#Ronon's desk and Rodney's couch lmao

[bagheerita]

Gotta know what "Long Forgotten Light at the end of the World" is because that title SLAPS

Doesn't it though??? ❤️❤️❤️ 

"Long Forgotten Light at the End of the World" is my John/Todd historical AU, because I an utterly obsessed with historical AUs, and none of the SGA ones that I can find have Wraith characters. 

@aintgonnatakethis asked me about this one too, so click here for more rambling about the premise/backstory and a few pages from chapter 1, which tells what Todd's up to.

Or read below the cut for 4 more pages, now from chapter 2, introducing Sheppard (& Co)!! 

The winter day was dreary and overcast as John Sheppard walked down Queen's Boulevard. The weather rather suited his mood, as his morning business had not developed in the way he had wished and bright sunshine would have felt like salt in the wound. He ducked his head against the bustle of the street, and tried to ignore the Wraith passing him in carriages. In the day to day of his life in the army he could at least pretend that he and his fellow soldiers fought for reasons that had nothing to do with the Wraith or their Queen. But that had been stripped from him, and it was the Wraith’s fault.

He walked quickly to his destination and was at the turn onto Gold Street before he had time to truly stew on the subject of his misfortune. Which was all to the good, as Teyla possessed an absolutely prescient ability to know when his thoughts had strayed to darker topics, and he hated to bear her looks of disappointment after she had been so generous with him. 

Three houses down Gold Street was the Miller's, and he mounted the broad steps with easy familiarity. While not in the best area of town, finding better accommodations would have required calling on Colonel Caldwell, or- even worse- his brother David. Either would have come with certain obligations that John was not eager to engage; he would have felt further indebted to the Colonel who had already done too much for him, and an appeal to David, to his family, would have meant submitting to yet more scorn concerning his discharge and the determining of a course for his future that he knew could only be filled with unhappiness. Teyla's knowing looks were easier to bear and her aspirations for his future were, if often frustrating, more welcome. He thought her of a better moral fiber than his family in any case, and worth aspiring to please. And his other housemates were also of a company much to be preferred.

John opened the front door and stepped inside. The foyer was lit from high windows in the rear wall which let light fall in, over the staircase that led to the upper floors, and down to the doorway. When the weather was overcast, as it often was, the arrangement lent a somber, mysterious aura to the space, which Teyla felt was good for business. The dark alcove below the staircase, from which Ronon insisted on watching the door, was currently brightly lit by an oil lamp situated on the corner of Ronon's desk. The desk was a huge block affair, an old partner's desk he'd salvaged from some bankers and had dragged into the front corner, where he often sat sharpening knives. After he'd frightened too many visitors this way, Teyla had insisted on the expense of the lamp if he was going to have his knives out. John didn't think a single oil lamp illuminating a six foot man with wild hair and a desk full of knives, and with Ronon's piercing glare, was any more comforting of a greeting than dimness and the sound of a blade against leather, but then it hadn't been his decision. 

The lamp was burning cheerily today, the light glinting off the lace-hooks of his boots where they were perched on the corner of the desk as Ronon looked up with his usual glare. He grunted, his expression softening when he saw it was John. 

His sharp-eyed gaze glittered as much as the knife's edge he was honing. The light of the lamp also caught the alabaster of his waistcoat buttons; a coat was nowhere in evidence, but that was not unusual as Ronon thought them overly formal and an encumbrance. "How did it go?" he asked.

John grunted in his own turn. "It didn’t. As you predicted." He took off his hat and overcoat. 

Ronon's responding grunt took on a flavor of self righteousness. 

John rubbed a hand through his hair. "I know. You were right." He sighed.  "I thought-" He shook his head. "It doesn't matter." 

Ronon swung his long legs down from where they were draped over the desk. "You wanted to do something for Teyla," he observed. "Help her with the business."

John flushed. It was true, and he'd too often had his sentiment used against him; having it remarked upon at all made him defensive. 

