Disclaimer: I don't own them. Oops, sorry, that was kind of harsh. Maybe I should have broken that to you more gently. Sorry if your universe just exploded.

Title: A Harvest Dance

Author: ChaosCarter

Character/Pairing: Ronon, Teyla, Ronon/Teyla, plus some more people that I made up.

Rating: T (or PG-13, if you like).

WARNING: There will be some mildly bad words in this chapter. If that bothers you, go to your happy place and don't read it. I won't mind. Promise.

Timeline: Well, it would certainly help if you had seen Runner. I don't think there are any particular spoilers… set sometime during Season 3 when life is good and nobody's trying to blow up Atlantis.

A/N: Hi everybody! Hope y'all are feeling spiffy today. Thanks for all the lovely reviews. So, as promised, here is the absurdly long chapter. Sorry it took so long… I can almost promise the next one will be faster.

And for all of you who didn't notice in the first 4 chapters, the doc upload system and my computer are currently at war. What that basically translates into is this: the chapter is gonna look really, really ugly because my formatting won't carry over. So… if you see something that looks like this " – break –", it means time has passed. Thanks in advance for your understanding.

Many thanks to the lovely FullMetalRaven for her oh-so-short-notice beta work on this chapter. Thanks also to rach0486, who would have beta'd it if she wasn't so busy saving the world. We still love you, Rach.

CHAPTER 5

Ronon grunted as an elbow collided solidly with his chest. He tried to shake it off, sweat dripping from his braids onto his bare shoulders as he took a few steps back. He stopped short as his feet hit ocean.

Damn, that one hurt! Who was this punk?!

He eyed the marine as he circled, slowly, watching for a weakness. His opponent was young, probably no older than twenty-five, and fresh off the Daedalus. Ronon hadn't learned his name yet – and, unfortunately, hadn't had the chance to go against him in the gym back on Atlantis. So far the kid had done surprisingly well, defeating all of his earlier opponents quickly and efficiently.

No matter, Ronon thought as he sidestepped a punch. There weren't many men who could hit Ronon Dex and get away with it.

Ronon lunged, ducking another punch and coming up behind the marine's still-swinging arm. He struck while the kid was off-balance, driving his arm into the small of his opponent's back. The marine somersaulted to the ground, barely breaking his fall with a badly-timed roll. He struggled to his feet just in time to catch another blow from Ronon – this one landed across the back of his shoulders.

The poor kid never stood a chance. Ronon grinned to himself, spinning the marine around and roughly pinning his arms together with one hand before forcing him to his knees. Ronon's other hand landed firmly on the kid's right shoulder; he locked his arm, throwing all of his weight behind the hold. The marine struggled to stand, straining against Ronon's grasp, but couldn't seem to get his feet out from under him.

"…three…two…one…time!" someone called from the side of the makeshift ring. Ronon released the marine's shoulder, helping him to his feet.

"Nice job, kid. You did good." Ronon offered his hand.

The marine shook it. "I knew I was losing from the start," he laughed. "But thanks anyway." He made his way to the edge of the ring, rubbing his shoulder as he stepped over the driftwood that marked the edge. A wave crashed behind Ronon. He shook his head as seawater sprayed across his bare back; it felt good against the heat of sun and sweat.

He looked up as his next opponent stepped into the ring, grinning when he saw who it was. "Teyla! What a pleasant surprise! I figured you'd be out in the first round," he teased.

Teyla raised an eyebrow as she stepped towards the center of the ring. "Surely someone mentioned to you that I have won this tournament every year since I was seventeen."

Ronon chuckled. "Yeah, well, I wasn't competing when you were seventeen. Things are going to be different this year."

"We will see," she returned his grin confidently.

A tall Athosian stepped into the ring from behind Ronon. "All right then, call your weapons." This was new for Ronon; as of yet, most of his opponents had been marines, and all of his fights had been hand-to-hand.

Teyla raised her chin. "Sparring staffs."

"And do you consent?" the man turned to Ronon.

"Yes," he growled. "Wooden sword for me." Teyla nodded her approval.

Ronon eyed her warily as she caught the pair of sticks that were tossed to her, spinning them deftly as she memorized their shape and weight. He took the sword that was handed to him. It was lighter than he was used to, but no matter.

He frowned as Rheana stepped over the driftwood barrier and approached Teyla, a shallow bowl in her hands. "What's this?"

"Paint?" Rheana replied with a raised eyebrow, as if the question were a foolish one.

"Paint for…" Ronon gestured for her to continue.

"Oh, right. This must be your first weapons match," Rheana nodded in understanding. "By allowing you to choose the sword, Teyla has given you an advantage of sorts. You don't have to restrain her to win, as you would with hand-to-hand or staffs of any kind. You simply have to imitate a strike that would incapacitate her." Rheana dipped her fingers into the bowl, coating them in paint as Teyla lifted her chin to one side.

