring down at him. The man’s expression was nothing but cool disinterest and Rodney felt a chill run up his spine. Whatever he and Ronon had stumbled into, it wasn’t good. Well, he’d already known it wasn’t good when they’d found themselves in the net in the first place, but now he knew it was really bad. Not captured-by-the-Wraith bad, but at the very least probably-going-to-be-hurt bad.

“This isn’t necessary—” he began, holding his bound hands up in indication.

“Get up,” the man said, cutting him off.

Laboriously, Rodney rolled over onto his stomach and got himself onto all fours. His entire body ached, and he wondered if the bandits hadn’t bothered to gently lower him and Ronon out of the tree, but had simply cut the net loose instead, leaving them to drop to the ground.

As he got to his feet, it occurred to him that if that was what had happened, he would have landed on Ronon. He glanced around in concern, only to find that Ronon was already up and standing a few feet away, surrounded by bandits. His wrists were similarly bound, but his were behind him while Rodney’s were in the front. He was scowling, looking murderous, but he didn’t seem to be in pain.

“You don’t have to do this,” Rodney tried again. “You’ve got our stuff, just let us go.”

The leader was unmoved. “Move,” he ordered, voice and face equally stern.

The men around Ronon began herding him through the trees, a handful of the bandits moving ahead of them. Ronon twisted his body away from one of them when the man tried to actually hold onto his arm, but otherwise didn’t fight. Rodney figured he was waiting to make his move in a better spot. Though what a ‘better spot’ looked like in the middle of the forest, he had no clue.

More of the bandits followed behind Ronon, the leader included, while a group closed ranks around Rodney and led him along after them. He looked over his shoulder to find the remaining members—just three of them—had taken up the rear position.

It took him a few minutes to orient himself, but he realized that the bandits were moving them back in the direction of the Gate. His heart jumped; if he and Ronon were taken through to some other planet, they might never be found again. He was wracking his brain, trying to plan possible courses of action, when an option fell into his lap. Or at least appeared to his right.

There was a small gap in the undergrowth, and Rodney could see that there was a shallow gully that curved close to where they were walking before it bent away again, out of sight. If he could get down there, away from the bandits, he could make a run for it. They were probably about halfway between Portos and the Gate; he’d have to pick one. After a moment’s debate, he decided to go for the Gate. If he couldn’t get through himself, he should be able to hide nearby. That way if they tried to take Ronon through, he could memorize the address.

Steeling his nerves, Rodney took a breath and ran for the gully. He only got a meter or so, not even to the edge, when his legs simply stopped working. Or, more accurately, he could no longer feel them.

He collapsed to the ground face first, unable to catch himself due to his bound hands and the unexpected suddenness of the fall. Spitting out a mouthful of grass and dirt, he flipped over onto his back and stared down at his lower limbs, terrified.

“I can’t feel my legs!” he cried out to the bandits who had rushed after him. “What did you do? Am I paralyzed?!”

If he was paralyzed, he would never forgive—well, he wasn’t sure exactly who would be at fault for it, aside from the bandits, but he wouldn’t forgive them. Any of them.

Back at the opening in the undergrowth, where he had darted through, the leader had appeared. He sneered at Rodney, who was lying on the ground with fear in his eyes as he clutched legs that no longer felt as if they were attached to his body.

“It is temporary,” the man told him. “But try anything else and the next shot will not be.”

“Don’t know what else I could try,” Rodney bitterly retorted. “Seeing as I can’t walk.”

And he couldn’t. His guards had pulled him back to his feet, but his legs refused to do anything. Two of the men handed their weapons off to others before grabbing Rodney under the arms and by his ankles, and thereby carried him back to the rest of the group. Up ahead, Rodney could just make out Ronon looking back at him. His expression was a little difficult to make out in the dappled light under the trees, but Rodney thought he looked a bit proud. Or maybe he was annoyed. Rodney wasn’t able to tell before Ronon turned away, once again being led through the trees.

Rodney was carried the rest of the way, which turned out to not be far. His legs were still numb by the time they arrived at what was obviously the bandits’ hideout. Their camp was arranged around a clearing in the trees, haphazardly constructed tents spread around, and what appeared to be a communal cooking pit set just off to the left of the clearing’s center.

Their captors led them there, stopping Ronon—and dropping Rodney— beside the dormant pit. The leader came to stand a few feet away, and others from the gang laid things at his feet. Rodney recognized them as his and Ronon’s gear. His pack was there, along with his tac vest, P90, and sidearm. So was Ronon’s blaster, which was, incidentally, the only gear Ronon had brought on this mission. The leader looked down at the gear, his eyes running over it in a quick survey. Then he looked up at Rodney and Ronon, surveying them with the same expression.

“We may steal,” he said, voice low and level, “but we do so out of necessity. And we only kill for revenge.”

Rodney swallowed. “And we’ve done nothing to you, so—”

He cut himself off at the man’s expression. It wasn’t quite hostile, but it was decidedly unfriendly. He wondered if these people considered speaking without permission offensive. If so, he and Ronon were screwed. Well, he was screwed; Ronon hadn’t said anything so far.

