Ronon ducked and stumbled as the club landed a glancing blow on his back. He felt some of the air cough out of his lungs and pivoted, his ankle burning as he spun about to block the next blow with the hilt of the mace he’d been given. The man he was fighting was large and had energy to spare in his flabby sides as he screamed and charged at the Satedan. Ronon hastily backed up, nearly tripping over the corpse of one of the men who’d already been killed.

For a moment it looked as if he were about to fall and the crowd watching in the stands cheered and clapped, then their noise died out as he recovered his footing and spun around backwards, catching his attacker off guard and landing the spiked ball at the end of the mace into the side of his ribcage. The man grunted as his pale flesh flushed crimson, beginning to bleed from the blow. Ronon didn’t hesitate and struck again, smashing his weapon into the man’s other side as the crowd roared in approval.

His opponent staggered backwards a few steps, coughing out wheezing gasps as he attempted to breathe despite his freshly-broken ribs. Ronon took a few steps backwards, straightening and licking his lips as he caught his breath, tasting iron as the re-opened wound on his lip began to bleed again from an earlier blow to his jaw from the man who now lay dead. Two more bodies scattered the arena, staining the sand of the pit with the dark colors of their blood, etching out grotesque snow angels as they fell into death throes.

Ronon’s attacker continued to try to catch his breath, studying Ronon with sheer instinct in his eyes, making their pale blue depths look wild. He screamed and ran at the Satedan. Ronon knew a clumsy charge when he saw one and calmly ducked as the large man swung. He casually stepped to the side and tripped his opponent, making the crowd roar with laughter. The pale man skidded against the sand, his injured ribs digging further into his organs, causing him to cough up blood. He shakily attempted to rise then groaned, rolling over onto his side before flopping onto his back, his breath coming in wheezing screeches as a lung collapsed.

Ronon straightened.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” the arena chanted, stomping their feet in deafening crescendo, like the war drums of a race of giants.

Ronon glanced to their faces, mostly men of all ages and social classes then looked about at the bodies strewn on the floor. He’d killed two of them. Now they wanted him to kill a third. He stepped over to the wheezing man who looked up at him with fear. Ronon’s stomach constricted as he locked eyes with his victim. He was unarmed and weak. He’d done nothing more to deserve a death in the arena than Ronon had. As he coughed again, spilling out more blood, Ronon felt his shoulders tense. There was no saving this man now anyway.

“Kill! Kill! Kill!” the crowd continued to pound out.

Ronon swallowed, looking out at them again, and a few cheered when he glanced their way, is if delightedly surprised to recognize that he had a will of his own. The Satedan looked to Rashid who was picking pits out of a fruit that he was eating, seated in his spectator’s box away from the rest of the crowd. Rashid glanced to him then did a double-take when he noticed the Satedan staring.

The crowd continued to chant. Ronon’s blood was rushing past his ears in a roar louder than their united voices. Rashid shrugged a little, holding out his hands as if to say “what can you do?” then chuckled as he took a bite of his fruit. Ronon slightly sneered and looked back down to his dying opponent. He raised his mace, reminding himself that a quick death was better than prolonged suffering. But the man was staring at him. Ronon froze with the mace above his head while the crowed cheered.

“...This man,” he shouted, causing only the nearest section of the crowd to quiet enough to hear him, “dies with honor!”

Those who had quieted roared again as he adjusted his shoulders. His victim gave him a curt nod as he did so, and Ronon only hesitated long enough to nod back before bringing down the ball of the mace as hard as he could, slamming it into the side of the fallen man’s skull, shattering bone and brain.

The roar of the crowd made his vision blur as he dropped the mace and stepped away from the body, clawing at the flecks of blood that suddenly freckled his torso, staining his shirt that was already stained by sweat and tears, waste and despair. He yanked it off over his head, causing several in the crowd to laugh and whoop when he threw it onto the ground, as if it were a possessed thing.

The iron gates on the edge of the arena grated open and he purposefully strode towards them as the crowd began to chant “More! More! More! More!” They hissed and booed when Rashid finally spoke from his box, saying that they were finished for the night, but to come see the Satedan fight again in two day’s time.

