Ronon paced in his cell, wishing he’d attempted escape while he was still out in the open, but he’d feared that any disobedience on his part would end up punishing Liliana, Curtis and their children. The birds had begun to chirp several hours ago and the dawnlight spilled in through the small window. Ronon halted inside the small square of warmth from the sun, studying the iron shackles that bound his wrists. Heinz’s words echoed to him through memory, sending a chill down his spine. “Where he’s going, he won’t be able to do any harm...” That meant somewhere more secure than a plantation. What else could these people possibly use slaves for? Mining?

He sighed and sat down on the rough-hewn bench that lined a wall of the cell, disturbed by his own lack of anxiety over his predicament. He had no idea where he was going or what was going to happen to him, but his heart was so tired that he couldn’t find it in him to care more than a dull, fleeting pump of anxiety in his blood every now and then. The Espens were safe, as far as he knew. He’d done his part to protect the family that had given him so much... that had restored his lost sense of dignity and trust. Knowing that they would be safe, and that Teyla was no longer alive to be harmed, that his friends in Atlantis had more than likely moved on and were prospering, gave him a sense of peace. No matter what darkness was looming before him, he could face it unflinchingly, with welcome, even, for he had only himself to loose, and that seemed a small sacrifice.

Teyla stepped out onto the loam, her wounds cleaned and dressed, her body washed and rested, her stomach fed, feeling as if her feet didn’t bear as much weight as they did only a day ago. Her loose locks caught in the breeze, sending a tickling warmth against her scalp and down her neck, reminding her of breathing, of the warm sun, of the laugh of a child. She looked out over at the remaining slaves in their makeshift shantytowns, eating their rations, caring for their children, braiding each other’s hair.

Several looked up as she stepped over to them, the slits in her long tunic lifting in the breeze as she strode past and a quiet murmur followed her. Binti rose from her fire, grinning. She ran and hugged the Athosian who laughed, spinning with her friend. “I did not think such a bright morning would ever come,” Binti almost sang. “More arrive every hour. They tell of other battles – other revolutions. Freedom is being sung from the very skies, Teyla!”

Teyla chuckled as a rush of excitement bubbled up in her breast at knowing that she had helped to improve the lives of so many who had been mired in wickedness and the expanding excess of an elite few. As she turned to look at Sheppard greeting a slave family, introducing himself and pointing out the Jumper they were to board, she knew that she’d made all the right decisions in her life. Leaving her own people for Atlantis had been like leaving behind a part of her heart, and she’d often struggled with the worry that she’d betrayed her own kin. Yet now she could count her blessings and know that for all the pain, for all the agony she had endured, she had done a good thing. She had saved hundreds, possibly thousands. She had given them hope. And she had loved and been loved, in the most desperate, life-affirming passion that she’d ever felt.

Her heart still stuttered and her spirit ached at the memory of Ronon, at the frustration of his death, at her own helplessness to save him. But she couldn’t help but feel as if the pain had etched itself into her spine and shoulder blades, and that she now stood a little taller, a little wiser for the gift of his trust, his experience, and his loss. She would carry on for him, and she would destroy the hate and fear and death of the place his ghost would haunt. She would bury the legacy of rape and torture, neglect and elitism. She would shelter the flower in her heart that bore his breath.

“Teyla.”

She turned to look to John.

He smiled. “Someone wants to meet you.”

Teyla grinned at the couple beside him, briskly stepping over to the man and pregnant woman. Both shared a look then smiled at her. “You are Teyla Freedombringer?” the man asked.

The Athosian furrowed her brow a little at the title but bowed her head. “I am Teyla Emmagan, and yes, I did do what I could to help these people.”

The woman studied her with eyes shimmering with pride. “A woman. A great woman.”

Teyla tried not to advert her gaze, smiling crookedly as her cheeks flushed.

“I will have a daughter,” the woman continued. “And she will be named after you, Teyla, whose spirit is more beautiful than the stars.” The woman bowed and kissed one of Teyla’s hands then the man mimicked her.

Teyla’s lips fumbled, searching for words, until the woman turned her shimmering eyes to hers once more, and Teyla leaned forward to hug her. The baby kicked and Teyla and the woman laughed. “Please,” Teyla said, gesturing to one of the Jumpers. “Make yourself comfortable. The first trip will be leaving shortly.”

“Thank you, Teyla Freedombringer.” The woman and man bowed to her before heading over to the Jumper Teyla had pointed out.

Sheppard’s eyes shone with pride as he stepped up to Teyla. She shared a smile with him then turned as her name was called again and another small group of shy, freed slaves stepped forward.

Ronon glared at the man from behind his bars. The man was looking him up and down, as if he were a piece of meat in a butcher’s shop. “How much they want?”

“Six thousand,” Heinz responded.

“Fair enough...” The man trailed off, stroking his dark goatee. He looked back to Heinz. “How many you say he killed?”

“Four. The other’s still in the hospital. His master says he’s a trouble maker. He’s got layers of scars on his back.”

The other man looked at Ronon again, stepping forward, the ebony skin of his sharp cheekbones highlighted by the morning light. Ronon blinked when he realized that he wasn’t even toe to toe with this man yet almost had to look up to meet his gaze. “I’ll take him.”

