Chapter Text
The Stargate powered down with its familiar whoosh-thunk, leaving AR-1 standing alone in an open field. For a moment, the silence seemed almost heavy after the echo of the wormhole faded.
The day itself was picture-perfect—bright sunshine streaming down from a sky so blue it could have been painted, a light breeze stirring the tall grass and sending ripples across the sea of wildflowers. The air carried the sweet, heady scent of blossoms, and here and there, colorful pollinators darted from bloom to bloom, wings catching the sunlight like flecks of glass.
It was, John mused, the very definition of a "perfect day."
“Look familiar to anyone?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the two Pegasus natives. His tone was casual, but his eyes stayed sharp, scanning the wide-open space.
Teyla moved up beside him, gaze sweeping the horizon. “I am not familiar with this world,” she said softly, her voice tinged with wonder at the sheer expanse of color and life.
Ronon, however, had already dismissed the view with a shake of his head. “Too open,” he said bluntly. “No cover. No high ground. No walls. I wouldn’t have stayed here.”
“Right.” John gave a little nod, unsurprised by the response. He turned his attention back to the other half of his team. “Rodney? Any signs of life?”
Rodney was already frowning down at the LSD, antennae bobbing as he adjusted his grip. “There’s a large cluster that way,” he said, pointing vaguely off to the right.
John followed the line of his finger. The field stretched on and on, uninterrupted—no roads, no worn paths, no clear sign that anyone had ever passed through. He frowned. “That’s weird. No trails, no tracks. Think they’re sentient? Or even use the gate? Doesn’t look like anyone’s come near it in… ever.”
Rodney looked up, incredulous. “Then why are we here?!” he demanded, throwing both arms out dramatically. “Do you have any idea how much valuable research I could be doing back in the city instead of wasting my genius frolicking through—through—fields of anaflaxic death?”
Teyla tilted her head, attempting calm. “It looks like a lovely field, Rodney. Peaceful. Beautiful, even.”
“Lovely?” Rodney’s voice pitched higher. “LOVELY?! There are bees, Teyla! BEES!” He jabbed a finger toward a lazy cloud of them drifting over some purple blossoms. “How am I supposed to avoid being stung? Do you know what happens if I get stung? I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe! How is that a lovely field when it’s a minefield of tiny winged death waiting to turn me into a medical emergency?!”
“Rodney…” John pinched the bridge of his nose but couldn’t quite smother a smile. “I’m sure it’s not that bad. Just… walk gently, don’t swat at them, and don’t piss them off. Like all bees.”
Rodney was on a roll now. “Oh, sure. Just walk gently, he says. Easy for you—Mr. Hair Model—who doesn’t have a highly sensitive system and a brain that the entire expedition relies on! I don’t see why you insist on dragging me along on these kinds of missions. Clearly these people, if they even are people, don’t use the gate. Which means they’re primitive. Which means they’re probably boring, and I’ll be stuck wasting my time instead of doing actual important science!”
Ronon grunted, clearly unimpressed. “Then stay behind.”
Rodney spun on him. “Excuse me? Do you want John’s kids growing up without a father? Because that’s what will happen if—”
John cut him off, his tone light but carrying that edge of humor he knew would get under Rodney’s skin. “That’s why they’ve got two more. Backup system.” He smirked, the corner of his mouth quirking as he started forward, leading them toward the distant cluster of life signs. “Now come on, kids. Let’s go meet the neighbors.”
They fell into step automatically, years of practice giving their walk an easy rhythm—John leading, Teyla just behind him, Rodney following, and Ronon taking up the rear like a silent shadow.
The field sloped gently at first, then gradually steepened as the tall grass and flowers swayed around them. The higher they went, the more Rodney’s muttered complaints turned into dramatic sighs.
“Uhhhggg… why?” Rodney huffed, his pack shifting against his shoulders. “Why are the settlements in this galaxy always built miles from the gate? Honestly, SG-1 never had to hike this far just to say hello to the locals.”
“Having a settlement near the gate,” Teyla reminded him gently—again—“is a great way to invite the Wraith to cull more frequently.”
