Samsara by purple_cube (Backstory Challenge)
Title: Samsara
Category: John & Teyla friendship
Characters: John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, some original characters
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes knowledge of the past can help to understand the actions of the present.
Notes: Written for the Backstory challenge. Samsara is a Sanskrit word describing the cycle of reincarnation in Hinduism, Buddhism and several other religions. Many thanks to
tielan and
bluejbird for the betas.
Samsara
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 10,000 years ago
“Father, will you finish the story of Johannes and Tallis tonight?”
Merras smiled at the large eyes that looked up at him, so full of hope and expectation. “What else is there to tell?” he teased.
“How did they stop the war? How did they unite their people? Why were they chosen? Where are they now?”
Merras chuckled. His wife always did complain that their son was too much like him: inquisitive, thirsty for knowledge, and never knowing when to stop. “They listened to each other and to others. Both allies and enemies. That is why they were chosen.”
He paused, bringing the blanket further up as he leaned forward. “As for where they are now? I have no idea. The bodies of Johannes and Tallis are certainly long gone. Their spirits, however, I am sure live on. Somehow. Somewhere.”
But they are not here, he thought. If they were, we would not be losing this war.
Merras kissed his son's forehead gently. “Now you must sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
*
Relkan City, Rellaq, Parseus Galaxy, 1100 years ago
Three days had passed since the attack, and the Rellaquans had yet to hear from their nearest neighbours. They had sent the emergency pod into the skies as soon as they could, barely waiting for the Ring to close after it had engulfed their savage intruders. The leader had issued a stark warning: next time they would come in ships and with technology far superior to their own. Then there would be no denying their new “god”.
The skies darkened as vessels far larger than Relkan's buildings slowly descended. Giannei's eyes registered the open mouths of the passers by outside his door, and yet the sounds of their cries seemed so distant to his ears. They all knew that their feeble defences would not shelter them for very long.
Somewhere behind him, he caught the sight of a flashing light on the communications desk; he knew from its position in the array that it related to the emergency pod that had been deployed. It was the sign for which he had waited three days. But now, under the shadow of their visitors - soon to be their oppressors, he was sure - he knew the truth. It was too late.
A voice crackled through the speaker. “I am Tallora, of Ithessia. Please respond.”
He reached behind him blindly until his fingers wrapped around a small lever. Weakly, he pulled it down, not bothering to turn around as one by one the lights on the board faded way.
Seconds blurred into minutes and then into hours. Giannei could not remember how he had come to be in the city's Main Square, along with every inhabitant of the city he thought, every inch of the plush green grass suffocated under the weight of trembling knees. Mothers held the children in their laps, trying in vain to hide them from the harsh eyes and weapons that towered above them. The sounds of wailing youth and helpless sobbing seemed to have little effect on their captors.
The world around him fell silent as a majestic figure descended from the opening of the ship. His gaze travelled across the crowd, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he took in the sight of each and every one of them - or so seemed to Giannei. He stopped as their eyes met.
Giannei couldn't hold back the gasp as his so-called god's eyes flashed a brilliant yellow.
*
Middle Territories, Anderra, Andromeda II Galaxy, 500 years ago
Teia had never seen a Souther before. Her father claimed to have seen one as a child, but he refused to confirm the rumours regarding their appearance. His argument that “they are no more different than you and I” did not sit well with the playground stories that had flourished amongst the young with little reprimand from the elders. Ogres, barbarians, savages. Not worthy of a second of a Norther's time.
The oppressive heat of the midday suns had led her from her intended path to seek out the nearest source of water. She stopped mid-stride as a flash of movement caught her eye; turning her head, she watched motionless. He was human. Perhaps his skin was a little paler than hers, his bones a little sharper. But he was nothing like she had imagined. He was crouched down at the brook's edge, scooping up handfuls of water and bringing them to his mouth as if his lips had not touched fresh liquid for days. With his back turned to her, Teia had time to take in his appearance, noting with surprise the small cross enclosed within a circle, tattooed on the back of his neck. She had that design long ago, when Grandfather had returned from his role as ambassador during the Great War. It had been cast in some sort of metal, with a chain attached that fell easily from the gaps in her grandfather's fingers. He had put it away in his desk drawer the moment he had noticed her presence in the room, and she had never seen it again.
Teia leaned forward, wincing and pulling back too late as a twig snapped under her weight. He turned sharply, grabbing a nearby rock as he straightened. She held her chin high as he cast his gaze over her.
