A/N: No spoilers but is based on backstory established in The Shrine

Aja

"Aja!"

Tarius Dex kneels as the youngest of his twelve grandchildren launches into his arms. He stands, swooping Ronon through the air and grinning at the small boy's giggles. "You seem unusually happy today, small one."

"It's my Celebration Day."

"Is it?"

"Oh, Aja, you know it is. I'm finally six. I've wanted to be six forever."

Tarius ruffles Ronon's hair as he sets the boy down and allows himself to be tugged inside. The small apartment is neat and tidy as always. "You will be old like me before you know it."

Ronon looks horrified. "Really?"

"I hope so," he whispers when Ronon bounds to the kitchen to inform his mother Tarius has arrived.

His son, Brayl, had been culled before Ronon had been born, leaving Esadra to raise the boy and his three brothers alone. Tarius visits as often as he can, but his taskmaster duties keep him away for weeks at a time.

The scent of baking dreshan cakes that wafts from the kitchen dredges up memories of his beloved Anisa preparing the treats for Brayl, Sanut, and Laron. Unexpected tears sting as a wave of sorrow washes over him. No one should outlive their children.

"Aja?" Ronon hangs over the back of the sofa, blinking solemnly at him. "You okay?"

Tarius smiles fondly. "Yes, boy, I'm fine."

"Mama says we can't have any cake until after dinner. That's hours from now."

He pulls Ronon into his lap, tickling him mercilessly. "Hours, is it?"

Ronon shrieks with laughter, squirming to get away. When Tarius releases him, the boy lies still until he catches his breath then lays his head on Tarius' shoulder.

"I love you, Aja," Ronon murmurs into his chest.

"I love you, too, Ronon." Tarius holds him close, rubbing a hand up and down his spine and praying for blessings on this little life. "Do you still have the whet stone I gave you?"

"Mm hmm." Ronon hops off and runs from the room, returning seconds later with the blue-black rock wrapped in skirsk hide. "Here it is."

Tarius' hands drop to his sides. "How many knives can you find?"

Ronon's eyes light up. He reverently sets the rock on the side table then rakes his gaze over Tarius before climbing back on the sofa. Tarius sits still as little hands card through his hair, locating both knives hidden there. Ronon finds the saber machete between Tarius' shoulder blades, the dagger in his boot, both knives on his belt, and the skinning knife in his shirt pocket.

"How'd I do?"

"Not bad." Tarius stands and pulls the other four knives he has hidden and lays them on the table with the others. "What did I tell you?"

Ronon frowns at the knives he'd missed. "Make some so obvious they can't be missed and others so obscure they'll never be found," he recites.

Tarius smiles in approval. "Very good. Now, pick one."

"For what?"

"For you. It is my gift to you on your Celebration Day."

Wide-eyed, Ronon stares at the collection of knives. "Really? One for my very own?"

"Yes. You are six now, responsible enough to have a weapon, but remember what I told you – it's not a toy, and it is to never-"

"-be used except to defend myself or someone I love. I remember, Aja." Ronon's gaze sweeps over the blades, his hand hovering over a curved silver knife with intricate etchings. "I can really have any one I choose?"

"Any one of them."

Tarius knows which one Ronon will choose, had known when he'd hidden the knives on his body. The curved blade Ronon is drooling over has been in the Dex family for centuries. It is rumored to have lanced a Wraith heart, an unproven myth but one that has inspired generations of Dexes to fight like it could.

Ronon's small fingers close over the hilt, and he hugs the weapon to his chest. "This one. Thank you, Aja."

"You are welcome." Tarius shows Ronon how to hang it securely on his belt then pats his shoulder. "Now, we must hurry if we are to get in our tracking lesson before dinner."

Ronon grins in excitement and runs to tell Esadra goodbye while Tarius tucks away the knives and fires the engine of his vehicle. They spend the hour it takes to leave the city chatting about Ronon's school lessons and arguing about whether the Greloks or the Dargunds is the better strillyeran team. The deeper into the countryside they go, the stiller and quieter Ronon becomes.

Tarius parks at the turnout and gives Ronon a quick glance. "What is the most important rule in tracking?"

Ronon stands straight, lifting his chin. "Be as prepared as possible before beginning the hunt. If you do not know your prey's strengths and weaknesses, know your own."

"Are you prepared?"

"Yes, Aja." Ronon pulls a small canteen from one pocket and a handful of helsun jerky from the other.

Tarius keeps his features schooled to neutral but is bursting with pride on the inside. "Then let's begin."

An hour passes then two as they creep silently through the woods. The animals that live here are harmless and plentiful. Tracks are scarce at first, but they multiply in variety and depth near the river.

Ronon kneels at the base of a tree, studying a mixture of helsun and skirsk tracks. Suddenly his head pops up, his incredibly sharp hearing catching the crunch of undergrowth a second before Tarius hears it. Ronon's eyes narrow, intensify as he searches the area for his prey. And in that moment, Tarius sees the man his grandson will become.

The round cheeks that still hold the last vestiges of baby fat harden into the sculpted planes of a man's face. The smile that is missing a tooth morphs into a feral snarl. Eyes that sparkle with excitement dim with loss and hatred. Small hands turn powerful, and legs become long and lean.

Tarius blinks and the image disappears, leaving a small boy, knife in hand, moving stealthily toward the brown animal that is slinking into view. Ronon steps forward silently. The helsun twitches, raises its head, sniffs the air. Ronon steps again, the thrill of the hunt evident on his face. The helsun freezes then scampers away.

Ronon's shoulders droop. "What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing. It sensed something was amiss."

"How?"

"Good instincts. They are necessary for survival."

Ronon nods thoughtfully. "Can they be learned?"

"Somewhat. Mostly you learn to perfect them."

The boy turns the knife over and over in his hands then tucks it in his belt. "How?"

Tarius chuckles. "You are full of questions today."

"I want to be a warrior like you when I get big." Ronon's eyes are fiery. "To kill Wraith."

"You will, Ronon. You will." Tarius feels a million years old, crushed by a universe that disregards childhood and rips life from the young. "But for today, be six." He tousles the boy's hair and puts an arm around his shoulders. "Now, let's get you home so we can have dinner and some dreshan cake."

"Okay."

As they head back to the city, Tarius keeps one eye on the road and the other on Ronon as the boy sings the hunting ballads of old. Tarius will be thankful later for the glimpse of the man Ronon will become, the man Tarius will never know. But right now, he is thankful for six year-olds and Celebration Days.

Written for the kidfic challenge on sgaflashfic. Thanks to kristen999 for the beta.