Rodney waved a hand, out of breath but unwilling to concede. “Yes, yes, I know. Strategic defense and all that. But you’d think one culture would consider the genius who has to carry the scanning equipment uphill.”
John chuckled and slowed his pace, letting Teyla pass so he could fall in beside Rodney. Glancing at the LSD, he saw the cluster of life-signs drawing closer. “Not too far now—you can make it.”
Rodney opened his mouth for another round of protest, but John leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.
The effect was instant. Rodney blinked, straightened his shoulders, and actually picked up his pace, as though energized by the smallest show of affection.
Teyla smiled faintly at the change, hiding her amusement, while Ronon rolled his eyes but said nothing.
When they finally crested the rise, the view opened before them.
The valley below spread out into a sprawling settlement—no, not a settlement. A city. Clusters of buildings filled the landscape, some clearly single-family homes while others had the broad design of communal or official spaces. Pens circled the outskirts, neatly separating livestock from the living quarters. Unlike other villages, the boundaries were strict—the animals weren’t allowed past a certain line. It was organized, hygienic, almost industrial in efficiency.
But it wasn’t just the pens that caught John’s attention.
“Wow…” he muttered. Even from here, he could count at least six buildings that rose higher than six stories—something practically unheard of among the small farming villages they usually encountered. Even the so-called “smaller” homes were two, sometimes three stories tall. The place had the bustle and scope of a population in the thousands, not just a few hundred survivors clinging to the edge of existence.
John shot a sidelong grin at Rodney. “Maybe not so primitive after all.”
He started down the hill, but paused when he realized only two sets of footsteps followed. Turning, he saw Ronon still rooted to the ridge. His stance was rigid, his expression unreadable—a strange mix of shock, pain, and something that might have been hope.
“Hey, Chewy,” John called lightly, trying to break the spell. “What’s up?”
Ronon blinked, swallowed, and finally tore his gaze from the city to look at John. His voice, when he spoke, was barely above a whisper, as if afraid to say it too loud.
“It’s… Satedan built.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
John glanced back at the city, then at Ronon. “You sure? Doesn’t exactly look like anything from the city you’ve described, or even the remains. I know Sateda was destroyed, but still—”
“This is what the smaller cities looked like,” Ronon cut him off, eyes fixed on the valley. His hand gestured toward the architecture, tracing the shapes of roofs and walls like they were echoes of ghosts only he could see. “The homes, the way the streets are laid out… It’s the same. Almost exact.”
John felt a spark of hope rise in his chest. “You think enough people could’ve survived? Built this place out of the ashes?”
Ronon’s jaw tightened, the answer caught somewhere between longing and fear. “I don’t know.”
And without another word, he strode past them all, down the hill toward the city.
The rest of the team scrambled to catch up.
When the city walls came into clearer view, John could finally make out the movement of figures along the perimeter. A small group broke away from the gates, armed and armored, clearly intent on intercepting them before they got any closer.
“Whoa there, Chewie,” John called, his voice carrying across the quiet stretch of road. He lifted a hand toward Ronon, who had been striding forward like a man on a mission.
Ronon slowed his long, powerful strides and allowed the rest of AR-1 to catch up. Together they formed a tighter line, approaching at a more measured pace—trying, at least in theory, to look less threatening. Of course, there was only so much one could do when carrying P-90s, sidearms, and wrapped in tac vests.
The two groups finally came to a halt a few dozen yards outside the city’s walls—far enough that the watchful eyes along the battlements wouldn’t feel they’d let strangers too close.
“Greetings,” John called first, letting his voice strike the right balance between military formality and approachable friendliness.
The response wasn’t immediate. There were eight of them, all in worn but well-maintained armor. John’s stomach flipped when he noticed the distinct style—it looked far too much like what Ronon had been wearing the day he was captured and dragged back to the ruins of Sateda.
Ronon noticed too. His voice cut through before John could offer another word. “Are you survivors of Sateda?” His tone carried an edge, but also a fierce, desperate hope.
The leader of the armed group raised an eyebrow, his hand tightening slightly on the shaft of his weapon. “What’s it to you?” he growled.
Before John could tense further, another voice broke through, shaky with disbelief.
“Ronon?”
