John cradled Teyla in his arms, then crushed her lifeless body to his chest. A single pair of matching tears streaked his dirt-blackened face, leaving behind a trail of heat. He stared at the devastated village, the other bodies that lay crumpled and broken in the dust. The tears were the only outward sign of the devastation within. There was no catch in his throat, no sob. He was still as a statue and taut as a bow.

There was a flash of movement behind a smoldering tent and John pulled her into a final embrace before he laid her gently down. He drew his knife and stalked towards the movement, his body a prowling predator, his motive – revenge.

The bandit he'd seen was digging idly through an overturned clothing basket. John caught the thief unawares and crimson blood spilled onto the bright fabrics and beaded leather. He wiped the knife on his pants and returned to the main square looking for more. He heard muttering coming from nearby and turned towards the sound, then froze as his hunt brought him back towards Teyla.

He didn't want to see her again. For a moment, he stood swaying. Irrational hope fluttered in his chest as long as he couldn't see her. Desperation finally began to convince him that if he did look, he'd find her waiting for him, impatiently reaching to him to pull her back to her feet. Teyla always landed on her feet. Flooded by a certainty born of friendship and faith, he looked. He almost smiled with his belief.

She was still lying, motionless and crumpled, where he'd laid her.

"No!" The wrongness overwhelmed him and he threw his knife into the ground.

It was wrong. This was wrong. Teyla wouldn't submit to primitive bandits. He'd seen her fight too hard and win too often. She wouldn't let it happen. He wouldn't have let it happen.

He stood panting in the middle of the town and suddenly clutched his head. Some whisper was pounding behind his eyes. This wasn't real. He had to fight. He had to remember…what?

A chilling jeer jerked him around to find a group of bandits creeping out of the shadows of a shredded leather hut. They were pointing and laughing at him. John took a wary step back, then stopped.

This wasn't real. Teyla wasn't dead. This wasn't real.

One of the bandits shouldered his compatriots aside and flung a knife. The whistling blade flashed then embedded itself in John's gut. John sank to his knees with a grunt.

This wasn't real.

Another blade whistled, this one catching him in the chest. He fell to his side, trying not to whimper. Sure felt the hell real. He closed his eyes and tasted blood on his tongue. Footsteps gathered around. A booted toe slammed into his back.

He lay still, closed his mind to the continuing abuse. He sank into darkness swiftly and willingly. He just wanted it to be over so he could go back to…that place where the whisper was clearer and he could see…everything.

He wasn't alone. It wasn't real. He clung to the thought like a lifeline, even as his life was being beaten from him. From somewhere else he felt a flare of anger wash over his mind. And this time he smiled. Somehow, he knew that was a good thing.

Teyla didn't bother with the villagers and directed Lorne to land the jumper in the courtyard of Athar itself. Lorne and Ronon followed Teyla out of the rear hatch and she paused at the foot, taking a moment to get her bearings and recall the last time she had been here. Much had been different then. Aiden had been with them that first time. Ronon had never been here. They had followed the village priest never suspecting that the god they worshipped was an ascended Ancient.

Rodney had suspected the truth. And John - Teyla's breath caught in her throat at the desperate worry that brought her here this time - John had befriended Chaya, as he so easily befriended all who gave him half a chance.

"Athar, show yourself," Teyla called.

There was no answer, no movement within the flowering courtyard so she moved further under the stone shelter that seemed not to have changed at all from her memory. Ronon followed, his movement a restless expression of impatience. Lorne wandered off on his own, his worry evident in the tightness of his fist around his weapon that he held at the ready. She had explained her plan to ask Chaya for answers and help. The Major had agreed to the idea with something like desperation.

"Chaya, we wish to speak with you."

A breeze ruffled their hair and she felt Lorne and Ronon tense. As if she had merely walked through an invisible door, Chaya appeared and came lightly down the steps towards them. She looked exactly as she had before, dressed in a flowing blue gown, her bronze hair falling in wisps against bare shoulders. Teyla shifted her feet, feeling the years since their last encounter sitting heavily upon her.

"Welcome to the temple of Athar," Chaya greeted with a small bow. "It has been a long time, Teyla. I am pleased by your visit. Where is John?"

Teyla studied Chaya with open frankness. Did she truly not know?

"He is why we have come. He is under attack by one of your kind and we need your help to stop her."

"My kind?" Chaya took a step back, skepticism written in her frown.

"An Ori who calls herself Siren. John is in a coma, clinging to life. We believe that this Ori is holding him captive in your plane of existence."

"The Sevagnet," Chaya whispered and Ronon rumbled his approval. Apparently the word meant the same thing in Satedan as it did in Teyla's language. Chaya raised her hand to her brow and faded into a transparent mist for a moment. When she returned, she was grim. "I see the truth of your claim."

"Then do something about it!" Ronon interjected.

"There is nothing I can do," Chaya replied sadly.

"Like hell there isn't!"

"Come back with us," Teyla added to Ronon's frustrated outburst. "Drive this Ori away!"

"I cannot. I am as bound to my world as the Sevagnet."

"You left before. You came to Atlantis."

"And my disobedience nearly cost my people everything. I dare not leave again while the Wraith remain hungry."

"When your people were in danger, John came to you. He risked his own life for your people. Will you not risk anything for his life now?" Teyla was clenching her fists, snapping out the words in her anger. How could this creature reject their desperate request so blithely?

Chaya faded into mist again, disappearing for such a long moment that Teyla was certain she'd simply left. Ronon swore loudly and turned as if to head back to the jumper. When Chaya appeared again, she faded into being so close to her shoulder that Teyla jumped. To her further shock, the Ancient enfolded her in an embrace, the gesture like that of a sister.