“You have the opportunity to leave,” the man continued. “We will not impede you.”

He waved a hand, and two men approached Rodney and Ronon. The men sawed at their bonds while others circled around, keeping their weapons trained on them. Well, keeping them trained on Ronon. Once both Rodney and Ronon had their hands free, the leader gestured to the items at his feet.

“You may take any one item that you can carry and leave with it. But you must make it to the tree gate by the count of ten in order to do so. Otherwise, you will die.”

He had pointed to the other side of the clearing as he spoke, and Rodney looked in that direction. At the far end of the clearing, two trees formed an arch, their trunks far apart enough that two adults could walk between them shoulder to shoulder with room to spare. The canopies of the trees were woven together, some of the branches actually having grown into one another. This was clearly the “tree gate” the man meant.

It was also at least seventy meters away, a distance Rodney seriously doubted he could cover in ten seconds even if his legs had been working.

“Do I at least get to wait until I can feel my legs again?” he complained.

“This is your only opportunity. We will not make this offer again.”

Rodney was about to argue some more, if for no other reason than to kill more time in the ridiculous hope that his dead legs would fully recover in the next few seconds. But then Ronon finally spoke.

“Any one thing I can carry?”

His voice was questioning and slightly hesitant, and Rodney saw him staring at the leader’s feet. Then it hit him: Ronon was eyeing his blaster. That was his one thing. Of course—he wanted to make sure he’d heard the man correctly before he made a run for it.

Rodney was bitter for about half a second before he turned hopeful. If these people were stupid enough to let Ronon get his hands on his blaster, then that’s exactly what Rodney wanted to happen. Even if Ronon did have to fake leaving, running through the tree gate and off into the forest, he’d come back. Probably with Sheppard and Teyla, but at the very least with his blaster blazing and with every intention of freeing Rodney. Or maybe more with the intention of taking out as many of the bandits as he could, but either way that gave Rodney a chance. He could wait for that.

The leader studied Ronon for a moment before he answered. “Yes, with my word.”

Ronon gave him a contemptuous smile. “Your word doesn’t mean much.”

“With your life then.”

There was brief moment where Ronon stared the man down, and Rodney could all but see the cogs moving in his mind as he planned his next move. And since Rodney thought he knew what that was going to be, he was stunned when instead of walking over to the man and grabbing his gun, Ronon turned to him. Ronon pulled him to his feet and then squatted to put his shoulder against Rodney’s midsection. Then he stood, lifting Rodney with him, and began running toward the tree gate.

He’d made it about halfway, Rodney bouncing painful against his shoulder, when a loud, booming laugh rang through the clearing.

“Stop! Stop!” the laughing voice called.

Ronon slowed, and Rodney was able to glance back across the clearing to see the bandit leader’s face, the almost cruel expressions he had worn so far replaced by a look of delight. He was smiling broadly as he waved his arms in their direction. Ronon came to a complete stop and pivoted to look back, though only halfway so that Rodney could still look to the side and see what was going on, too.

“Come back!” the man called to them, waving his arms again. “You are in no more danger here.”

Rodney could feel Ronon hesitating.

“They could’ve shot us several times already if that’s what they wanted to do,” Rodney quietly told him.

“They did shoot you.”

“Only temporarily.”

“They threatened to kill us.”

“You threatened to kill me the first time we met,” Rodney reminded him.

“Yeah, but I didn’t.”

“Not so far,” Rodney muttered, before continuing in a normal voice. “Do you really want to have to lug me the five kilometers or more it would take us to get to Sheppard and Teyla? And without any weapons?”

“No. But I would.”

“And I appreciate that, but I feel like my stomach is being pushed into my lungs and I’d rather just sit and wait until I can walk on my own again.”

Rodney waited for more pushback, but Ronon didn’t appear to have any other arguments. He returned them to their previous place by the fire pit, gently lowering Rodney to sit back on the ground. Ronon remained standing, closely watching every movement of the leader and the rest of the bandits.

The leader, for his part, seemed to have changed personalities. He was looking over Rodney and Ronon with warmth, though there was still some caution in the smiling gaze that roved over them. There were logs ranged around the pit, and the man sat down on one, propping his elbows on his knees.

“You’ve proven yourself by your choice,” he told Ronon. He pointed to their gear, still in its pile. “Why didn’t you choose any of your things?”

“I wasn’t gonna leave McKay here,” Ronon said, as if he couldn’t understand why the man thought he would. “You said you were going to kill him.”

“Yes, I did. And that is why I won’t. Because you picked him over your things.”

“What does that matter?” Rodney snapped. “I told you before that you could keep the stuff, and to just let us go.”

“You are not who we thought you were,” he said, as though that explained things.

“And who exactly is that?” Rodney irritably asked. He was pretty sure the feeling was coming back into this legs, and it was going to be all pain.

The man didn’t answer. His expression had turned serious again, and he studied Ronon and Rodney for a minute or two before he spoke.

“There are much more dangerous people on this planet than us,” he said. “We will return your things, including your weapons, with the promise that no harm will befall you while you are in our presence, so long as you promise the same.”

“You’re just going to give them back to us?” Ronon didn’t sound like he believed him.