A man stepped out from the formation, moving closer, eyes wide and shining. “Ancestors… RONON! You’re alive?!”
Ronon froze as though the world tilted beneath him. He stared, then finally breathed the name, choked and hoarse: “Kareth.”
Both men moved at once, colliding in a bone-crushing embrace. The sound of armor clanking together was lost in the guttural laughter and the shaky breath between them. They rocked back and forth, leaning heavily on one another like men who had carried too much for too long.
When Kareth finally pulled back, his grin was wide and disbelieving. “Oh man. You look like you’ve seen some things… but you still look good.” His eyes swept Ronon up and down, as though assuring himself he was real.
“You made it out?” Ronon rasped. His grip on Kareth’s shoulders was unrelenting. “How?”
Kareth’s expression sobered. “There was a group of us who realized there was no fighting left—that our ‘glorious leader’ was full of lies. We put together a plan, quiet and fast, to get as many out as possible before the Wraith hit full force. I was tasked with leading some of the evacuations.” He paused, guilt flickering across his face. “I tried to get word to you, Ronon. I swear I did. But with the chaos… messages weren’t reaching the capital.”
Ronon shook his head once, firmly. “It’s okay. I wouldn’t have left with you.”
“I know,” Kareth admitted, eyes dimming. Then his voice dropped, heavy with sorrow. “But I could have gotten Melena out.”
Ronon’s jaw tightened, the name twisting like a knife. “I had an escape ready for her. She refused. She wouldn’t have come.”
Kareth flinched, grief sharp across his face. Then he suddenly surged forward, pulling Ronon into another fierce hug. His voice was muffled but thick with emotion. “Ancestors, Aunt Valora is going to be so happy to see you.”
Ronon stilled. He pulled back, disbelief etched across every line of his face. “Mama’s alive?” His voice cracked, breathless, like a man afraid to hope.
Kareth’s grin widened, tears in his eyes now. “Oh yeah. I got her out. Grabbed as many of the aunts and cousins as I could. Got most of them. The rest trickled in later, once word spread that we’d survived and settled here.”
Ronon’s chest heaved, and for the first time since John had known him, the towering Satedan warrior looked undone. His voice shook, thick with tears he refused to let fall. “Our family… made it?”
“Yeah,” Kareth said softly, smiling through his own tears. “Most of them did.”
There was a loud clearing of a throat, sharp and deliberate. The leader of the city guard shifted his weight, annoyance practically radiating off him. His hand rested on the hilt of his weapon as if the reunion unfolding before him was an inconvenience rather than a miracle.
“Kareth. Explain,” he barked, the words clipped and cold.
Kareth startled, straightening like a boy caught sneaking sweets. “Ah—yes. This is my cousin, Specialist Ronon Dex,” he said quickly, his grin returning as he threw an arm snugly around Ronon’s shoulders. “He was one of the warriors who stood in the last defense of Setida.” Pride colored his voice, thick and unashamed.
“And… them?” the leader sneered, eyes narrowing as his gaze swept over John, Rodney, and Teyla. His tone dripped suspicion, as if their very presence offended him.
Kareth blinked, momentarily at a loss, then looked back at the team with a sheepish expression, clearly just realizing he’d forgotten their introduction entirely.
Ronon didn’t miss a beat. His voice was firm, steady, and without apology. “These are my team. My friends. My family. They found me when I was a Runner. They freed me from it, gave me back my life, and offered me a home.”
The single word Runner seemed to hang in the air like a thunderclap. Kareth stiffened, eyes going wide, and he swore under his breath. “Shiiiiiiit,” he whispered, the sound raw with sympathy. Then, without hesitation, he yanked Ronon into another bone-crushing hug, ignoring the impatient shuffle of the guards behind him.
The leader cleared his throat again, louder this time, drawing all eyes back to him. His glare hardened.
Kareth reluctantly pulled away from Ronon, though his arm stayed firmly around his cousin’s shoulders. “Well,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument, “if Ronon trusts them, and they helped him, then I’ll vouch for them.”
The leader’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Be it your head,” he growled at last, before snapping a hand up in a sharp gesture that sent his men shifting formation, turning back toward the city gates.