“You are from the North.” It was a statement rather than a question, and needed no reply. “You should not be here.”
She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his remark. “And neither should you.”
The Middle Territories were precisely that: middle ground that belonged to neither the North nor the South. A place where no one set of people governed. Where there were no laws.
“Not here by choice, believe me,” he muttered, though she still heard him clearly.
“The brook merges with the Tajem River two miles east of here,” she replied softly, pointing as he looked to the sky for direction. “The river runs south. Once you pass the waterfall you will be in Southern Territories once more.”
“And why should I accept the word of a Norther?” Despite his words, she recognised more intrigue than malice in his tone.
“You do not have to,” she replied archly. “But you should...if you want to live. If you wish to return to your home.”
He scoffed at her final word, looking into the distance with a pained expression. She wondered exactly what had led him here, to this wasteland, and why.
“Teia!” The hoarse cry echoed through the valley, seemingly ricocheting against each and every crag that towered above the brook. She turned sharply, half-expecting Herak to come pounding through the canopy of trees behind her.
Satisfied that her countryman was still some way behind, she turned to the open valley once more to find the horizon silent and still, her companion long gone.
Perhaps it is for the best, she thought.
*
South-Eastern France, Earth, Milky Way, 65 years ago
Jean peered through the gap in the wooden shutters at the silent street below, his mind barely registering the all too familiar sight of rubble, abandoned vehicles and flies circling rotting flesh. The last puffs of smoke were escaping into the air from the building on the corner, a casualty of last night's fire fight. He was uneasy about their decision to remain in an area that had been teeming with soldiers less than twelve hours previously.
A tired voice interrupted his thoughts.
“There is a woman waiting for you in the church.”
Three years of war had done little to quell his satirical sense of humour. “I take it she will be the one dressed in white?”
Roderic rolled his eyes in exasperation before continuing as if Jean hadn't spoken. “Her name is Therese. She will speak to you in German.”
Jean looked up sharply. “German?”
Roderic nodded. “She is fluent and has connections - cousins I believe. Elise said that it would be a distinctive phrase, one that you will recognise immediately.”
“And you're absolutely sure that she is a Maquisard?”
“Positive. Elise swears by her.”
With some scepticism, Jean accepted the small bundle of papers that were held out for him. He trusted Elise and Roderic with his life, but would still remain cautious. They had lost far too many comrades in recent months, and rumours of treachery were still rife amongst the Maquis in the region.
He scanned the street that surrounded the warehouse once more and found it unchanged. Looking back at Roderic, he saw the other man already engrossed in the latest information Elise had relayed to them, and left silently. He walked through the empty streets briskly, sticking to the shadows wherever possible. He had no doubt that there were eyes open him, cautious and curious, but not deadly.
He soon came to the river and crossed the small bridge as quickly as he could without breaking into a sprint, nervous of being in such an exposed space. He knew that the church was on the other side; it was a familiar building to him, though he had not been a regular visitor for some years. When he turned the corner, he stopped abruptly, momentarily forgetting that he was highly visible to prying eyes in the afternoon sunlight. His heart lurched at the sight before him.
Jean watched the plume of smoke floating endlessly into the sky for a minute longer. As the sound of sirens began to fill the air, he turned away slowly and began to walk back toward the bridge. Whether or not his contact had been inside the church during the initiation of the blaze, it seemed that they were destined not to meet.
*
Athos, Pegasus Galaxy, 4 years ago
Teyla watched the older man's retreat in silence, quelling the fire that burned in the pit of her stomach, ignited by his treatment of her. Slowly she turned to person standing nearest, just as much of a stranger amongst her people and her ways. Yet, there seemed to be something about him that felt so familiar to her.
“Your leader looks through me as if I am not there.”
He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had crossed an invisible boundary between them; she knew nothing of these people's customs concerning authority. They had known each other only a handful of hours, after all.
“Do I?”
His question caught her by surprise, and her eyes narrowed as she contemplated her answer. “No.” She paused before deciding to place her faith in her instincts - and in him. “You truly cannot return to your world?”
“No,” he replied quietly.
“Then there is something you must see.” Teyla brushed past him, pausing outside her hut to gaze at the midday sun that peeked through the clouds as she waited for John to follow.
-fin-
*
Additional note: The Maquis were the guerilla bands of the French Resistance during World War II.