“Yes. No one should go about unarmed on Pyrum.” The man paused, and the look he gave them was grave. “We are not who you should fear.”

“Who did you think we were?” Rodney asked again, a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

“When you said that you were here to meet people and buy things, we thought you meant that you were looking to trade people.”

Now Rodney had a bad feeling all over everywhere. He glanced Ronon’s way to find his face was dark with anger.

“Trade people?”

“We thought you were here to buy slaves.”


-000000-


They had been taken back to the square with no further conversation. Truthfully, they had been escorted back there, though Teyla had noted that no one made physical contact with either her or Sheppard to ensure their compliance. Not that either of them had given any indications of refusing to follow along. Several Agrimans had simply surrounded the colonel and herself as soon as they had exited back onto the street, and in that way guided them after the Council and into the square.

There was a fountain in the center of the square, burbling pleasantly. When Teyla and Sheppard had been in the area earlier, she had not noticed the small stage that stood near it, on the opposite side of it from the road into the village. The stage was simple and unadorned, with steps leading up to it from either side and no railing, but it bore the signs of frequent usage.

She and Sheppard were directed to sit on a bench off to the left of the stage. As they sat down, a young man and a young woman—each no more than teenagers—walked up onto the stage. They turned to face one another and took each other’s hands before saying something. Teyla couldn’t hear what was said, but from the rhythmic motions of their mouths, she would guess that it was a recitation. After they finished, they shared a chaste kiss and then left the stage from the opposite side that they had ascended onto it. Hand in hand, they disappeared from view behind the fountain.

Alden Brever appeared at Teyla’s side. She cast a fond look in the direction of the young couple, before turning a more supercilious one on Teyla.

“Two New Adults,” she said. “Another successful marriage.”

“Kissing somebody in public doesn’t make a successful marriage,” Sheppard retorted.

Alden Brever looked taken aback, but Teyla ignored her for the moment and turned her attention to the colonel. His tone had been as much sad as angry, and she studied his face, trying to read his expression. He wasn’t looking at her, instead frowning in the general direction of the stage, and she wondered what he was thinking about. This wasn’t the time to ask, though, so she turned back to Alden Brever.

“Are there rules around who can marry?” she asked. She waved a hand in the direction the young couple had taken. “It appears that the expectation of marriage begins at a young age; do you have guidelines around age differences and things such as that?”

“Yes, of course,” Alden Brever replied. “There are written rules in the Hall of Records, though those have never needed to be consulted in my lifetime. The Council is aware of all unions and steps in if there is anything about either member of the couple that would make the marriage unsuitable, such as a considerable difference in age.”

Rules that had been important enough to write down but were not consulted, and a Council who revered the tradition; Teyla doubted many marriages were ever stopped.

“I assume that one does not have to marry the person who asks for them?” she queried, remembering the reason they had been called to the square. If it were a New Adult—a teenager—who had asked for her and no one had questioned it, she wondered what would actually constitute a “considerable difference in age.”

“The person asked for can always say no,” Alden Brever told her. “And they can reject as many asks as they choose.”

Someone standing near the stage motioned toward Alden Brever, and she nodded to them in acknowledgment.

“Please excuse me for a moment,” she said, turning to walk toward the stage.

Teyla waited until she was out of earshot and, taking a quick look around to make sure no Agrimans were close enough to eavesdrop, she shifted closer to Sheppard.

“I do not believe that we are in any danger,” she told him in a low voice, “but I am very uncomfortable with this.”

“Me, too.” Sheppard’s voice was as stiff as his posture, his gaze distrustful as he observed their surroundings.

“Alden Brever says that a person can reject as many asks as they want, but what other option do they have but to eventually accept someone, when marriage is required?”

“It’s either that or risk being kicked out.”

“And where would they go? I doubt Portos would welcome them.” Teyla shook her head, distressed by the situation and all its context. “In a culture such as this, ‘choice’ is only a word. There is no real power in it.”

“I’m just trying to figure out how we make a graceful exit,” Sheppard said, his eyes shifting for a moment from their study of the square to her face. “I don’t think I’m interested in building friendly relations with these people anymore.”

“Nor am I.” Teyla paused, casting a glance around herself. “No one appears to be watching us. Perhaps we can just leave?”

“Maybe if we do it slowly, no one will notice we’ve moved,” Sheppard agreed.

He shifted, as though about to stand, and Teyla braced herself to follow his lead. But he stopped almost immediately, his gaze laser-focused on something ahead of them, and Teyla looked in that direction to see a young man striding toward them. The young man had his chin stuck out and his chest puffed up, and he was staring at Teyla with a determined look in his eye. This must be the New Adult who had asked for her.

As he reached them, Teyla could see that some of the people in the square had stopped what they were doing to watch the young man’s journey. They were still staring as he held out his left hand, palm up, and gave Teyla a boyish smile.

“I ask for you in marriage,” he said, with guileless charm.

Despite her misgiving about Agriman culture, Teyla felt pity for the young man. He had asked for her with such earnestness, as though sure the asking would be all that it required to receive her hand. He knew no better, and she was going to have to reject him, most likely embarrass him, in front of everyone. But before she could respond, Sheppard did so for her.