“We’ll need to do some checks and ask a few questions before you’re admitted,” Kareth explained, his voice softening again as his gaze flicked back to Ronon. “But once that’s done, I’ll take you to Aunt Valora.” His grin returned suddenly, as if he were catching up with himself. “Wait—if you didn’t know we were here… you didn’t come for us?”
John shook his head, stepping forward with his usual relaxed confidence, though his eyes never left the guard leader’s hand on his weapon. “We came to seek out potential allies and trade partners. Our instruments indicated a settlement, but we had no idea there was such a large city here.”
“Oh.” Kareth tilted his head, surprised. Then he chuckled, looking almost mischievous. “Well, that sounds like something for the mayor. But at this hour?” He waved a hand toward the skyline, where the light was already deepening into the colors of evening. “No one’s going to be in the lead hall. Everyone will be at evening meal.”
He turned back to Ronon, smirking in a way that looked so much like Ronon that John couldn’t help but notice. “So I guess that means Aunt Valora first. I’ll call ahead—tell her to hold dinner. I’m bringing some ‘distinguished guests.’” His grin widened, the word “distinguished” obviously meant to tease.
John studied him for a moment, almost distracted by the resemblance. Same height as Ronon, though broader through the shoulders. His helmet hid his hair, but his skin was the same warm, dark tone, and even the rhythm of his stride matched Ronon’s. Family was written in every line of him.
“So, were you two close growing up?” John asked, curiosity edging into his tone as they began walking toward the gates together.
Kareth glanced over his shoulder at him, then back at Ronon with a grin. “Yeah. Born a few months apart. Our mothers are twins. They lived in houses right next to each other—so close we used to just hop the shrubs to get between them. Eventually, my dad gave up and cut a proper path.”
He turned his gaze back to John then, eyes narrowing slightly. “And you are?”
“Lt. Colonel John Sheppard,” John answered smoothly. He gestured to his team. “This is Teyla Emmagan, and that’s Dr. Rodney McKay.”
Kareth nodded once, absorbing the names. Then his grin returned. “Well, to save us having to hear the story a dozen different times, I’ll spare you for now. You can tell it to my aunt when we get to her place. She’s going to want every detail of how you met and saved my cousin.”
His tone was light, but his eyes shone with something heavier—gratitude.
–
Getting into the city hadn’t been nearly as hard as John had feared. For all his bracing against hostility from the guard captain, the process ended up being less about suspicion and more about procedure. Once within the walls, they were guided into a small enclave just past the gates, clearly designed for travelers and traders to be vetted before being allowed deeper inside.
The man at the desk wasn’t hostile at all. If anything, he seemed more curious than wary. He just wanted the basics—who they were, what they wanted, where they had come from. The tone was almost casual, like a customs officer more than an interrogator. And once Kareth vouched for Ronon, who in turn vouched for his team, the man’s shoulders eased. It helped, too, that the clerk had heard of the Athosians and the whispers about new people living in the Ancestral city, wielding Ancient technology. When he was told that Ronon Dex had been one of the warriors who stood at the Last Stand of Sateda, the man’s expression shifted from duty to respect.
After a brief pause, the clerk finally smiled. “No need to have your family wait any longer,” he said, stamping something onto a slip of paper and setting it aside. “The mayor will be informed of your arrival and of your interest in alliance and trade. Someone will come to Lady Valora’s home when the time is right for an official meeting.”
Kareth was promptly relieved of duty early to escort his long-lost cousin home. As they walked through the cobbled streets, lined with tidy homes and well-tended gardens, Kareth kept talking at Ronon, trying to fill in decades of missing pieces in a few minutes.
“Your sisters are alive,” Kareth said, grinning. “Most of them are married now. Your twin—she’s expecting her third child. First was twins, second was a boy, this time she thinks it’s twins again.”
John nearly tripped on the uneven stone when he heard that. “Wait—you have a twin? You’re a twin?!” His voice carried far louder than intended. He glared at Ronon, who didn’t even flinch.
“Oh, yeah,” Ronon said like it was nothing, not even looking at John. “Couple other siblings are twins too.”
