Trust instinct to the end, even though you can give no reason
The interior of the main room of the temple wasn't what Grace had anticipated. Whereas the outside of the building reminded her of something out of Byzantine architecture, the interior was far simpler than she'd anticipated. The tiled floor was cool beneath her bare feet, and though she still wore the robes and the headscarf, there was a breeze from the massive arched windows that soared up on either side of the massive room. There were no images, but rather words carved over the archways in the same lettering that Grace now knew to be Satedan.
Beside her, Ronon stood tall and proud in the middle of the temple, gazing around. She watched as he stepped away, spinning in a slow circle. There was something in his eyes that looked distinctly stricken. Grace glanced around, trying to see what he saw, but came up empty. They were alone and so she stepped closer, curious to know what he was noticing that she missed. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"The family names of the tribes who were sworn protectors of the original temple on Sateda." He spoke quietly, lifting a hand to point to the lettering above the arches. "Var. Sur. Invan." He still spun, dropping his hand as he came to a stop, facing one in particular. "Dex. Karishta. Mor."
Grace frowned as what he said sunk in. "Dex. Your family?"
His eyes traced over the lettering of one name in particular as she stepped closer. "Before the last great culling, all the ruling tribes gave the oldest son of their family to the temple. They were raised as warriors, sworn to protect it and what it represented. My family was one of them. It was one of the ways they used to try to keep the peace between tribes. Didn't work well most of the time."
"Much of the time they killed one another." A new voice stated from nearby. "We keep the tradition to remind ourselves of the violence we, as a people, are capable of, and of the cost of that violence no matter who we unleash it upon."
Ronon's gaze swung to the newcomer and Grace instantly dropped her eyes to Ronon's bare toes. No shoes in the temple. Not even socks. The man stepped closer, and Grace peered up beneath her lashes, keeping her head bowed as she studied the man. To her surprise he wasn't that much older than either of them, perhaps in his mid-thirties. He was shorter than Ronon by several inches, and well-built, wearing the robes of the Elders.
He came to a stop just in front of them, inclining his head respectfully. "I am Ridak. You must be Ronon and Grace."
Grace slipped her fingers to Ronon's belt loop, gripping it lightly. Somehow, over the last 24 hours the gesture had become familiar and reassuring, an anchor in a frightening and chaotic place she was having trouble understanding. Ronon didn't answer the man directly, instead merely gave a nod. Ridak gestured to the far end of the room. "Come, we should get started."
He led the way to the massive altar that reminded Grace vaguely of the altar in the St. Louis Cathedral in Jackson Square. Massive columns soared upward with arched windows above it. More beautifully scripted Satedan lettering forming three distinct words in gold lettering, framed by yet another massive arch with a pastoral landscape painted beside it. When Grace's gaze moved from the display to Ronon's face, he was staring at it, his expression stony. "It's identical down to the last thing, isn't it?"
Ridak's smile was mild. "Honor. Duty. Sacrifice." It had to be the words written on the wall. He turned toward the large altar itself. Grace watched curiously as the Elder reached for the pitcher on the table and poured water into the basin beside it. He produced a small double-edged dagger and a rolled piece of parchment from his robes and placed both down, aligned them with the basin. Each movement was militaristically precise. He reached out to move a quill pen and inkpot containing black ink next to the page. "Are you ready?"
Grace still didn't speak, but her stomach knotted at the sight of the dagger and the paper both. Blood and a signature. Something was happening that was important in the eyes of the temple, and from the stony expression on Ronon's face, he knew exactly what was going on. Ronon gave a singular nod. Ridak smiled pleasantly. It was a genuine expression that reached kind brown eyes. Whoever this man was, he was genuinely devoted to this faith and to whatever was happening here. "Face one another before the altar please."
She slipped her hand free of Ronon's belt loop and turned to face him, lifting her eyes to stare up at him, not even bothering to hide the question in her eyes. Ridak nodded once more. "Well then, Ronon, you may begin."
She swallowed hard, suddenly nervous for reasons she didn't entirely understand. Follow his lead, he'd told her. But that was all he'd told her. Ronon stared at Ridak for a moment before he asked, "The Satedan version is all I know."
Ridak gave another inclination of his head. "It's very close to our own, so yes, it will be accepted and recognized."