“She—she’s already married,” he bit out, glancing between Teyla and himself before glaring at the young man. “She isn’t going to marry you.”

To Teyla’s surprise—and Sheppard’s as well, it seemed—the young man didn’t even flinch. Instead, he frowned at Sheppard, something like disapproval on his face.

“It isn’t your choice,” he told Sheppard. “It’s hers.”

Sheppard blinked at him, then turned to stare at Teyla, as though waiting for her to speak. If the situation were not so fraught, with unknown repercussions waiting to reveal themselves, she might have teased Sheppard by pretending to consider the offer. As it was, she knew not to risk such a joke, so instead she just took Sheppard’s hand and gave the young man an apologetic smile.

“I am very happy as I am,” she said. “I will not marry you.”

The young man’s face fell, smile replaced by such a look of utter devastation that Teyla felt her heart ache for him. Did he have no other prospects? Surely there were others his age who would seek a marriage with him. She didn’t know how she would feel if her rejection was the catalyst for the young man’s ostracism.

Even as she contemplated that scenario, the young man, who had turned and was slowly walking away, was stopped by a young woman who appeared to be his age. They were just far enough away, and the crowd in the square just loud enough, that Teyla couldn’t hear what the young woman said. But from the hand she held out and the way the young man’s face lit up again at the sight of it, Teyla still knew: he had been asked for. And since he happily took the offered hand and practically ran with the young woman to the stage, Teyla knew that he had accepted.

“That could have ended badly,” Sheppard muttered.

“It was no more than a crush,” Teyla replied mildly. “He must have seen me when we first entered the village, as we walked through the market.”

Up on the stage, the young couple had already flown through the vows and the kiss and were making their way back down to the street level. In his haste, the young man had started toward the entrance stairs, and the young woman laughed as she tugged him in the correct direction, toward the exit ones. Expectation or not, they did seem to be happy to have one another.

“So he spotted you and was instantly enamored? Understandable,” Sheppard quipped. “Lucky for him we were here during the Coming of Age thing, otherwise he would’ve had to just pine in private.”

It appeared that the immediate threat of Teyla being caught up in the Agriman marriage requirements having passed, Sheppard was now able to find humor in the situation. Teyla turned to give him an unamused glance, but paused in surprise when she saw Maderrin approaching from over his shoulder. Sheppard, seeing her expression, also turned.

Maderrin was walking swiftly toward them, wringing her hands with a look of fear and uncertainty on her face. And she was alone.

She reached the bench where they were sitting and came to stand in front of them. Teyla noted that she had stopped directly in front of Sheppard, and though she kept shooting Teyla furtive looks, her focus was on the colonel. She stood there for a moment, seeming to collect herself, before she took a deep breath and—with one final glance Teyla’s way—held out her left hand to Sheppard.

“I ask for you in marriage.”


-000000-


Degan, the leader of the bandits, had returned Ronon’s and McKay’s gear to them as promised. Ronon had immediately strapped his holster back on, securing his blaster back inside it. But McKay’s legs still weren’t working, so he’d only pulled back on his tac vest. Ronon and one of the other bandits had carried him to sit in front of one of the logs around the fire pit, where he could lean back against it, and then Ronon had set the rest of his gear next to him for the time being.

Ronon had sat on the log beside McKay, and was studying Degan.

“Portos is a slave center?” He growled the words in distaste. He’d had a bad feeling about the planet, but he hadn’t expected this. Attempted robbery by bandits? Threatened with death? Sure. But not slaves.

“Not publicly, no.” Degan bitterly replied. “Publicly they are known for their trade in fabrics. But that is the front for their trade of people, of the Kept.”

“‘The Kept’?”

“It is what they call their slaves, the people they buy and sell and trade,” Degan spat.

Ronon felt his approval of the man grow. He could forgive being abducted when he’d been mistaken for a slaver, especially when his abductor appeared to hate them as much as he did.

“So Portos doesn’t actually sell fabric?” McKay seemed confused. “Or do they?”

“No, they do,” Degan advised. “They make beautiful fabrics. And by ‘they,’ I mean the Kept. They produce the goods for the public trade, and they are the goods for the underground one.”

“That’s—that’s despicable!”

Ronon was impressed by the venom in McKay’s voice. His face was red, and he was as indignant as Ronon had ever seen him. Which was very.

“It’s abhorrent!” McKay continued. “It’s barbaric! We are definitely not seeking trade opportunities with these people!”

He directed this last part Ronon’s way and Ronon gave him a bland look.

“You won’t hear me arguing.”

McKay nodded, satisfied, and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he shifted against the log, wincing, and Ronon put a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay?”

“I’m getting the feeling back in my legs,” McKay explained, tone peevish. “But so far the only sensation I’m getting is agony. It feels like I’m being stabbed with a thousand needles.” He shot a glare in Degan’s direction.

Degan gave him an apologetic smile. “I am sorry that you were stunned, but you did try to run away. And at the time we thought you were a slaver.”

“Apology accepted.”

“Don’t you have pain meds in your vest?” Ronon asked. McKay usually kept stuff like that around; he tended to need it a lot.