As the gates creaked shut, Ronon thought he could hear “Sate-dan! Sate-dan! Sate-dan!” being chanted above the screaming of his blood.

Rashid laughed, clapping.

McKay attempted to ignore the stares he was getting from the local who noticed his odd dress as he dashed through the streets, following Teyla. “Teyla!” The Athosian had taken off as soon as Sheppard lifted off in the Jumper with his load of freed slaves, promising to return as soon as he could so that the three could hunt down the signal supposedly coming from Ronon. Apparently Teyla couldn’t wait that long, McKay griped in his mind, praying that none of the people in this town would recognize Teyla as a former slave.

The Athosian stepped up to the first townsperson she saw with a horse. “I require your mount!”

The man blinked at her with surprise, taking in her foreign clothing and the odd man chasing after her. “...What?”

Teyla frowned. “I will return it, I assure you.”

“Teyla!” McKay shouted as he caught up with her, panting.

Teyla gave him a slightly annoyed look. “You are slowing me down, Rodney!”

McKay looked shocked, trying to catch his breath, doubled over. “Are you kidding me?! I just ran after you for like, miles!”

Teyla let out a frustrated sigh when she noticed that the man with the horse had slipped away as she was scolding her teammate.

“Why couldn’t you just wait for Sheppard?!”

“You do not understand.”

“Oh, I understand perfectly. You’re crazy!”

Teyla narrowed her eyes at him then marched away, heading for the road that led out of the town.

McKay gaped in shock. “Oh you have got to be kidding me!”

Teyla didn’t slow her stride.

“Teyla!” McKay squeaked out and stumbled after her.

Curtis turned stopped securing the bales of hay onto the back of his wagon and turned his head to look as Rodney shouted Teyla’s name. His lips parted and he double-checked to make sure that Sam the mule was still tied up then jogged out from behind the feed store.

Teyla was still striding towards the road, though McKay had caught up. She refused to look at him. “If you truly believe I am crazy, Rodney, then please, do not follow me any longer.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” the scientist panted. “I didn’t mean it – will you please just stop?” He grabbed her arm and she spun about to face him, glaring. McKay glared back. “Sheppard will probably be here any minute!”

“You do not understand!”

“What don’t I understand? That you’re anxious to see him? That you miss him? Well I do, too!”

“No, Rodney! You cannot possibly know what it has been like! He has been alive all this time without me... he would have come back if he could so something must be wrong. Perhaps he is injured.”

“Which is why we’re going to look for him!”

Teyla continued to glare then her face softened, looking away. “...I am sorry.”

McKay let go of her arm and sighed. “I am, too...”

“I know I am not usually... but I see now that I am behaving...” She swallowed hard and looked him in the eye, unsure if he could understand the hurricane of emotions bombarding her breast, terrifying her, afraid to believe until she was certain. “This could be another lie... and I cannot loose him again.”

McKay studied her for a moment then nodded.

“Teyla?” a voice called and the Athosian stiffened as she and Rodney turned to face a tall, mustached man wearing a riding hat as he cautiously approached. McKay frowned at the way the man’s eyes studied Teyla and he took a step in front of her. “I’m Curtis... Curtis Espen.” He held out a hand and Teyla glanced at it yet made no move to shake it. Curtis cleared his throat a little, taking off his hat. “...Do you know a young man by the name of Ronon Dex?”

Teyla’s expression immediately relaxed as her eyes widened and she took a step towards the man. “Where is he?”

Curtis shook his head a little, regret coloring his features. “I don’t know for certain... I’ve been trying to find out. My family and I took him in a while back and he’s lived with us ever since. A few nights ago he was taken by a slave trader.”

If Teyla had fur, it would be bristling, and Curtis was impressed by just how accurate Ronon’s description of her fire and demeanor were.

“What? What do you mean? He’s on another plantation?” McKay asked.

Curtis shook his head. “I doubt it. He sacrificed himself to save me and my wife and girls.”