Ronon closed his eyes for a moment and then turned to face her as well. He lifted one large hand and placed it one top of her head, his voice low. "Before the Ancestors and my forefathers, I claim this woman, Grace Becque, as my own."
It took everything in her to remain still, but her face must have still reflected surprise. Ronon's eyes were on her own a moment later, his voice softening a bit. "May the ancestors bless this woman that I claim as my own and may I prove myself worthy of her keeping."
The bottom was threatening to drop out of her stomach just then as the weight of Ronon's hand left the top of her head, and both hands came to frame her face. Her eyes widened for a moment before he brushed downward gently over her brows and she closed her eyes on instinct. The touch of his thumbs were gentle as he spoke once more. "May the ancestors bless these eyes of this woman that I claim as my own, that they only ever see the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend."
A moment later, the light pressure was gone and when she opened her eyes once more, Ronon's gaze was as steady as his voice as he cupped her chin, his thumb resting lightly over her lips. "May the ancestors bless these lips of this woman that I claim as my own, that they only ever speak the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend."
It was at that moment that she began to understand what was happening here. A second later, his fingertips came to rest lightly on her chest, just over her heart. "May the ancestors bless this heart of this woman that I claim as my own, that it may know the truth with every beat, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend."
The bottom dropped out of her stomach in the next moment as his hand moved to slide around the back of her neck, stepping closer. Ronon's forehead bent to meet her own, and she felt the heat of his other hand as it came to rest at the small of her back. His breath was warm and steady as his words came without hesitation. "May the ancestors bless the whole being of this woman that I claim as my own, that she may know the truth, that I am her protector, her lover, and her friend."
Grace swallowed hard, her teeth clenching as she struggled to process what he was saying. It was a wicked thing to do, to require of him, and it only drove home just how innately cruel this society was in it's demands. She wanted to reach for him, to stop him, but didn't dare. The risk was simply too great to them both. He spoke again, his fingers flexing against the small of her back, shaking on the nape of her neck. "May I prove myself worthy of her, that her body, faith, and love be yielded to me willingly. May I prove myself worthy of her, that she blesses me sons and daughters. May I prove myself worthy of her, that she will seek no other as I shall seek no other."
Grace closed her eyes, fighting back tears of horror for this man, this innately good man who was being pushed to this unthinkable act that should have been his choice, with a woman he loved. This was not something he should be enduring in this moment to get them out of here. It made a mockery of every word he spoke. It was tearing her apart for him, and she had no idea how he was so calm. His voice was even softer now, strangely tender with something she didn't recognize or understand. "Before the ancestors and my forefathers, I claim this woman as mine and mine alone."
When Ronon lifted his head and stepped back, his arms dropped from around her and once more, she was startled to find that she instantly missed the solid presence of his body next to hers. He reached out and Ridak delivered the dagger into his hand. She watched as he reached for her right hand and cupped it in his palm. The movement of the dagger over the heel of her palm was swift and oddly painless for a few seconds, until she saw the blood there and a second later felt the blossoming of pain.
She held her hand still when Ronon released it, watching in morbid fascination as he drew it over his own left hand, in the same spot. He yielded the dagger to the Elder once more and reached out, lifting his hand and intertwining their fingers together as he pressed their palms together, his voice coming once more. By the joining of blood, you are now Grace Dex, wife of Ronon Dex."
He stepped forward once more, his hand rising to slide to the back of her neck once again. Ridak's voice came quietly. "Grace, before the ancestors and the forefathers of Clan Dex, do you understand that you have been claimed by Ronon Dex, that you are now his and his alone?"
Her eyes lifted to Ronon's face and he gave a minute nod. She now understood what he'd meant when he'd asked her to follow his lead. Her voice was unsteady, despite her desperate wish that it weren't. "Yes."
"And do you accept the claim that he makes over you?" Ridak's voice held a sentimental note that surprised her.
Grace drew in a breath to steady herself and then spoke again, a single word. "Yes."
A moment later, Ridak's voice cut through her shock and confusion once more. "On behalf of the Elder of the temple and as liaison to the Makanesh High Council, I hereby confirm the marriage has been solemnized by the witnessing of the claiming and the scarring. Ronon, Grace, step forward to mark the registration, please."