Category: John & Teyla friendship
Characters: John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, some original characters
Rating: PG
Summary: Sometimes knowledge of the past can help to understand the actions of the present.
Notes: Written for the Backstory challenge. Samsara is a Sanskrit word describing the cycle of reincarnation in Hinduism, Buddhism and several other religions. Many thanks to
tielan and
bluejbird for the betas.
Samsara
Atlantis, Pegasus Galaxy, 10,000 years ago
“Father, will you finish the story of Johannes and Tallis tonight?”
Merras smiled at the large eyes that looked up at him, so full of hope and expectation. “What else is there to tell?” he teased.
“How did they stop the war? How did they unite their people? Why were they chosen? Where are they now?”
Merras chuckled. His wife always did complain that their son was too much like him: inquisitive, thirsty for knowledge, and never knowing when to stop. “They listened to each other and to others. Both allies and enemies. That is why they were chosen.”
He paused, bringing the blanket further up as he leaned forward. “As for where they are now? I have no idea. The bodies of Johannes and Tallis are certainly long gone. Their spirits, however, I am sure live on. Somehow. Somewhere.”
But they are not here, he thought. If they were, we would not be losing this war.
Merras kissed his son's forehead gently. “Now you must sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”
*
Relkan City, Rellaq, Parseus Galaxy, 1100 years ago
Three days had passed since the attack, and the Rellaquans had yet to hear from their nearest neighbours. They had sent the emergency pod into the skies as soon as they could, barely waiting for the Ring to close after it had engulfed their savage intruders. The leader had issued a stark warning: next time they would come in ships and with technology far superior to their own. Then there would be no denying their new “god”.
The skies darkened as vessels far larger than Relkan's buildings slowly descended. Giannei's eyes registered the open mouths of the passers by outside his door, and yet the sounds of their cries seemed so distant to his ears. They all knew that their feeble defences would not shelter them for very long.
Somewhere behind him, he caught the sight of a flashing light on the communications desk; he knew from its position in the array that it related to the emergency pod that had been deployed. It was the sign for which he had waited three days. But now, under the shadow of their visitors - soon to be their oppressors, he was sure - he knew the truth. It was too late.
A voice crackled through the speaker. “I am Tallora, of Ithessia. Please respond.”
He reached behind him blindly until his fingers wrapped around a small lever. Weakly, he pulled it down, not bothering to turn around as one by one the lights on the board faded way.
Seconds blurred into minutes and then into hours. Giannei could not remember how he had come to be in the city's Main Square, along with every inhabitant of the city he thought, every inch of the plush green grass suffocated under the weight of trembling knees. Mothers held the children in their laps, trying in vain to hide them from the harsh eyes and weapons that towered above them. The sounds of wailing youth and helpless sobbing seemed to have little effect on their captors.
The world around him fell silent as a majestic figure descended from the opening of the ship. His gaze travelled across the crowd, his lips curving into a satisfied smile as he took in the sight of each and every one of them - or so seemed to Giannei. He stopped as their eyes met.
Giannei couldn't hold back the gasp as his so-called god's eyes flashed a brilliant yellow.
*
Middle Territories, Anderra, Andromeda II Galaxy, 500 years ago
Teia had never seen a Souther before. Her father claimed to have seen one as a child, but he refused to confirm the rumours regarding their appearance. His argument that “they are no more different than you and I” did not sit well with the playground stories that had flourished amongst the young with little reprimand from the elders. Ogres, barbarians, savages. Not worthy of a second of a Norther's time.
The oppressive heat of the midday suns had led her from her intended path to seek out the nearest source of water. She stopped mid-stride as a flash of movement caught her eye; turning her head, she watched motionless. He was human. Perhaps his skin was a little paler than hers, his bones a little sharper. But he was nothing like she had imagined. He was crouched down at the brook's edge, scooping up handfuls of water and bringing them to his mouth as if his lips had not touched fresh liquid for days. With his back turned to her, Teia had time to take in his appearance, noting with surprise the small cross enclosed within a circle, tattooed on the back of his neck. She had that design long ago, when Grandfather had returned from his role as ambassador during the Great War. It had been cast in some sort of metal, with a chain attached that fell easily from the gaps in her grandfather's fingers. He had put it away in his desk drawer the moment he had noticed her presence in the room, and she had never seen it again.
Teia leaned forward, wincing and pulling back too late as a twig snapped under her weight. He turned sharply, grabbing a nearby rock as he straightened. She held her chin high as he cast his gaze over her.
