Disclaimer: Stargate belongs to Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios Inc, no infringement of any rights is intended. Besides, there's no point in suing me as I couldn't scrape two pennies together right now!

Spoilers: Possible spoilers for various episodes from Season 1 through to 'Miller's Crossing' in Season 4.

Warnings: Nothing too bad, Sheppard just gets roughed up a bit. No surprises there, then!

Many thanks to Sterenyk Strey for her beta, sorting out my Britishisms and giving me some useful suggestions. All remaining mistakes are mine.

This story is somewhat lighter than my usual stuff, and popped into my head following a rather rubbish birthday of my own. If I have a bad birthday, so does Shep! I must also give credit to Bruce Parry's "The Tribe" series, which gave me the inspiration for the whump in this tale.

The story is 5 chapters in total, all complete except for tweaking, so should be posted regularly.

Another Pegasus Birthday

Chapter 1

Today was Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard's birthday, and he was finally beginning to see a pattern forming. Last year, he'd spent his birthday dodging crazed colleagues, hallucinating that he was back in Afghanistan with Holland, and shooting most of his friends. The year before that, he'd been trying to persuade the crew of the Aurora to give him the information they carried that might help them defeat the Wraith...and had almost been blown up with the ship because he'd cut it so fine. And on his first year in the Pegasus Galaxy, he'd spent his birthday caught up in a battle with the Wraith while trying to win over the Genii to become their allies, an operation that had gone horribly wrong by anyone's standards. He never made a fuss on his birthday. A birthday when serving on the frontline was the same as any other day; he was just happy to make it through another year.

So, he supposed the fact he was spending this year's birthday, his fortieth no less, suspended by his wrists above a steaming, broiling lake should have come as little to no surprise really. He'd been hanging there for over two hours now – that had been the last measurement of time he'd taken while still strong enough to manoeuvre himself into a position where he could sneak a look at his watch. Right now, his arms felt like they were about to pop clean out of their sockets. Waiting for rescue wasn't an option on this occasion. His team were incapacitated and they weren't scheduled to head back to Atlantis until much later that evening having been invited to stay and share in a feast to celebrate the successful trade deal they had just brokered with the indigenous peoples of Bratala. He got the feeling he didn't have several hours left. His fate would be decided a long time before that deadline passed.

Dropping his head forward, he once again felt a dizzying blast of stifling heat hit him in the face, stealing away what little breath he'd managed to suck in. With steam filling his lungs and his head sagging, he felt as if air was far too sparse now, and his mind grew woollier by the moment. How the hell had a supposed celebration turned so sour? He knew the answer to that. Pegasus had its very own version of Murphy's Law, a far more malicious version as he had learned to his cost in the past, and today it had jumped up to bite him on the ass yet again.

At first, when he'd realised what the Bratalans were about to do to him, he'd tried his best to convince them that his genuine mistake had all been entirely innocent, that he'd intended no harm and no insult. They'd tied him up and swung him out over the water anyway, so when his lungs had begun to ache and his vision swim, he'd decided to conserve what little breath he had to keep himself conscious for as long as possible. Now, with his hands numb and pale and his wrists feeling as if they might snap under the strain, he had to wonder if that had been the right decision. He should have kept talking until he made them understand, or until they'd cut the rope just to shut him the hell up. Even that seemed the better option right at this moment.

This gruesome situation had arisen, as they often did, from the most innocuous of circumstances. Bratala was a planet rich in naquadah, a mineral which had absolutely no use for them, but which could be endlessly useful to the inhabitants of Atlantis while they continued to search for their ever elusive ZPMs. In exchange for rights to mine the naquadah, they had offered medicines, something the Bratalans had found most acceptable since disease was rife among their peoples, diseases that in developed countries on Earth were now all but extinct.

They'd set out from Atlantis at 2200 hours the previous day, because that was morning on Bratala. Having shared a promising meeting with the chief of this particular tribe, a hulking great figure of a man who rivalled Ronon in size, the team had been introduced to his family. Untooka had two wives and five children, four sons all verging on adulthood, and a daughter of around eleven years. She looked anxious about their presence there, so Sheppard had done what he considered the decent thing and engaged her in soothing conversation, assuring her that they were peaceful explorers, and that their peoples were going to be great friends. Then, he'd laid a hand on her shoulder and complimented her on the pretty dress she was wearing...