Ronon gripped her hand as he led her forward, the sticky, drying blood gathered on their joined hands staining the page as he pressed them down onto one of the pages. A moment later, he released her hand and gestured to the basin of water. "Wash the blood off before we sign."
It was all strangely bureaucratic now, as she rinsed her hand free of the blood that was both her own and Ronon's then accepted the linen bandage from the Elder and pressed it to her palm. A moment later, she watched as Ronon did the same. He gripped the quill, dipping it into the ink and she watched as he signed his name, or what she assumed his name was in Satedan lettering, just over the bloodstain. He pushed the quill into her left hand, and it touched her in a stupid way that he even knew she was left-handed. He paused for a moment and then glanced to Ridak. "You have a spare piece of paper?"
The Elder frowned for a moment before he nodded and dug into the depths of his robes and produced a blank sheaf of papers with drawings and sketches and doodles on them. He plucked one off and handed it to Ronon, who placed it down on the table beside the parchment and plucked the quill from her hand once more. He quickly formed marks on the page, and then moved it to align it to the blank space just above where she needed to sign. His voice was soft as he leaned closer. "The trick is to keep your hand up, and keep the pen moving. Just copy what I wrote."
For the first time, curiosity overrode his instructions and she stared at the characters. "What is it?"
Ronon's eyes were on hers once more and for the first time all day, she saw a glimmer of his dry humor coming through. "It's your name."
"Oh." She'd never felt so stupid. She'd literally just watched him sign his own and she resisted the urge to kick him in the shin as she heard him chuckle. She leaned over, carefully gripping the quill, but still managing to drip as she painstakingly did her best to copy the marks he'd made. It had to look like a four year old had done it. But when she lifted her eyes to his face in question, she noted that he looked oddly pleased with her efforts. "Not bad."
"It's horrible." She commented softly, as if Ridak weren't even in the room.
Ronon snorted. "Yeah. It's really bad. Sorry. I can't even say it with a straight face."
The Elder chuckled as he reached to take the quill from her and signed his own name on the document. "A copy will be filed with the temple scribes and the original returned to you with my seal affixed by lunch."
Grace sobered instantly. She'd almost forgotten the man was there. For all his good-natured presentation, she had to assume it was a facade. She fell silent and tucked her fingers into Ronon's belt once more. Ridak's voice was kind, however, as he spoke. "Come, I will escort you back to your quarters where you may have breakfast and complete the claiming, then rest before you begin your journey."
Ronon traced the shape of the cut on the heel of his palm, eyes straight ahead as he and Becque followed the Elder. No. Not Becque. He had to stop thinking of her as Becque. He closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a slow breath to steady himself. As clinical as he'd intended to be about the entire thing, it had affected him more than he wanted to admit. The mark would become a scar, forever reminding him of this day. She… Grace… would carry one too. Matched to his own, made by his hand. Claimed.
The Elder was speaking, words that Ronon knew were coming, but that he ignored. It would be a blessing for a fertile marriage, strong sons, and honorable daughters. It was the same blessing he would have heard on his wedding day to Melena if the siege had waited only a few more months. Instead he was hearing them now, on the day he didn't want to call a wedding day. As if that made a damn bit of difference.
Without a word, he led Becque… Grace… that change was going to be difficult to make, into the room. His eyes averted to the mural, knowing that the Elder, for all his friendly facade, would soon be on the other side, watching and waiting. The sound of the bolt going into place once more served as a reminder that though he'd kept his part of the deal, they were still at the mercy of these people.
Ronon stopped in the entryway, bowing his head. He felt Bec… Grace… slip her hand away from his belt loop and take him by the elbow, silently tugging him toward the bathroom. Once inside, she slid the door closed and he braced himself for the barrage of questions, of anger, of accusations. Nothing came.
She gestured to the steps leading up to the tub. "Sit down, let me clean your hand and bandage it properly. God knows where that knife has been." Ronon watched in mute surprise as she ran cold water over a clean cloth. Woodenly, he moved to take a seat and removed the linen cloth from the cut. It still seeped blood, but was no longer freely bleeding.
