Disclaimer: I don't own "Stargate: Atlantis" and don't claim to. (If I did, Teyla and Ronon would be happily married with half-a-dozen kids by now.) I am making no monetary gain from this, it is meant for entertainment purposes only.

Summary: There are many people he'd die for in a heartbeat. But there's only one person he'd live for. RononTeyla

Rating: T

Warnings: Fluff, violence

Pairing: Ronon/Teyla

Title: Soul Mates

Author: fyd818

Part 1/40

Author's note: I have always seen the characters of Ronon and Teyla as soul mates, they are so perfect for each other. I've always wanted to do a fic that solely reflects that bond. I very much hope you enjoy this fic, and thank you for reading!

"Soul Mates"


If I embrace her and her arms are open,

I am like a man in the land of perfumes.

If I kiss her and her lips are open,

I am drunk even without beer.

–Egyptian love poem


It was a Friday, and he was cleaning out his mother's attic, when he found it.

Michaela Dex had accumulated quite a collection of baubles in her lifetime. Exotic things from other worlds, other cultures. Most had been brought back by her husband and son, during their travels off-world with the Satedan military. But some she'd gathered herself – and this small, curious box seemed to be one of them.

Ronon balanced the intricately carved vessel in his hands, weighing it even as he examined it. Beneath layers of dust, the wood glowed a pretty red, and the designs spoke of some exotic far-off world. He couldn't remember ever seeing the box as a child, and Michaela had not left Sateda in her declining years after her husband died and her son moved to a home of his own. The design and the writing on the box was foreign, and he wondered where – and more importantly, when – his mother had collected such an item.

Ronon dusted off the closest wooden crate with a sweep of his hand and perched on it. He set the box in his lap and stared at the lid, wondering if anything would jump out at him when he opened it. He wasn't a superstitious person, but he'd had his share of chills in this dark, dirty place while cleaning out his mother's things. Michaela had been a – commanding and independent woman.

You're being foolish, Ronon. It's a box, probably a good thirty years old. Just open it. He carefully hooked his fingers under the edge, lifted, and hesitantly peered inside.

A small, wrapped bundle sat in the exact center of the box. It looked innocuous, though the fabric had faded and turned brittle over the years. He was almost sure it had been white, at one time, though he couldn't be sure. He carefully reached his long fingers into the box and gently picked up the object (objects?). He cradled it (them?) in both hands as soon as it was clear of the box and stared for a moment.

Again, that superstitious chill. What was the matter with him today?

At last he gathered enough courage to himself to gently turn the bundle over and unfold the cloth. It all but disintegrated at his touch, but as the pieces fell away the dim light of the naked overhead bulb flashed off the object that had been wrapped.

A necklace, formed as a half-circle with a point jutting out in the center, glittered up at him. Along the edge, more of that strange writing dared him to read it, but he couldn't. He didn't recognize the language, not even a few of the letters. It was obvious the necklace had been made to be broken into two halves. The question that nagged at Ronon's mind was, where was the other half?

He turned the pendant a little more toward the light, admiring the glint of the silver from which the necklace had been crafted. As he tilted it, he saw something else engraved in the pendant, this time in the very center. He leaned forward and squinted, shocked that he could actually read this engraving. It was one small word that nearly blended in with the background, but when turned just right, it quite easily stood out from the smooth background:


The script was elegant, curling and curving around itself. The last curl of the "a" was cut off, however, as if it was continued on the other half of the necklace.

Teyla. It was a name. It had to be. A word so beautiful, yet unfamiliar, had to be a name, from the same language as the rest of the engraving.

Ronon held the necklace in his hand as he reached down into the small wooden box to withdraw what had been beneath the necklace. It was a piece of paper, folded once in the middle. As he lifted it, another piece of paper fell from inside.

At least, he thought it was a piece of paper until he picked it up and turned it over.

It was a sketch, of a young woman with shoulder-length hair. She seemed to be looking right at him from the paper, her eyes intense. A very slight smile curled her lips, giving her a whimsical look. Her small hands rested casually in her lap, and even though she was seated Ronon could tell she had to be tiny. Short, delicate, fragile with her beauty.

And in the corner, a signature written in a calligraphy he knew very well. Michaela Dex.

Ronon blinked and tore his eyes from the picture, chilled at the power that small sketch seemed to hold over him. His mother had sketched her whole life, and Ronon had done a good bit of it in his lifetime, too. But Ronon had been sure he'd already gotten all of Michaela's sketches and organized them in a scrapbook. So what was this? Who was the girl? Was this Teyla?

It was only then he remembered the letter, which he'd dropped when he picked up the picture. Ronon shifted the sketch to the same hand as the necklace and picked up the yellowed piece of parchment.

More of his mother's writing. He scanned the letter once, twice, disbelieving.


If you are reading this letter, I am no longer alive. The existence of this letter, and the other contents of the box in which you found this, must be revealed to no one.

Now that this has been said, I feel I should explain myself to you. You have undoubtedly discovered the necklace and sketch. The name on the pendant is that of the young woman in my drawing, Teyla Emmagan. She is meant for you, my son. She has the other half of your necklace, with your name engraved on it, and similarly Satedan letters instead of those of her native language. I do not know if her father has chosen to give her the necklace, but if he has, this is how you can identify her.

I apologize for not telling you this much sooner, but I could not. Both your life, and the life of young Teyla, are in terrible danger. Perhaps I should have told you, in light of this fact. But I can only hope this letter will give you the information you need to keep yourself and your soul mate safe.

Teyla is the key to defeating our enemy, the Wraith. I do not pretend to understand her gift, but she was born with abilities far beyond anything this galaxy has seen before. You must leave Sateda, find her, protect her, and help her fulfill her destiny. You were born for this, and for each other. But be careful who you trust, for the enemy has spies everywhere.

The last time I saw her, she resided on a planet called Athos. The symbols you require for the Ring of the Ancestors to take you to her are engraved on the underside of the box's lid. If she is not wearing the other half of your necklace, her father and I devised another way for you to identify her. She has the same tattoo as your own on the left side of her neck. As far as I am aware, she is the only other woman in the galaxy with it.

I pray I have made the right decision in waiting until after my death to tell you, through this letter. You must go find Teyla, and help her. I cannot promise you an easy journey, but I can promise you that you will be happy together, eventually.

May the Ancestors bless and protect you, my son. Please be safe.


Ronon's fingers relaxed of their own will, and the letter drifted to the floor. He turned his gaze back to the sketch and necklace he still clutched. Mother, what have you gotten me into?

It was on this Friday, while Ronon cleaned out his dead mother's attic, that the greatest adventure of his life began.

-To Be Continued-