And that was where it had all gone horribly wrong.

He wished he'd considered how alien some Pegasus Galaxy cultures were compared to those on Earth before deciding to employ his charm to win the girl's confidence. But how was he to know no single male was allowed to set hand on the chief's daughter unless they were betrothed to her? Atlantis should have armed him with some kind of manual...like a Hitchhikers Guide...so they could travel to these planets forewarned and forearmed. Of course, the words 'Don't Panic' were particularly pertinent right now, too, although he was way past panicking at this point. Panicking required a level of energy he just didn't possess any more. He'd opted for quiet contemplation and that would have to do. Hopefully the locals would take it for stoicism and release him out of sheer admiration for his mettle.

Somewhere in a distant corner of his failing consciousness, Sheppard heard Rodney screaming about the insanity of this treatment. The colonel wanted to shout over to him, tell him to save his efforts because he suspected the decision of whether he lived or died lay outside of their control, but he couldn't even find the will to do that. After several hours of hanging in that heat, he was sure not only his lungs but his clothes were beginning to shrink. They clung to him like a second skin with the mixture of humidity and sweat, and great streaks of moisture scorched their way down his face and dripped from his chin. If he wasn't so damned stubborn he would have passed out a long time ago, but no, his determination to ensure his friends were unharmed meant he had to stake awake. Well, his shrinking attire would cut off the circulation to his brain soon, and then the choice to stay conscious wouldn't be his to make any more.

His mind drifted back to his mistake, to the way the girl's eyes had widened in fear as if she knew just what that touch would cost him. He hadn't had a chance to even ask her what was wrong before his legs were kicked out from under him and two huge warriors had stamped him into the dirt. Ronon, of course, had waded in, and now his friends sat restrained near the water, looking damp and dishevelled in the steam and doing their best to persuade the locals to let him go.

Voices broke through Sheppard's confusion, and he forced his reluctant eyelids open against the heat to watch the chief approach. This is it, he thought. Time for my bath!

The man strode purposefully to the edge of the pool, his four sons only one pace behind him. Their faces were frozen into grim masks of sobriety – that didn't bode well. He supposed forty was a pretty good age to reach for a military man who had seen more than his fair share of action. By all rights, he should have been dead a dozen times over before today.

'Akala accepts,' the chief told him. It meant nothing to him, but his parched mouth wouldn't form the query.

'Accepts what?' Rodney demanded, asking the question Sheppard had been trying to voice but his brain had been too befuddled to complete.

'His proposal.'

'That's the proposal that we be trade partners, right?' McKay ventured with more than a hint of hope in his tone.

'His proposal of marriage.'

Oh, yeah. Like I ever want to head down that road again!

Sheppard wondered if his own eyes were as wide as Rodney's as he gaped back at the chief. Probably not; they were too shrivelled by the humidity to assume that saucer-like size. Whether it was the irony or the lack of oxygen that got to him, Sheppard wasn't sure, but he snorted out a laugh all the same.

Rodney shot him a look caught somewhere between despair and anger. Sheppard knew just what he was thinking – that only he could propose marriage to a child without even saying a word. Teyla stepped in to try to smooth things over.

'I'm sorry, Chief Untooka, but there appears to have been a...a misunderstanding between us. Colonel Sheppard did not intend to propose marriage. It is not the way among his people to take a partner who is so...young.'

The chief's eyes turned to the dangling colonel, burning into him. Sheppard gave the man a sheepish smile and hoped he wasn't about to cut the rope.

'But he touched her.'

'Her shoulder, yeah!' Rodney blurted out. 'He was just being friendly.'

'If any unattached man touches an unmarried daughter of the chief, it is considered a proposal. If she accepts, he lives.'

'Yes...we've been over this. He made a mistake. She can't accept his proposal because he never made one.'