“I—yes, I do. Thanks for the reminder.”

McKay dug through one of his vest pockets and pulled out a blister pack which he popped open, dry swallowing the pills from it. A look of relief came over his face, as though his pain had been lessened just from the act of taking something.

“So, we aren’t going to Portos,” he sighed.

“No,” Ronon agreed. “We gotta get back to Sheppard and Teyla.”

“Are those your friends?” Degan asked.

“Yeah, they went to visit Agrima.”

Degan sat up, suddenly more alert. “Then they are no safer.”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you know of Agrima?”

“Nothing.”

“We know they don’t like Portos,” McKay said, “but I can’t say I blame them for that.”

Degan nodded. “It is true that the two villages do not get along, but they are not above sharing.” He cast a look full of disdain Ronon and McKay’s way. “And they both hide their sins. Portos covers it with legitimate trade, while Agrima shrouds it in ritual.”

“What are you talking about?”

“All adults in Agrima must be married, or they are expelled from the village.”

McKay’s look of concern reverted to his earlier one of fury. “You mean they force people into marriages? What the hell kind of planet is this?!”

“No, no one is forced,” Degan told them, but his tone seemed to suggest otherwise. “Marriage is required, but no one is forced to marry anyone else. Anyone can be asked for, but they can always refuse the asking.”

“Being able to say ‘no’ doesn’t mean a hell of a lot if you’re required to eventually say ‘yes,’” McKay snapped, eyes blazing.

“What happens if they’re expelled?” Ronon asked. He figured he knew at least one potential outcome, but wondered if there were more. If there were worse.

“They try to seek asylum in Portos, where they become Kept, or they wind up with us.”

“Is that what happened to you?” McKay seemed genuinely interested. “Did you get kicked out of Agrima and that’s why you know all of this?”

“No, I was one of the Kept.”

McKay looked horrified.

“You escaped?” Ronon asked. He was liking Degan more and more. Maybe he could convince Sheppard that they should help the bandits relocate somewhere nicer. Then he frowned, wondering why they’d stayed on Pyrum in the first place, given that they had access to the Gate. Degan’s response answered that question.

“Yes, and I took others with me.” He grinned, fast and sharp. “Including two slavers.”

“Wha—you have slavers here?” McKay twisted to look around them, as if he would be able to pick them out from the people milling around the clearing.

“Not here, no,” Degan replied, giving McKay an amused look. “They didn’t make it back to the Gate.”

McKay turned from Degan to look at Ronon, and Ronon just raised an eyebrow at him. He could tell that McKay finally got what Degan was saying when his expression cleared and his body relaxed.

“You killed them. Right. Like you were going to kill us. Got it.”

“We kill any slavers we can catch,” Degan told them, “and free any of the Kept that are with them. The Kept may join us, or leave. If they choose to leave, we ensure they get through the Gate safely.”

“What about others?” Ronon asked.

“You mean travelers who are not slavers? We take whatever we can from them, but we let them go.” Degan gave them his sharp smile again. “Those who can be found outside the villages are usually ones who often travel outside of them. Letting them go means we get to rob them again.”

“You stay here to get back at them,” McKay said, his tone indicating he’d just realized it.

Degan nodded. “Yes. We could leave, and some have. Our numbers change as the Kept are freed or Agrimans are banished, and as ones who have been here for a time to decide to move on with their lives. But many stay. Some have nowhere else to go and no one to return to. Others, like me, have much that is owed them.”

“Who did you lose?”

Ronon asked it bluntly. He would’ve wanted the question posed to him the same way. And he could tell from the way Degan was talking that he wasn’t fighting for himself. Not entirely. Degan met his gaze calmly, but Ronon recognized the look in his eyes. He knew that look.

“My wife.”

“I’m so sorry,” McKay told him in a small voice.

“So were the slavers who abducted us.”

Ronon gave Degan a small, fierce smile full of understanding. Revenge didn’t bring the dead back to life, but it was a good enough reason to keep living. Degan, seeing the smile, nodded in return.

“Are your legs working yet, McKay?” Ronon asked.

“Almost. Look what I can do,” he added in a sarcastically cheerful voice. He pulled his legs up into a bent position and straightened them back out again, frowning in concentration as he did it.

“You should be back to normal shortly,” Degan told him. “As soon as you are able to move, the remaining effects wear off rapidly.”

“Good. We need to get out of here.”

Ronon was done with this planet. He was seriously considering asking Sheppard to blast the villages from the jumper. Portos, at least. Sheppard probably wouldn’t, but he might ask anyway. He remembered how enraged McKay had been when they found out what Portos and Agrima were really like, and thought McKay might do it if he asked.

McKay was watching Degan with a curious look on his face, and Ronon nudged him.

“What?”

“You said that Portos and Agrima ‘are not above sharing,’” McKay said to Degan. “What did you mean?”

“I have already told you that exiled Agrimans often wind up joining the Kept, but Agrimans will often buy the Kept as well.”

“Why?”

“For marriages.”

“So it is forced marriage!” McKay was fuming again. “The whole requirement of being married is just an excuse for them to—to buy their spouse!”