“You are from the North.” It was a statement rather than a question, and needed no reply. “You should not be here.”
She raised an eyebrow, surprised by his remark. “And neither should you.”
The Middle Territories were precisely that: middle ground that belonged to neither the North nor the South. A place where no one set of people governed. Where there were no laws.
“Not here by choice, believe me,” he muttered, though she still heard him clearly.
“The brook merges with the Tajem River two miles east of here,” she replied softly, pointing as he looked to the sky for direction. “The river runs south. Once you pass the waterfall you will be in Southern Territories once more.”
“And why should I accept the word of a Norther?” Despite his words, she recognised more intrigue than malice in his tone.
“You do not have to,” she replied archly. “But you should...if you want to live. If you wish to return to your home.”
He scoffed at her final word, looking into the distance with a pained expression. She wondered exactly what had led him here, to this wasteland, and why.
“Teia!” The hoarse cry echoed through the valley, seemingly ricocheting against each and every crag that towered above the brook. She turned sharply, half-expecting Herak to come pounding through the canopy of trees behind her.
Satisfied that her countryman was still some way behind, she turned to the open valley once more to find the horizon silent and still, her companion long gone.
Perhaps it is for the best, she thought.
*
South-Eastern France, Earth, Milky Way, 65 years ago
Jean peered through the gap in the wooden shutters at the silent street below, his mind barely registering the all too familiar sight of rubble, abandoned vehicles and flies circling rotting flesh. The last puffs of smoke were escaping into the air from the building on the corner, a casualty of last night's fire fight. He was uneasy about their decision to remain in an area that had been teeming with soldiers less than twelve hours previously.
A tired voice interrupted his thoughts.
“There is a woman waiting for you in the church.”
Three years of war had done little to quell his satirical sense of humour. “I take it she will be the one dressed in white?”
Roderic rolled his eyes in exasperation before continuing as if Jean hadn't spoken. “Her name is Therese. She will speak to you in German.”
Jean looked up sharply. “German?”
Roderic nodded. “She is fluent and has connections - cousins I believe. Elise said that it would be a distinctive phrase, one that you will recognise immediately.”
“And you're absolutely sure that she is a Maquisard?”
“Positive. Elise swears by her.”
With some scepticism, Jean accepted the small bundle of papers that were held out for him. He trusted Elise and Roderic with his life, but would still remain cautious. They had lost far too many comrades in recent months, and rumours of treachery were still rife amongst the Maquis in the region.
He scanned the street that surrounded the warehouse once more and found it unchanged. Looking back at Roderic, he saw the other man already engrossed in the latest information Elise had relayed to them, and left silently. He walked through the empty streets briskly, sticking to the shadows wherever possible. He had no doubt that there were eyes open him, cautious and curious, but not deadly.
He soon came to the river and crossed the small bridge as quickly as he could without breaking into a sprint, nervous of being in such an exposed space. He knew that the church was on the other side; it was a familiar building to him, though he had not been a regular visitor for some years. When he turned the corner, he stopped abruptly, momentarily forgetting that he was highly visible to prying eyes in the afternoon sunlight. His heart lurched at the sight before him.
Jean watched the plume of smoke floating endlessly into the sky for a minute longer. As the sound of sirens began to fill the air, he turned away slowly and began to walk back toward the bridge. Whether or not his contact had been inside the church during the initiation of the blaze, it seemed that they were destined not to meet.
*
Athos, Pegasus Galaxy, 4 years ago
Teyla watched the older man's retreat in silence, quelling the fire that burned in the pit of her stomach, ignited by his treatment of her. Slowly she turned to person standing nearest, just as much of a stranger amongst her people and her ways. Yet, there seemed to be something about him that felt so familiar to her.
“Your leader looks through me as if I am not there.”
He was silent for a moment, and she wondered if she had crossed an invisible boundary between them; she knew nothing of these people's customs concerning authority. They had known each other only a handful of hours, after all.
“Do I?”
His question caught her by surprise, and her eyes narrowed as she contemplated her answer. “No.” She paused before deciding to place her faith in her instincts - and in him. “You truly cannot return to your world?”
“No,” he replied quietly.
“Then there is something you must see.” Teyla brushed past him, pausing outside her hut to gaze at the midday sun that peeked through the clouds as she waited for John to follow.
-fin-
*
Additional note: The Maquis were the guerilla bands of the French Resistance during World War II.