Teyla suffered the touch impatiently and Chaya finally released her, pausing to whisper a devastating message before stepping away. Teyla reeled, stumbling with the words that had been put into her mind.

"No," she said. Her voice was hoarse and Ronon stepped closer to hold her elbow, steadying her. He looked at her in concern, but her answer was for Chaya. "No. There is another way."

"The Sevagnet is too powerful for any one ascended to restrain. She feeds on mortal emotion – the more powerful the feeling, the more power she gains. Long ago, she had many worshippers and her power was so great that it took the combined forces of all of us in this galaxy to restrain her. A foolish group of mortals pleaded to be allowed to stay with her and she was sentenced to tend to them as I tend my flock."

"Those people on that planet wanted to stay with her?" Ronon interrupted.

"I am sure the descendents of the original worshippers regretted the choices of their ancestors," Chaya agreed. "Over time, the population on the planet dwindled – no doubt due to her harsh treatment of them – and her power faded. Our vigilance wavered." She spoke the last with soft self-rebuke.

"And because of this negligence, Siren escaped. She followed John to Atlantis." Teyla withheld none of the accusation in her tone.

"John feels…deeply." Chaya touched her again, "The Sevagnet would find him useful."

Teyla felt the blinding truth of the words like a puzzle unraveled or a mystery solved. John so rarely let his feelings escape; that which had no egress must dive within, she realized, understanding her friend through that simple statement as she had never understood him before.

Teyla jerked free from the touch. "This creature is torturing him because of you. Your kind let her escape. YOU stop her."

"She will be stopped, but she has grown in power as she has fed on John's passion and on the emotion within your city. Even were I to follow you to Atlantis, I could not stop her myself. At best, I would merely annoy her. At worst, I would provoke her to strike out at all of you. We will gather and restrain her once again, but we are scattered. Many have left this galaxy altogether since the last encounter. It will take time."

"Sheppard doesn't have time, Ma'am," Lorne spoke for the first time since Chaya had appeared. "This thing is killing him now. It's threatening the city, now."

Chaya just blinked at Lorne, then turned her gaze on Teyla. Teyla saw tears glistening in those perfect eyes. "Teyla knows what to do."

"No. There has to be another way."

But the Ancient faded away for the last time and the breeze against their faces was cold. Lorne sighed and let his weapon fall to his chest.

"What was that all about?"

She couldn't answer, yet. She wasn't ready to speak Chaya's words out loud.

"We can go," she said instead, and she heard the bitterness of her own voice. "There's no point in staying."

The short jumper ride home was uncomfortable and silent. Teyla sat beside Ronon in the cockpit staring out the windshield as jewel blue faded into empty black. He kept shooting her puzzled looks that grew more concerned as the silence deepened. After the jumper bumped lightly onto the bay floor and Lorne had fled the craft slumped with failure, Ronon held back and pulled her aside.

"What happened back there? What did the Ancient say to you?"

"It doesn't matter," she replied, trying to sound confident. Ronon only looked more concerned. "We'll find another way." She pulled away to lead him towards the infirmary. "We have to find another way."

"Teyla."

She stopped.

"Sheppard needs any help he can get. What did the Ancient say to you?" Ronon's words were stern, but he grabbed her arms to hold her in a comforting embrace. She wouldn't look at him.

"Chaya said that John has to ascend. That full ascension is the only way to fight Siren and save John's consciousness."

Ronon let go and backed off, startled into restless motion. "How is he supposed to… If he has to…"

"That was exactly my reaction."

"Don't you have to die to ascend?" Ronon spat out the words like an accusation.

"That is the understanding of my people. Rodney has a different interpretation of the process."

"Different maybe, but he still almost died when that machine tried to make him do it."

"Agreed. I don't trust Chaya. She is unwilling to combat this Siren directly. She may even have selfish motives for wishing John to ascend." Teyla was surprised at the shadow of jealousy that had followed her from Chaya's planet. The Ancient knew so much about John having spent so little time with him. It wasn't romantic jealousy – she'd just felt like she'd been caught in a lie. Chaya had made her feel like an inattentive friend.

"So we're back to nothing," Ronon sighed. They began walking towards the infirmary again. She was dreading what they would find.

"We do know the Ancients are gathering. Perhaps they will confront Siren in time."

"In time for us, or in time for Sheppard?" Ronon muttered. Teyla didn't answer.

When they entered the familiar rooms of the infirmary they found a gathering around John's bed and rushed to join the crowd. An anxious lump of fear settled into guarded relief as she realized that the nurses and doctors were preparing to depart, their services yet again successful at pulling John through whatever new crisis his body had endured. Marie was last out the door of the intensive care room and she gave only a bare nod of reassurance as she passed by. Teyla and Ronon were by themselves.

"He looks so…tired," Teyla whispered into the quiet that settled upon them as they watched John struggle even to breathe. "We have to think of something before he gives up, Ronon."

"Sheppard won't give up. He's stubborn."

"But even John can't endure this forever."

Ronon didn't answer and Teyla sank into the chair in the corner, feeling her own fatigue pulling her into despair. John muttered something that sounded like a word of defiance, and then groaned ever so softly. To her great surprise, Ronon stood close and began talking to John in a low, earnest voice. She didn't catch all of his words, but she understood that he was telling John about the Ancients that would gather to help him.

Tears wet her eyes and she rested her head in her hand to hide them. Chaya's words kept whispering in her mind. John must ascend.

She didn't want that to happen. She didn't know HOW that could happen. But she didn't have anything else to offer. She felt lost and confused. "We'll find another way," she said fiercely to herself.

But she had no idea what that might be.