“Not exactly,” Degan replied. “Agrimans only buy Kept children, who they then raise. Eventually, yes, the children must go through the same requirement of marriage. But they are not bought specifically to be given in that way.”

“I don’t see the difference,” McKay bit out.

“Me neither.”

“Nor do I, but the Agrimans truly believe in their marriage traditions. To them, adulthood cannot be faced alone, and therefore everyone should have a partner. In their minds, to be alone is not only unacceptable, it is unbearable.”

“Doesn’t explain why they buy people,” Ronon countered.

“Actually, it does,” McKay said, and Ronon could see a kind of sick understanding in his expression. “If they expect every adult to be married, they have to make sure there are enough adults to go around. If the natural birth rate doesn’t cover that, then they have to get more people from somewhere or risk losing villagers because they don’t have enough people to fulfill their stupid requirements.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Agreed, but it does explain why they’d be willing to interact with Portos.”

“It is the only reason the two villages ever interact,” Degan confirmed.

Suddenly, a look of dawning horror came over McKay’s face. “Would the Agrimans ever force adult visitors to stay and marry into the village?” he asked.

“No, they would not,” Degan replied.

McKay let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, that’s good.”

“However, they might capture them to trade to the slavers in exchange for children.”

“Shit.”

McKay pushed himself up to his feet with enough speed that Ronon flinched. He was a bit wobbly, his legs clearly not fully recovered, and Ronon grabbed his arm as he teetered dangerously as he reached down to grab his gear. As McKay clipped his P90 back to his vest and worked on the holster for his sidearm, Ronon got his pack back on him.

“What’s the fastest way to Agrima?” McKay was asking Degan.

“Celeris can show you.” Degan motioned to a young man sitting nearby, who rose and strode over to them. “They need to get to Agrima as quickly as possible,” Degan told him.

Celeris nodded. “I will show you the path through the forest,” he said, and headed toward the trees.

McKay followed after Celeris, but Ronon paused and offered his arm to Degan. The man stood and clasped it with a smile, studying Ronon’s face for a moment before nodding.

“Good luck to you,” he finally said.

“And you,” Ronon replied. Then he turned and jogged to the tree line where Celeris and McKay were waiting.

As they walked, Ronon thought about what Degan had told them. None of it was great, but what he was most focused on was how they would get into Agrima and get to Sheppard and Teyla without any problems. Not that he was all that bothered by the idea of having to fight his way in, but it would be better if the only fighting they had to do was on the way out. He looked over at McKay, who still looked concerned.

“We’re gonna have to pretend to be married.”

“What?” McKay distractedly replied, not taking his eyes off of the path in front of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Degan said unmarried adults aren’t allowed in Agrima,” Ronon reminded him. “We’re gonna have to be married.”

McKay looked at him then, expression rapidly shifting from concerned to surprised to annoyed. Then he just looked resigned.

“And I’m going to have to be the wife, I get it.”

Ronon frowned at him, baffled. “What?”

“We have to pretend to be married and I have to play the wife, it’s fine, whatever. Though where we’re going to get the right clothes, I have no idea.” He looked up at Ronon. “Really, you should be the wife; you already have long hair—it’ll play better.”

“Why does anybody have to be a wife?”

“Well, because we’re pretending to be married,” McKay replied, as if it that explained everything.

“McKay, we can just be husbands.”

McKay stumbled over a root as he stared at Ronon, looking taken aback. “Oh. I—that didn’t even occur to me,” he admitted. Then he nodded. “That will be a lot easier. I had just assumed we were gonna go in incognito and I’d have to, y’know, dress up in some crazy outfit.”

“Dress up in what, McKay?” Ronon asked, giving him a bemused look. “We don’t have any other clothes.”

“I know that, I just expected a society that requires people to be married would also require those marriages to be between a man and woman. Y’know, to make more kids to then be required to marry.”

“Agriman marriages are not based on gender or on having children,” Celeris threw over his shoulder. “All children are raised communally, anyway.” He gave Ronon and Rodney a once over. “You can go in as you are and it will be fine. It is more important that you behave as though you are married.”

“And how exactly do Agriman couples behave?”

Celeris shrugged. “Couples stay in contact with each other, most of the time.”

He had slowed their pace, and now walked them toward the road, which had reappeared off to their right. They all stopped where the forest still provided cover, and McKay turned to Celeris.

“What do you mean by ‘stay in contact’?” he asked, sounding apprehensive.

Ronon just rolled his eyes and took McKay’s hand. They didn’t have time for this. “Thanks for getting us here,” he told Celeris as he began pulling McKay toward the road.

“You are welcome,” Celeris replied, raising a hand in farewell. “Good luck to you and your friends.”

He had disappeared back into the forest before Ronon and McKay made it onto the roadway. All they had to do now was get into the village and find Sheppard and Teyla. That shouldn’t be too difficult; most villages weren’t that big. Ronon had decided to believe that they hadn’t been captured for the slave trade, at least not yet. And Teyla would have been observant enough to realize that she and Sheppard needed to play along at being married, so he doubted they’d been kicked out. So they were definitely in the village somewhere.

McKay, meanwhile, seemed to still be thinking about what Celeris had said.