Teyla elbowed Rodney in the ribs quite sharply for someone whose hands were tied behind her back. 'We see how this...confusion has arisen, but you must understand that this was just a...a cultural difference between two differing tribes. In our world, such contact is commonplace. No offence or proposal was intended.'

'He is rescinding his proposal?' the chief asked.

'How can he rescind it? He never made it!' McKay spat, and Sheppard could practically hear the eye-roll that followed his assertion even though he couldn't focus any more.

'What he said,' he slurred, swinging a little as he looked from one to the other of them.

The chief paused for a beat, then announced, 'If that is so, his life is forfeit – cut the rope.'

'Wait!' Teyla shouted, making them all start. She looked around at them all and smiled that calm, soothing smile she somehow always managed to find, even when everyone else was crapping themselves. 'I am sure there is some way we can reach an amicable agreement here...perhaps we could delay the wedding until the colonel's principles allow him to proceed with the match.'

'Teyla...' the colonel protested.

Teyla flicked her gaze Sheppard's way, giving him a "trust me" look. She was usually pretty good at talking them out of tricky situations, and not averse to lying if it saved face for either themselves or other injured parties, so he decided he would leave it in her hands. Talking of hands, were his still attached because he really couldn't feel them any more?

Closing his eyes, Sheppard waited for the chief's decision. If it wasn't agreeable, things were about to get uncomfortably hot, and much as he tried to convince himself it wasn't such a bad way to go, he wasn't buying it for a second. He'd always thought cooking lobsters alive was a cruel and undeserved end for an innocent creature; he was about to find out just how accurate that assessment was.

'That is...acceptable,' the chief proclaimed in his theatrically loud voice so all those gathered round about could hear. Now things were finally looking up. All they had to do was spend a little time negotiating the terms of the marriage, then he could go back to Atlantis, plead temporary insanity due to brain shrinkage, and pretend none of this had ever happened.

Almost immediately, Sheppard felt himself being hauled back toward the shore, strong arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him back onto land. His legs decided to go all "Scarecrow" from the Wizard of Oz on him, and he crumpled to the ground as soon as the ropes were released and their grip on him relinquished. Dirt had never tasted so good.

His vision now blurring, he felt himself being rolled onto his back and the faces of his friends appeared over him.

'John, are you all right?' Teyla asked, laying her cool palm across his forehead.

He was about to answer when his shrunken brain finally called time and wrapped him in a thick blanket of comfortable darkness...

'...has to be five years at least, preferably more.'

Teyla's voice had been the last thing he'd heard as he'd passed out, and was now the first thing to filter through as he woke again. Sheppard blinked a few times, realising he'd been moved inside a hut while unconscious, the woven walls undulating as he pulled his surroundings into focus.

'Women of our tribe never marry so late. One at most,' the chief insisted.

It suddenly occurred to the colonel what exactly they were negotiating, and he figured he should be entitled to a say in things. 'She's eleven, right? Do you have any idea how old I am?' he asked, lifting his head from Teyla's lap, where she had been holding a cold compress to his forehead.

'Your age is of no concern. Akala has accepted. She thinks a warrior such as yourself would be a good match, and it will solidify the alliance between our peoples.'

Unable to comprehend how a father could be so blasé about his child's future partner, Sheppard tried to push up, only for Teyla to restrain him. 'Perhaps we could meet somewhere in the middle. Three years?' she suggested, following it with that very same smile she'd been sporting earlier.

Sheppard was about to let her know what he thought of that, but she squeezed his shoulder and he remembered her earlier silent request that he trust her. He dropped his head back down and closed his eyes, but batted away the cloth since he was feeling cold now his sauna was over.

'Three years?' Untooka paused for dramatic effect. 'Very well.'

A collective sigh of relief rippled through the team. 'Now that we have that settled, we will return to our people to get Colonel Sheppard the treatment he needs,' Teyla told the chief. 'Ronon...help me lift him.'

Sheppard sensed the tension before he saw what was actually unfolding. He snapped his eyes open again to the sight of Untooka's two burly guardians blocking Ronon's route.

'What is this?' the Satedan demanded, not looking remotely intimidated.

