Know How to Fall by Auburn (R)

[morena-evensong.livejournal.com]

Show: SGA

Rec Category: Alternate Universe
Characters: Rodney McKay, John Sheppard, Teyla Emmagan, Elizabeth Weir, Others
Pairings: McKay/Sheppard
Categories: Slash, Alternate Universe, Romance, Mystery
Warnings: None
Author on LJ: auburnnothenna
Author's Website: Allusions
Link: Know How to Fall

Why This Must Be Read:
Author's summary: Three-day event rider John Sheppard inherits Pegasus Farm and falls hard for prickly neighboring horse trainer Rodney McKay when he decides to build a new life there with old friend Teyla Emmagan and her son. Meanwhile, John's friendship shakes up Rodney's life, making him want to take chances again, but a harassment campaign aimed at making John sell Pegasus turns violent and soon endangers them all before anyone can figure out what and who they really want.

Every once in a while I'll read an AU story and wonder where the author got the idea that throwing a show's characters into this specific random scenario would work. Naturally, sometimes it doesn't. But sometimes, like in this instance, it works brilliantly. Despite seeming like something completely out of left field for him, Rodney really is believable as a stable manager and horse trainer and John... well, John's really just John only with horses instead of planes. To top it all off, Auburn's writing is beautiful and the storytelling riveting. I enjoyed every moment of this story.


Blue's bridle jingled when the stallion shook his head from side to side, frustrated that Rodney had halted him at the edge of the woods. There was a gate there with a rusted padlock older than Blue that they regularly jumped, but the sun was rising, burning the ground fog white where it rolled off the hill, and Rodney couldn't see the landing.

Technically, they were trespassing, but no one cared if he rode through the low pastures and overgrown trails of Pegasus Farm's back eighty. Rodney had been doing it anyway two or three mornings a week since he arrived at the neighboring Archangel Equestrian Boarding and Training Stables almost two decades ago. Margaret 'Peg' Dean had owned Pegasus then, and foxhunts had poured wild as a flood across Pegasus Farm's fields and over its fences, with Mrs. Dean right behind the master of the hunt. Rodney had even been introduced to her at one of Elizabeth's parties once, but since she'd died the one hundred sixty acres of Maryland woods and pasture had been in legal limbo while the lawyers fought it out over who would inherit. He figured he might as well take advantage while he still could. Mrs. Dean would have approved of every jump.

Blue's head came up, ears pricked forward and turned to the hill to the east. Rodney looked as well, following the line of his mount's interest.

The silhouette of a horse and rider crested the hill outlined in incandescent light.

Rodney set his hand against the warmth of Blue's neck to remind him to stay calm and hoped he wouldn't neigh and betray their presence. Blue's roan coat had remained dark and Rodney had on jeans and a navy windbreaker. He doubted the rider could pick them out against the darkness of the trees unless they gave themselves away.

He watched as the apparition resolved into something only faintly more mundane. Horse and rider floated down the hill and over the low pasture. The knee-high uncut grass parted and rippled as they cantered over the flat. Rodney cringed because he knew the rider couldn't see the horse's footing.

The mist retreated to the shadows and low stretches. Birds called and a fox barked once, in the distance. Steam whispered off gleaming hindquarters into the cool, still air. The rider worked his mount in long, loose figure eights. The swish of the grass carried, the bellows-breath of the horse, and the pound of his hoof beats.

Rodney could make out more detail now. He recognized the horse, Atlantis, one of the few still owned by Pegasus Farm, a seven-year-old, seventeen-and-a-half hand, black Dutch Warmblood/Thoroughbred cross that probably should have been gelded, only the current manager was too lazy or cheap to get Zelenka or any other vet out to do it. Cam Mitchell had been riding him in competition until his crippling fall at Badminton the year before. Since then the stud had been riderless, prone to jumping fences when turned out, so that someone from Archangel had to catch and return him each time. All complaints had been ignored, of course — the manager just referred them up the line to the lawyers, who didn't care.

The man in the saddle wore a green tweed hacking jacket and faded jeans tucked into English riding boots, no gloves and no helmet. Rodney could make out crow-black hair and tanned skin, a narrow face and acceptably even features, but paid more attention to the horse.

He couldn't keep from analyzing once the first magic of the moment faded, taking in the powerful, easy movement and the way the rider used his expertise to compensate for not knowing his horse. He had a dressage seat that kept his legs down in the longer stirrups, offering more stability and contact. He kept his aids simple to avoid confusing his mount and the black horse responded eagerly. His neck arched proudly, with his ears pricked forward, and his mouth on the bit. Moving into a trot, the stud remained collected and balanced, exhibiting the true beauty of dressage. He floated. His legs scythed through the ground fog switching leads every two strides. They were just getting used to each other, and some day those switches could be with every stride, but the potential to become extraordinary made something in Rodney's throat ache.