“What do you think he meant by ‘stay in contact’? Like, holding hands is enough, right?” he asked, raising the hand Ronon still held. “We aren’t going to have to, like, make out in the middle of the village or anything, are we?”

He seemed nervous, and after everything they’d been through so far that day, Ronon decided to mess with him. Turning, he gave McKay a hooded look.

“Maybe.”

McKay’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really?”

Ronon shrugged. “We could.”

“I mean, sure—”

“We’re gonna do whatever we have to do to get to Sheppard and Teyla, McKay.”

“Right.” McKay took a breath and squared his shoulders, much to Ronon’s amusement. “Okay.”

The village was in sight now, and Ronon studied McKay’s reaction. He was clearly anxious, which wasn’t a surprise, and he actually adjusted his grip on Ronon’s hand when he spotted the village ahead of them. Ronon wondered if he was afraid that they’d be immediately chased back out if they happened to let go of each other.

Ronon grinned to himself and decided that if he was presented with a reason to kiss McKay, he was going to do it. Just to see the look on his face.


-000000-


Sheppard had had a bad feeling when he caught sight of Maderrin’s face as she walked toward where he and Teyla were sitting. Now, with her standing in front of him, hand out, expression just shy of hopeless, he bit back a groan. He and Teyla had to get out of this village.

“Maderrin, I’m already married,” he told her, taking Teyla’s hand again to emphasize his point. “I’m not going to marry you.”

It felt weird, saying he was married. Even if it was pretend. It had been so long since it had been true, and since it had meant anything positive or happy, that he had to actively keep the bitterness out of his voice. But Maderrin didn’t seem to notice his struggles, or—if she did—she was too worried about her own.

“Please,” she returned, her eyes pleading with him.

“Look, I don’t know why you’re so desperate,” he said, getting a little frustrated, “but I’m not that much of a catch. Whatever you’re thinking you might get out of choosing me, you’re wrong. You have Eris; you should stay with him.”

“Eris has married a New Adult.”

Sheppard froze, studying Maderrin’s troubled expression more closely this time. If Eris had married someone else…

“I must remarry by day’s end, or I will be forced from the village.”

“Is there no one in the village who you could marry?” Teyla gently asked her.

If anything, Maderrin looked even more anguished. “Eris was my third partner,” she said, fear in her voice. “It is very uncommon for someone my age to have been married so many times. I—I do not know if anyone else would have me. Not anyone I would accept.”

For a moment, Sheppard wondered why Maderrin would refuse an offer, if she was so afraid of being kicked out of the village. Then he realized: it wasn’t just being kicked out that she was afraid of. In fact, that might be the least of her fears. Being exiled from the village might be the best thing that could happen to her.

“Why don’t you just leave?” he asked her, determined he would make that happen for her if she decided she wanted it. “You don’t have to stay here.”

She looked astonished at the idea. “Where else would I go?”

“There are many places we could take you,” Teyla said. “Places where you would be safe, and where you would not have to be with anyone if you did not choose to be.”

“If I had accepted your hand, you would’ve had to leave anyway,” Sheppard pointed out, “because I wouldn’t have stayed here.”

“I had not considered that,” Maderrin admitted, looking a little bit sheepish at her oversight. “I simply thought you might be the best option I had, since you did not know about my past failures.”

“They weren’t only yours,” Sheppard sharply said, and she looked at him in surprise. “A marriage requires two people, and they’re both responsible for what happens.”

“If you wish to leave, we will help you do so.” Teyla was watching Maderrin with a soft and understanding gaze.

Maderrin looked around, fearful and uncertain. “I—I don’t know—”

“You’d be kicked out by the end of the day,” Sheppard reminded her, “but we’d be gone by then. We need to leave now.” And get far away from this planet.

“Would anyone stop you if you tried to leave?” Teyla curiously asked.

“No,” Maderrin replied.

“Do you want to stay?”

Maderrin met Sheppard’s eyes, and he could see her contemplating his question. He could tell when she’d made her decision, because the uncertainty was gone, replaced by a determination he hadn’t expected to see.

“No,” she said. “I will go with you.”

“Then go and quickly collect whatever you wish to bring with you.”

Maderrin nodded at Teyla’s directive, and darted away. She had just disappeared around a corner into a side street when Sheppard heard his name.

“Sheppard.”

He turned to find Ronon and Rodney walking up to them, hand in hand.

“Are you two okay?” Rodney asked, glancing between him and Teyla before looking around nervously.

“Yeah, we’re okay; what about you?”

“We got captured by the bandits,” Rodney advised in an undertone, still casting suspicious looks all around them.

“What?!”

“It’s okay,” Ronon told him. “They’re the good guys.”

“What are you talking about?” Teyla asked.

“The bandits caught us in a trap, and then they took us to their hideout and threatened to kill us because they thought we were slave traders, but then Ronon showed them we weren’t so they freed us, and then they told us the truth about Agrima and Portos.”

Rodney rushed through the entire explanation without taking a breath. Sheppard was still processing what he’d said when he paused to breathe and Ronon picked up the narrative.

“Portos is a slave center,” he rasped in a low whisper. “And Agrima buys kids so they have enough adults for marriage.”