'He cannot leave. He has to stay and be initiated into the tribe.'

Sheppard slapped his hand across his eyes. Apparently, Pegasus planned to make his fortieth a very special birthday in its own twisted way. He really had to get his hands on a guide very soon.

'Initiation doesn't sound so bad...right?' Rodney said brightly, squatting beside him. 'They ply you with drink, strip you and tie you to a tree to laugh at you for a while, and you'll be home and dry.'

Sheppard wasn't so sure; he'd seen enough documentaries about African tribes in his time to know the initiation might not be all that easy. 'They said "initiation" not "stag party", Rodney,' he pointed out.

'What do you mean by initiation?' Ronon asked. Clearly, he thought it sounded bad, too, because he looked like he was considering grabbing Sheppard and making a run for it.

Untooka's expression took on a look of reverence as he gazed at them all over the flames of the fire in his hut, speaking of traditions that had served their people for centuries. 'If a man is to aspire to marry the daughter of a chief, he must prove himself worthy and convert to her ways. John Sheppard will become a member of this tribe, or he will die in the trying.'

No doubt about it, this was now officially the worst birthday Pegasus had dealt him. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Sheppard ordered Ronon to stand down. Then, turning wearily to the tribal leader, he asked, 'What do I have to do?'

'You're not seriously thinking of going through with it? You don't even wanna be a member of this tribe,' Rodney squeaked, gaping at him.

'Doesn't sound like I have much of a choice,' he leaned toward his friend and whispered, 'unless you wanna try fighting your way out of here with no weapons?'

'No...no...you go ahead and do things your way. I'm sure we'll figure some way out of this mess...eventually.'

Sheppard swayed to his feet and Untooka did the same, the two men regarding each other in the orange light of the firelight burning in the chief's home. 'So, what do I have to do?' he asked again, straightening up now he knew his legs weren't about to betray him.

'It begins with the purging,' the chief told him, signalling to a woman standing a few paces behind him. She scurried away, and the chief beckoned for Sheppard and the team to follow him outside into the daylight.

They did so just as the young woman was returning, carrying a wooden bowl. Untooka took the bowl from her and approached Sheppard. 'You must drink this and cleanse yourself of the sins of your previous life. If you are to marry my daughter, you must be pure of heart. You must let your spirit guides help you unburden yourself...and to help you do that, you need to drink this.'

Again, Ronon pushed forward like a watchdog protecting its owner. 'What's in it?'

'Nothing that will do him any harm,' Untooka assured him. 'It is simply a drink that helps to open up the mind to the voices of those gone before.'

Sheppard understood what that meant. It seemed he was about to take the kind of trip he hadn't been on since he was a rebellious teenager doing whatever he could to make his old man mad. Oh, joy!

Gripping the bowl in his hands, Sheppard stared into its murky contents, took a deep breath, and downed the contents in one go. The liquid was bitter and almost made him gag as it hit the back of his tongue, but he swallowed it all and felt the burn as it coursed its way down to his stomach. There was no going back now.

McKay stared at him in utter horror. 'Sheppard! What are you doing? You have no idea what was in that bowl.'

'I have a fair idea,' he assured the scientist, feeling the effects begin to set in.

At first they seemed quite minor – a mild dizziness and a feeling of euphoria – but they quickly melted into the most gut churning nausea ever and he realised that drink was meant to purge him in more ways than one.

Moments later, he was rushing for the nearby bushes as his breakfast revisited. The vomiting was violent and thorough, and when he eventually stopped retching he was left achy and spent. He dropped to his knees, his team rushing to gather him up and Untooka instructed them to carry him to a hut where he could continue the purging process undisturbed.

Now only vaguely conscious of his situation, Sheppard offered no resistance as he felt himself being lifted from the ground and carried into a darker, cooler environment. The voices whispering around him sounded edgy and angry, but he couldn't define words or any clear sentiment, so let it slide. The sensation of something soft under his back as he was lowered from his uncomfortable perch on someone's shoulder was welcome but short-lived, as his mind succumbed to the drugs rampaging through his body and the strange dreams he knew would come.