SGA fic - 'Balance' (G)
Title: Balance
Author: Zinnith
Rating/Category: G-gen
Pairings: -
Spoilers: -
Word Count: 919
Summary: Teyla is an ugly girl.
1: First post, first venture into the SGA-fandom. Please don’t bite.
2: I have only watched SGA up to season 2, because Sweden is a sad sad little country where no good tv-shows ever come.
3: English is not my first language and grammar is something that happens to other people. (In other words, I’m in desperate need of a beta…)
She sits outside her home and watches her age-mates talk and laugh. They gather in the late afternoon when they are done with their chores. Teyla prefers to watch from afar. Haran whispers something to Maya with the bright smile and the long lashes. Takala sways her hips when she walks, like the grown women do, and the boys can’t take their eyes off her. They have reached the age where they are shedding the shells of childhood and take the first steps towards adulthood, to become handsome young men and beautiful young women.
Teyla is an ugly girl. Her arms and legs are long and bony and all over the place. She frequently stumbles over her own feet. Her nose and her teeth are too big for her face, and her hair is thin and lustreless. Since her bleeding started and her body began to change, she feels awkward, uncomfortable, like an alien to herself.
Whenever she tries to talk to any of them, her tongue feels glued to her mouth. Her face grows red and hot. She finds it easier just to be on her own. It is lonely, but at least she will not have to feel their looks on her strange new body, or hear them laugh at her clumsiness.
She can hear soft voices from inside. Mother and Father are worried about her, she knows. She will become the leader of her people one day and it is not good that she spends so much time apart from others.
Teyla watches how Maya stands up, how Haran follows, how they both disappear behind Haran’s father’s outhouse. Later, they will come back with dishevelled hair and swollen lips and clear light in their eyes.
She feels her father’s presence before his hand lands on her shoulder and looks up to find him standing beside her. He has the long bag that holds his fighting sticks slung over his back.
“Teyla”, he says. “Come with me.”
Teyla wants to protest. The few times before when Charin has shown her and her age-mates the old art of the sticks, she has always fallen flat on her face, tangled up in her own uncooperative legs. But she knows it would do little good to refuse, so she stands up and follows.
In the middle of the clearing where the old art is practiced, Father opens the bag to pull out his own sticks, and then a second set of shorter sticks which he hands to Teyla. They are nothing like the generic training sticks for beginners in the art. This set feels carved for her hands alone, decorated with beautiful patterns. She starts to blush, fully aware that she is not worthy of such a gift.
Teyla’s father places her in the middle of the clearing, in the standard position and then stands opposite her, watching her closely and correcting her stance a little.
“Close your eyes”, he says then.
Teyla is so surprised that she wobbles and almost looses her balance.
“I will fall”, she says.
“If you do, I will catch you”, Father says. “Now close your eyes.”
She complies, shuts her eyelids and concentrates on staying on her traitorous feet. She can feel herself sway back and forth.
“Feel the ground beneath you”, Father says in a low voice. “Feel how it supports you, holds you upright.”
Teyla tries, focuses on the ground underneath her bare foot soles. The earth is hard and dry here, tread by countless feet. The sun has warmed it all day. Under her right big toe is a small pebble.
“Can you feel it?” Father asks. Teyla nods. “Good.” He continues. “Now feel your feet and your legs. Feel how the earth continues up through your body. Feel how it grounds you and keeps you steady.”
The warmth of the earth from below and the sun from above combine, meet somewhere in her belly. She feels like she is hanging from a piece of string, dangling in the sky, but her feet are still firmly connected to the ground. She is no longer afraid to fall. When she concentrates, she imganies she can feel the worms move deep down in the earth. Around her she can hear the rustles of leaves in the wind, the chirping of various birds, the distant sound of laughter from the village.
“Tell me Teyla”, her father says. “How do you feel?”
“Steady”, she answers. “Balanced. Like I am part of the earth.”
“Good. You can open your eyes now.”
Teyla does what he says, opens her eyes, and meets his warm gaze. She has not moved an inch. Just like Father told her, she feels grounded, like nothing can push her down.
“I want you to come here every day and do this”, Father says. “Come here and stand like this every day. Be one with the earth and let it give you strength.”
He breaks position and goes to put his sticks away. Teyla follows, confused. “I thought you would teach me how to fight”, she says. She has waited for years to be old enough to be introduced to the old art.
Father smiles. “When you are ready”, he says. Then he puts his hands on her shoulders and leans forward, touching his forehead to hers in the traditional embrace.
“Be in control of your mind, Teyla, and your body will follow”, he says to her.
They break the embrace, and head back for the village. Teyla keeps her head high.
-Fin-