“Excellent.”

“What is he called?”

“Uh...” Heinz consulted his paperwork. “Franklin.”

The man furrowed his brow, eying Ronon. “Franklin?”

Ronon sighed, trying not to roll his eyes.

“Well, Franklin,” the man said as he stepped closer. “I am Rashid and you are mine. You will obey me, or suffer the consequences. Simple enough, no?”

Ronon reluctantly met his gaze, knowing he wasn’t supposed to speak back.

“Good.” Rashid turned to exit. “Take him to my transport. I have other potential sales to inspect.”

Heinz grunted as Rashid left then nodded to his deputies. Both stepped forward and unlocked Ronon’s cell, activating their prods.

“There!” Rodney’s eyes lit up as he straightened, holding the device out in front of him. “I’ve got it!”

Sheppard glanced over from where he was keeping watch as the slaves continued to load into the Jumpers, many waiting for the subsequent trips. “You ought to stop playing chess and help me.”

“Like you’re even doing anything.”

“I’m looking pretty.”

McKay scoffed and stepped out of the Jumper.

“Speaking of which, you look like you could use some beauty rest,” Sheppard remarked, noting the puffiness around McKay’s eyes.

“Mmm, I couldn’t sleep last night. I was trying to figure out a way to boost the signal of a subcutaneous transmitter. Obviously Ronon’s was damaged but these things never really turn off unless they’re deactivated. If it was damaged it’d just be emitting a very low signal.”

Sheppard had his brow furrowed. “What’s the point?”

“Well, you know...” McKay’s eyes were wide, his voice quiet. “The least we can do is properly bury his body.”

Sheppard took a deep breath, leaning back a little, fighting the urge to scold Rodney, not wanting to be anywhere near the several-month-decomposed corpse of his brother-in-arms.

“Look, see?” McKay pointed out the faint signal on his handheld device. “That’s him.”

Sheppard glanced to the screen and nodded before looking away. “Nearby?”

“Er... relatively.”

“Fine. We’ll look for him when we’re done here.”

“I mean, we could have someone else look for him. Someone who didn’t know him...” He trailed off as Teyla approached.

Sheppard gave him a look that said “good move” before he smiled at her. “Everything going okay?”

She returned the smile. “Yes, thank you. All is well.” She looked back at the mobilizing people and brushed some hair off her face.

Sheppard, sighed, wondering how to bring up to her that they were going to hunt for Ronon’s body, glancing to the screen Rodney was letting hang by his side as he craned his neck to see a tray of food one of the Marines was carrying past. “...Rodney...” McKay looked over at the colonel’s startled tone. “...It’s moving.”

“What?” Rodney furrowed his brow then followed his gaze. He then squawked and dropped it.

Teyla took a step back, looking bewilderedly at the two wide-eyed men. “What is it?”

Both comically stared at the device in the dirt then looked to each other at the same time.

“It was – ” McKay began.

“I saw it,” Sheppard added.

“You don’t think he’s?”

“Oh,” Sheppard winced. “Something might’ve eaten – ”

“Then it would be in the feces, it wouldn’t be moving.”

Teyla shook her head a little, thoroughly baffled. “I am sorry but... perhaps I do not want to hear the rest of this conversation...” She began to turn away when Sheppard laughed.

“Teyla...” He was grinning when she looked back at him and McKay looked equally as giddy. “That dot is Ronon.”

A line formed between her brows and she felt the breath leave her lungs.

Sheppard swallowed before continuing, his eyes alight. “He might still be alive.”

The wind picked up, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she studied him, a chill suddenly spilling into her blood.

Ronon shifted, trying to get comfortable in the bouncing back of the carriage, glancing to the other men who shared the transport with him. He couldn’t help but recall a similar instance in a carriage such as this, when his side also hurt, and he was with Teyla. He wrinkled his nose when the stench coming from one of the men with him reminded him that he wasn’t alone in his discomfort. He sighed and shifted again, the wound on his side heating from being bumped and chafed.

He knew that hours had passed by the time they ground to a halt and he stretched his legs before trying to stand. One man had attempted to urinate outside the cart but was jostled, and now Ronon stank like his urine. The scent annoyed him but little more. Rashid’s slaves unloaded the new stock then escorted them into holding cells where their shackles were cut. Ronon glanced to the other man who shared his cell. He was shorter than the Satedan, yet powerfully built. Everyone here was.

“I hope you’ve had enough rest on your journey here,” Rashid announced as he strolled the aisle of the cells. “Because it may be the last you ever have.” He nodded to his slaves who began to patrol the cells, marking down information about the newly arrived men. “Tonight... many of you will die.”

Rashid strolled from the room, flicking his flail at the flies that incessantly buzzed. Ronon looked to the man sharing his cell. The man looked back, sizing him up, then moved to sit down in the corner. Ronon leaned forward to rest his forehead against the bars, his empty stomach growling, the lip that Curtis had split throbbing, the warmth of Bo’s little body, and the sweetness of Liliana’s cornbread seemingly belonging to a different world.

Branded Heart

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