Sheppard glanced around at the kids that were running around the square, suddenly seeing them in a new light. He wondered how many of them were stolen. When he met Teyla’s eyes, he could see that she was wondering the same, and appeared torn between horror and rage. Personally, he was only getting the rage part, but the stress of the past couple of hours might have been blocking the horror. It would probably show up later and kick him in the gut when he wasn’t expecting it. He looked back at Rodney and Ronon.

“So I take it you didn’t actually make it to Portos?”

“No; McKay walked right into a trap near the road about halfway there.”

“I said I was sorry!”

“You landed on me when they dropped us.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.”

“And I had to carry you.”

“That one’s on you; I thought you were going to grab your gun and leave me behind instead.”

“I thought about it.”

They were bickering like they usually did, but it was amusing to watch them do it while holding hands. Sheppard snorted, and Rodney’s eyes snapped to his.

“It isn’t funny; I almost died!”

“You did not.”

“They threatened to kill us, Ronon. That counts.”

“The bandits are escaped slaves and people who’ve been kicked out of here,” Ronon told Sheppard, gesturing to the village. “They kill the slavers and rob the villagers.”

“And we fully support them in all their endeavors,” Rodney added. “Aside from stunning me. But in everything else.”

“Nice to see you made friends, McKay.” Sheppard spotted Maderrin returning, this time with a bag over her shoulder, and he lifted his chin in her direction. “So did we.”

Maderrin had been eyeing Ronon and Rodney—especially Ronon—with mistrust, but she relaxed once Sheppard introduced her to them and explained that they were friends.

“We’re all gonna leave now,” he told them, taking a furtive glance around and seeing that no one was paying them any attention. “And we’re gonna do it casually.”

He had a moment of inspiration, and he waved them all closer.

“Maderrin, give Teyla your bag; it’ll look less suspicious if she has one, like it’s just stuff we’ve bought at the market.”

Maderrin nodded, and handed her bag over. Teyla slung it over her shoulder as she waited for the rest of Sheppard’s instructions.

“You’ll go in front,” Sheppard said, pointing to Maderrin, “with Rodney and Ronon. We’ll act like you’re just walking us through the market, talking about the vendors and the stuff on sale. Teyla and I will be right behind them. Just two couples being shown around the place by a local, right?”

Maderrin nodded. “Yes, that will not look unusual at all.”

“Okay, lead the way.”

Maderrin took a breath and then smiled broadly, the change lighting up her face. She began walking with Rodney and Ronon toward the road that led out of the village, amiably regaling them with a list of the vendors currently participating in the market, the wares that were on offer and the different price points of each, and the history of how the market in Agrima had come to be. There was nothing of the anxious woman who had all but begged Sheppard to marry her, and he wondered who she would become once she was free of this place.

They made it all the way to the edge of the market without Sheppard catching any dodgy looks being thrown their way, but he didn’t risk looking back over his shoulder. Even though no one had paid them the least bit of mind as they’d left, he had a superstitious feeling that looking back would trigger something. So he just kept walking until they were out of the village and over the first small rise in the road that hid it from view.

He stopped then, and turned to Maderrin. The fake smile she had worn throughout their fake tour was gone, replaced by surprise and uncertainty but not, he was happy to see, fear.

“How are you feeling?” Teyla asked her.

“I do not know,” she confessed. She looked around as if realizing where she was for the first time, and let out a huff of laughter. “I have never actually been this far from the village before.”

“How do you feel about going to another planet?”

She looked at Sheppard for a moment, wide-eyed. Then she smiled. “I think I would like that very much.”

“Then let’s get out of here,” Ronon said. He started back down the road, pulling Rodney along by the hand he seemed to have forgotten he was still holding. “I hate this planet.”

“Seconded,” Rodney said.

“We’ll have another one for the Do Not Dial list,” Sheppard sighed, walking after them.

“Can we come back in a jumper and blast them?”

Sheppard contemplated Ronon’s request. “Tempting, but no. There are too many innocents in the way.”

“We could take their Gate, though.” Rodney’s tone was thoughtful, and Sheppard stared at him.

“What are you thinking, McKay?”

“I’m thinking you can’t trade people if you can’t move them.”

Now, that was an idea. Sheppard looked to Maderrin. “Maderrin, do people ever come to Pyrum by ship?”

“No,” she replied, shaking her head. “Travelers use the Stargate.”

“And your people don’t rely on trade for basic things, like food, right?”

“No, they do not.”

That was good enough for Sheppard. “Rodney, do you think you could find an unpleasant but not immediately deadly word that could use a Gate?”

“Yes, yes I can.”

“I like this plan,” Ronon said, grinning.

“As do I,” Teyla agreed, her tone fierce.

“I’ll talk with Elizabeth when we get back,” Sheppard promised them. “But first, Maderrin?”

She turned to him. “Yes?”

“Do you know what a beach is?”

“No, I do not. What is it? Is it nice?”

Ronon was still grinning, and Sheppard saw Teyla and Rodney throw each other matching looks of amusement. Sheppard gave Maderrin a smile.

“Oh, I think you’re gonna love it.”