Teyla studied him, relieved to know that Ronon had been with such a kind face for so long.

Curtis had his brow furrowed. “We heard that all the slaves in the revolt were killed.”

Teyla shook her head, looking just as confused. “We lost some, yes, however the majority survived.”

Curtis hissed and slapped his pant leg with his hat.

Teyla’s eyes widened with understanding. “...Ronon believes I am dead.”

Curtis looked back to her, his eyes speaking for him.

Teyla swallowed, looking away. She blocked out McKay and Curtis’ voices as Rodney stepped over to explain his handheld tracking device to Curtis, her mind racing and her heart hammering. Ronon was alive. This man had seen him, spoken to him, touched him. And now he was lost, believing her to be dead... she searched the skies for the Jumper, every muscle screaming to find the Satedan as quickly as possible.

Ronon quickly glanced around his cell as he returned. His cellmate was gone and he could hear the distant sounds of another fight in another arena. He sank down onto the bench, feeling aching and old, his wounds all stinging and throbbing from being freshly washed. After the fight he had been allowed to bathe and given fresh clothing – his rewards for survival. The slave locked the cell door shut and nodded at him before stepping away. As Ronon watched him go, he noticed that nearly half the cells were empty, and his stomach churned with ice water, knowing that most would never return.

He leaned his back against the stone wall and drew his legs up to his chest, resting his cheek on his knees and conserving his heat, closing his eyes... counting his heartbeats... He jerked himself awake when the door at the end of the twin rows of cells opened. He blinked a few times and ran a hand through his unruly curls, now nearly dry. Heavy boot steps approached but Ronon felt as if the tendrils of a fever were warming his muscles and he couldn’t be bothered to move.

Rashid’s bearded face appeared on the other side of the bars beside a slave bearing a torch. He narrowed his eyes as he peered at Ronon. “Satedan. Franklin. Wake.”

Ronon lifted his head more to show that he wasn’t asleep and his master smiled a little, his gold earrings glinting in the wavering torchlight.

“You did well tonight. I thank you for many hundreds you have earned me already.”

Ronon swallowed, his throat feeling heated and dry, but did not speak.

“You come from the south, no? You were a field worker?”

Ronon shifted, his eyes on the man.

Rashid raised a brow. “You will answer me. Where did you learn to fight? You were in the rebellion in the south?”

Ronon shook his head no.

“No? Hmm. Another fight ring?”

Ronon furrowed his brow, moistening his throat. “They were all killed.”

“Who?” Rashid took a step forward.

“The slaves in the uprising.”

Rashid laughed. “Is that what they told you? Lies. You slaves come scratching and clawing from the womb.”

The Satedan suddenly stood.

Rashid cocked his head at him. “Where is Sateda? In the east?”

Ronon narrowed his eyes, their jade shimmering as they reflected the flames of the torch, his lips parting. Lies... lies... Teyla... His eyes slid to Rashid’s.

“Where is Sateda?”

“Where are the slaves?”

Rashid’s brows shifted to hood his eyes like a hawk. “You had family there?”

Ronon hesitated then nodded.

Rashid let out a slightly amused sound. “Now you’ll die.”

Ronon straightened.

Rashid stepped up to the bars. “You survived tonight... because you had nothing to lose.” He eyed him. “Shame. I had hoped you would bring me a great purse. No matter.” He took a step away. “It’s a terrible thing for a man to outlive his purpose.”

Ronon crossed to the bars in one stride, grabbing onto them. “Where are the freed slaves?”

Rashid smirked. “It was a lover, wasn’t it?” He chuckled as he took a step away. “I hope she’s worth dying for.”

Ronon kicked the bars in frustration as Rashid continued down the hall.

“Save your strength. You fight again two nights from now!”

The darkness seemed to race after the light of the torch, relishing the space it was granted once the flames had passed as the two men walked down the hall. The door slammed shut, echoing against the stone walls. Ronon stepped backwards then looked over his shoulder at the small window at the top of his cell. He stepped towards it, craning his neck. His breath clouded before him but he could see stars.

Branded Heart

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