But Ronon was not like the stone-faced generals who'd sat in judgment of him, and even less like the wild-eyed Wraith who were the reason he'd lost everything in the first place. Ronon had also been a beneficiary of Teyla's generosity, and knew the urge she inspired, to treat others in kind. 

"It seemed the least I could do," John allowed. 

Ronon nodded, like the feeling was perfectly understandable, but said, "I think she'd rather have had you here." 

John laughed without amusement, but couldn't hold back a genuine smile. "I do believe you're right." He wasn't comfortable with his newly discovered abilities and usually attempted to avoid her requests for his assistance in matters of that nature, though if she'd been seeking him this morning his ability to evade her had been a happy accident.

Ronon leaned back, watching him for a moment, then nodded. He directed a long look up the staircase and added, "She's been having trouble with McKay." 

Taken off guard, John laughed more easily. "Ahh, I see, I'm valued as a mediator." 

Ronon grunted, though it was a fond sound. "He's had a letter from the Scot, sent him into a whole fit. He's been burning things all day. She just got him to stop half a mark ago or you'd have smelt it the minute you walked in." 

John sighed. Rodney McKay owned the building and had been generous enough to not only give Teyla space for her business dealings but to allow Teyla and her foundlings, as Rodney called them, to take rooms there. Since the arrangement had begun, John had learned that McKay wasn't the easiest individual to live with, which made his generosity make more sense; engaging boarders in the usual manner in an environment where one periodically exploded, burned, dissected, and otherwise tested the bounds of the physical properties of objects would definitely not have been an easy prospect, even without considering how the neighborhood had fallen into disrepute in the last century. Though as he turned to mount the stairs, John chided himself for the thought. Rodney had a very generous spirit, however much it was often buried under an acerbic tongue and self-interested mien.

He heard the front door open behind him, and paused at the turning of the stairs to see who it was. Teyla's clients were their only usual visitors; that and the post boy whipping back and forth to deliver Beckett's and McKay's correspondence, though if Rodney had recently had a letter it couldn't be that. 

It was a pair of young women. The first one was a honey blonde with a determined expression in her blue eyes. John was thrice removed from knowing the intimacies of current fashion- by profession, inclination, and having been shunned by his family and thus the ton- but he recognized the woman's gown as fashionable; the opulence of the mantua style combined with its simplicity had made it popular with young women who preferred needing less assistance in getting in and out of their clothing, a good ten years ago. It was a dress that had cost some money, even if it wasn't current: either she was the daughter of a noble family, or she was employed by a Wraith. Something about her made him want to guess the latter, though most Wraith had little interest in beautiful young women. 

John was somewhat shocked to realize he knew the second woman. Lieutenant Laura Cadman was wearing the formal uniform of an active duty member of Her Majesty's Royal Corp. Female members, only allowed since the Wraith descended at the turn of the last century, were given uniforms that preserved their modesty: a long skirt, wool in the current climate, and a high necked bodice with sleeves past the elbow; a compromise between the ton that the Wraith had allowed to remain and the Queen's proclamation that limiting access to any service on the basis of gender was absurd when all humans were equally lesser in her eyes. Cadman's uniform was deep blue, noting her as a member of the Scientific Reserve Force.

Her eyes went to him first, so John greeted her, "Lieutenant Cadman." 

"Sheppard," she replied. Her smile was thin and wry. The title she wanted to give him but couldn't perched on her lips but died unspoken. John wanted to appreciate the informality of the greeting as much as he hated the way any greeting forced the truth into the open- that he had been dismissed from the service. If not for Colonel Caldwell stepping in he'd likely be dead now, sent with the Queen's jubilee tribute, for what he'd done; or, what he'd failed to do. All in all, his gratitude and the pain evened each other out and left him feeling annoyed. "What are you doing here?" 

She cleared her throat. "Jennifer, this is Mister John Sheppard. May I present Miss Jennifer Keller."