When he looked up, Grace was kneeling in front of him, a small first aid kit from the backpack open on the ledge beside him. He'd been so distracted that he'd missed her rummaging for it. She was silent as she ripped open an antiseptic pad from it's packaging and pulled the cloth away, cleaning the wound and wiping away the last of the blood.
Ronon stared at her as she worked, taking a moment to study the woman he'd been fascinated with since the moment she'd set foot in the gym to speak to Teyla his second week in the city. Had it really been nearly six months since that day? As he stared at her, it seemed like the blink of an eye. And still, the tug of attraction to her was even stronger than it had been the first time he'd taken the time to really see her. "I'm sorry." Her words came out of nowhere, startling him from his reverie as she applied antibiotic ointment to the cut with a swab.
"What?" Ronon's beleaguered brain swam, trying to figure out just why she was apologizing to him.
She pressed full lips into a thin line as she folded a piece of gauze and taped it to the wound. "We keep getting deeper into this and I hate that you… had to do that. It should have been special. Not like this. With a woman you loved, wanted to spend your life with, not with some foolish chit who didn't have the good sense to listen when you said this mission was a bad idea."
Ronon's stomach tightened at those words. Yet again, her kindness shone through, even in the darkest moment. He lifted his eyes to her face and then shook his head. "It's fine." The words were all he could muster. What he wanted to say, what he should say, he had no idea. He reached for her own hand and took it into his own. "You know what they're expecting."
He saw her nod as he glanced at her. A light blush was creeping up the back of her neck. "Yeah. I know." It spread up her cheeks, staining her face a brilliant red as Ronon wiped the blood away, then took the antiseptic wipe she'd ripped open and offered to him. Her skin was soft beneath his fingers, offering a strange kind of comfort in this awkward moment. "Could you please…" She trailed off into silence.
When he met her eyes once more, her expression was hesitant. He waited for a few seconds for her to continue and realized that she wasn't going to as long as he was looking at her. It was oddly endearing, that innocence. It reminded him of what he'd once fought for. As he cleaned the wound and reached for the tube of antibiotic ointment, snapping it open and pulling the swab out, she tried again. "I'll try not to be…" She trailed off again.
He reached for one of the packets of gauze, tearing it open and folding it as she had, waiting for her to go on. Finally, she breathed out the words quietly, and he could see her hand was pink. She was blushing with her entire body. "It's okay if you're not gentle. I don't mind."
Ronon froze at those words, his body responding to them as if she'd lit a beacon fire. Those words pulled him and instantly, he wanted to say so very much, but yet again he found himself unable to find the right words. He forced himself to move, despite the tightness in his chest that made it hard to draw breath. Finally he was able to push out the words, as he reached for the tape and tore off a piece. "I haven't been with anyone since…before…" He licked his lips and pushed the words out, despite the embarrassment that went with them. "Last night was the first time that I'd… with…someone."
She was quiet and still as he applied the tape, his fingers moving slowly. Ronon cleared his throat and reached out to gather up the debris from their debris. He would probably humiliate himself. He was already bracing himself for it. Her mouth had been incredible. She was incredible. And he could only imagine… already his body was reacting, anticipating. He shook his head and reached out to close the first aid kit, extending it to her.
Grace's fingers wrapped around the small plastic box and he could feel her eyes on him. He couldn't meet her gaze as he felt his own face beginning to heat. But what could he really say? Ronon gestured to the door. "Go ahead. I'll be there in a second. I just want to make sure the bag is ready. When we leave, we're going to have to move quickly."
He could feel her eyes on him. And Ronon plucked up his courage to finally lift his own to meet her gaze. She was watching him carefully, her expression reluctant. When she spoke once more, her tone was soft. "I"ll follow your lead, Ronon." Her words tore through him, the tenderness in her voice touching something inside him that he had thought died long ago. How long had it been since anyone displayed such blind faith in him? He watched as she reached to slide the door open and disappeared through it into the bedroom.
Warning bells went off inside his head as every fiber of his anatomy lit up with the realization that this woman had the power to obliterate him. Not since he'd first started to have feelings for Melena, beyond attraction, had he had that instinct, that gut-wrenching realization that someone had the power to hurt him. And yet, for the second time in his life, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, Grace was so very close to wielding the same power over him. And that was terrifying.