John’s jaw dropped. “Would’ve been nice to know! Kinda important information, don’t you think?” He muttered under his breath, “Fifty missions together, three kids, a marriage, and this never came up?”
Rodney snorted behind them. “See? I’m not the only one he keeps in the dark.”
John just grumbled, feeling stung. It wasn’t that Ronon had lied—he just hadn’t said anything. To John, that hurt more.
They turned down a quiet street and stopped in front of a house that made John blink. He knew Pegasus architecture was all over the map, depending on what Ancients left behind or what cultures developed independently, but this? This looked straight out of the 1910s—like a picture he’d once seen in an old Sears catalog.
It was a craftsman-style house, built from heavy timber and stone, its front porch shaded by an overhanging roof. Wide, square pillars supported the awning, and there was a swing gently rocking in the breeze, ropes creaking softly against their hooks. Windows were tall and narrow, some inset with colorful panes of glass that caught the late afternoon light. The whole place radiated warmth and sturdiness—like a home that had sheltered generations.
“Nice place,” John muttered, still thrown by how much it reminded him of old Earth. “All we’re missing is a dog on the porch.”
They walked up to the front door—a wide wooden thing with carved glass panels cut into geometric patterns that meant nothing to John but looked beautiful.
Kareth opened it and ushered them inside. The foyer was small but open, with rooms visible to either side, each space divided only by stout columns rather than walls. To the left, John spotted a cozy sitting room with shelves of books, soft chairs, and what looked like a hybrid instrument—something between a piano and a harpsichord. Beyond that was a dining room with a long, sturdy table that looked ready for a dozen people at least.
The air smelled of roasted meat and spices, the kind of scent that clung to a house well-lived in. It smelled like home.
Kareth strode to the swinging door that John guessed led into the kitchen. “Aunt Valora? I brought the guests!” he called.
A woman’s voice came from beyond the door, firm but warm. “Guests? Ancestors save me, Kareth—remind me to give you a swift kick for springing this on me when I’m in the middle of cooking—”
The door swung open, and she appeared mid-sentence, holding a steaming dish in both hands.
She was a woman well into her fifties, though the years hadn’t dimmed the vitality in her. She had Ronon’s dark coloring, and her hair—pulled into a loose bun—was thick, curly, and streaked with grey in a way that reminded John startlingly of Eleanor’s mess of curls. A few strands had escaped to frame her face, softening her features. Her eyes landed on the strangers first, ready to greet them politely. But then she saw who stood among them.
Her hands froze. Her eyes widened. The dish slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor with a crash, steaming food scattering everywhere.
“Ronon?” Her voice broke on his name. Then she screamed, raw and full of disbelief and joy all at once. “RONON!”
She launched herself across the room, arms wide, and though she was smaller than her son, the force of her embrace nearly knocked him off balance. She clung to him desperately, chanting his name like a prayer. Tears streaked down her cheeks, soaking into his vest.
Ronon’s arms came around her just as tightly, and in the process, he lifted her clean off the ground the way a son might do to prove he’d grown stronger. But here, it wasn’t about strength—it was about holding on.
The swinging door burst open again. A second woman appeared, almost identical to the first—her twin. Her expression sharpened at the sight of AR-1, but she froze when she caught sight of the figure Valora clung to.
“Val? What is it?” she demanded. And then Ronon turned slightly, revealing his face.
The second woman’s hand flew to her mouth. “Ancestors…” Her eyes filled with tears. “Ronon?”
She charged forward and grabbed him the instant Valora let go, wrapping him in another crushing hug.
Before anyone could catch their breath, another voice called from the hall. “What broke? I brought the broom.”
A third figure entered—a woman who looked so much like Ronon it stole John’s breath. Same eyes, same jawline. The only difference was the softness in her cheeks, and the fact that she carried a pronounced baby belly under her tunic. She took one look at Ronon and screamed just like the others. The broom clattered to the floor as she hurled herself at him.
Ronon caught her mid-leap as though she weighed nothing. He held her, his face cracking into a rare, wide smile. For once, even Ronon Dex looked overwhelmed.
John swallowed hard, his chest tight. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen his mate so undone. And for the first time, he realized just how much Ronon had lost—and how much he’d just gotten back.