John sighed. He should walk back down and greet them properly, but he didn't want them here. Instead, he gestured and introduced, "Ronon Dex."

Ronon looked amused by the whole undertaking and saluted them with one of his knives. The society woman, Keller, looked doubtful, but John was honestly surprised she hadn't fainted or recoiled from Ronon. 

"I'm looking for someone named Teyla," Keller said. She raised an eyebrow at John and Ronon as if she wasn't sure she'd come to the right place. 

"What for?" Ronon asked. 

"I have a friend who needs help with something," Keller answered.

John snorted at her deliberate vagueness. 

Ronon grunted. "You don't get to Teyla without telling me who gave you her name." He looked at John. "And if Sheppard knows you, then only if he says you're okay."

Keller's expression widened. "I don't know Mister Sheppard, but I was given Teyla's name by a Doctor Carson Beckett." She pulled a letter out of her handbag and held it up with one gloved hand. 

Ronon took it from her with a quick movement of fingers; John admired that she didn't even flinch as he loomed over her, though Cadman watched Ronon suspiciously. Ronon looked to Sheppard.

John sighed. "Cadman's alright," he admitted. 

She smiled. "Thanks, Shep." 

Unwillingly, John felt a grin pull at his mouth. 

"Letter's in the Scot's hand." Ronon nodded decisively. "I'll put them in the blue room. You get Teyla."

John nodded in turn, and continued up the stairs.

He knocked lightly at Teyla's door but when there was no answer he continued down the hall to Rodney's lab. 

Opening the door filled the hall with the overwhelming scent of burned ink, which had previously been faint. 

John coughed. "McKay?" The entryway was narrow, bracketed by tall bookcases, the path inside winding between them before diverging to the lab on the left and a small sitting area to the right.

"Yes, yes," Rodney said loudly. "I did it a purpose, the results have  been very informative, and I will not burn the house down." He peered out from behind a bookcase overflowing with scientific pamphlets. "Oh, Sheppard." Rodney blinked. "Have you been out?"

"Yes. I just got back."

"Ah, of course. I don't recall your presence at the height of the conflict but," he stepped out and gestured to the laboratory behind him, "I assure you, burning the papers was quite informative as to the inks' properties, and I have the delight of informing Carson that he is inaccurate in his surmising that his ink qualifies as 'invisible'." He sniffed derisively. "It's almost easier just writing in cypher. Though not as entertaining, I suppose." He grinned.

John had to grin back. "Have you seen Teyla?"

"I am here, John," she said. Her voice was patient, and laced with amusement. 

"You have visitors," he said as he peered around the stacks of shelves and found her seated comfortably on the Camelback that dominated the small sitting area, her feet tucked under her as she sipped a cup of coffee. 

"Business?" she inquired. 

John nodded. "They have a letter of introduction from Beckett."

Rodney snorted, but disappeared back into his laboratory. 

Teyla smiled. "You are finished with the experiment, correct Rodney? I'd like to warn our guests if they should expect any strange odors or sounds." 

Rodney snorted again, calling from the other room, "You know very well I'm finished and am noting my findings." He appeared in the door, scowling, but asked pleasantly enough, "How was your morning, Sheppard?" 

"Unproductive." John couldn't help adding, "I thought you hadn't remembered."

"I remembered," he said defensively. "I just forgot it was today." He frowned. "I'm sorry that it didn't pan out." He turned away suddenly, busily looking for something; John suspected it was a cover for realizing he hadn’t meant to discuss the issue in front of Teyla- she was looking down at her cup, too wise by half- but Rodney found a crumpled jacket where it had fallen behind a precarious stack of papers and frowned at it. “Give me a moment, and I’ll meet you there.”

“Are you coming down, Rodney? Splendid.” Telya smiled with real pleasure and rose to kiss his cheek.

John offered his arm and escorted her down the stairs.