"This is how we keep you honest," Rheana continued as she began to rub paint along the sides of Teyla's neck. "If you can show red transfer on your sword, you win. Of course, the paint is pretty thick, so you'll still have to make decent contact for it to rub off. Teyla, on the other hand, still has to restrain you if she wants to win. Hence the advantage."

"Right," Ronon mumbled absentmindedly, watching as the dark lines of Teyla's tattoo were slowly obscured by the thick red paint.

Soon Rheana was finished, and she stepped back to the edge of the ring, patting Teyla's shoulder as she left. "Kick his ass, girl."

Teyla laughed as she spun her sticks a few more times, turning back to face Ronon. "I shall do my best."

There was a brief moment of silence. Waves crashed, but to Ronon they sounded far away. He drew himself, his senses, inwards, focusing on the sound of his breath, his heartbeat, the muffled whoosh as Teyla's staffs spun again. He tightened his grip on the wooden sword. His muscles tensed slightly. Any moment now.

And then came the voice, the one he knew must have sounded from just behind the driftwood but still seemed to be miles away.

"You may begin."

His world descended into chaos.

Ronon swung his sword up just in time to block Teyla's overhand swing as her other stick came up below his arms, snapping into the right side of his rib cage. He dropped his arms instinctively, swinging his sword in a broad arc at her shoulder. But she was already gone, kicking up sand as she spun off to his right.

Damn . He could have sworn she was slower the last time they fought. He watched her as she circled, spinning one stick as she held the other up, waiting for his move. There was quiet laughter burning behind her eyes.

For several minutes he lost track of the moves, of the steps and swings, acting on instinct alone to deflect the blows she rained down on him. They came quickly, sharply, and those that landed stung his arms and chest. He could hardly keep up with her movements; it was a challenge even to track the pattern of her steps.

One of her sticks cut through his defenses to slam particularly forcefully into his stomach. Ronon hissed, the last of his patience ebbing away. It was time to end this.

He stepped to the side suddenly, throwing his weight into a low swing at her left knee. She spun off to her right, as he had expected – directly into his extended arm. He grabbed at one of her sticks, wrenching it away and stepping back again before she could recover from her surprise. Ronon could hear a loud cheering from the marines, as well as from a few of the Athosian teenagers who took sparring lessons from Teyla. It was rare for them to see their teacher challenged (much less disarmed).

Teyla ducked low, one foot sliding into the sand for balance. He swung again, this time at her back; she rolled backwards over a shoulder, coming up beneath his swing to drive her sparring stick into the back of his knee.

Ronon stumbled into the sand as his leg buckled under him. She took advantage of his temporary loss of balance to swing at his left wrist. There was a loud crack as wood connected with bone; he grunted, dropping her sparring stick as he pulled his hand in instinctively. Teyla caught it before it hit the ground, jumping to her feet and backstepping into the surf. The Athosians cheered.

Ronon cursed quietly in Satedan. This was not going well. She was fully armed once more; a determined fire raged behind her eyes as the waves crashed into her calves. His left wrist throbbed painfully as he followed her into the surf, swinging cautiously at her side. She blocked him easily with one stick as the other snapped across his wrist for the second time. He winced momentarily, then swung again, this time at her shoulder. She ducked to the side and snapped a stick into his chest as she spun behind him.

He turned quickly, just in time to deflect an overhead arc meant for his shoulders. Both of her sticks cracked loudly against the wood of his sword.

There , he smiled. He had her.

He twisted the sword quickly, before she had time to pull her sparring sticks back in, bringing both of them into his spare hand. He grabbed them firmly, pulling her against him and roughly twisting her arm behind her. Her spare hand came up to his shoulder in an apparent attempt to steady herself as he pulled her harshly to the side.

Ronon grinned, meeting her gaze as he began to bring his sword up to her neck. It took a second for him to register the look in her own eyes: it was not one of defeat, or even surprise. Instead he saw calm, quiet confidence. His sword arm paused involuntarily as she smirked.

…the hell?

It suddenly occurred to him that there had been no resistance as he had trapped her, no movement as he pulled her against him. For a fighter like Teyla, that could only mean one thing:

She had let him.

Crap.

Ronon didn't even have time to move. She dug her knee into his side, grabbing the hilt of his sword as she spun behind him. He lost his grip; she kicked her heel into the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. Before he registered what had happened his own sword was sliding across his neck, forcing him back against her stomach. He tried to stand, but the angle was wrong. He couldn't even get his feet out from under him.

Off to the side, he heard a loud voice call time, and the Athosians burst into cheering. Teyla released her grip, letting the sword fall to the ground.

She bent down to his right shoulder, brushing loose braids away as she brought her lips to his ear. A shiver shot down his spine as she whispered.

"Sorry. Maybe next year."

With that she picked up her sparring sticks and walked off to the edge of the ring.

-(break)-

Teyla won her next two matches (both sparring) quickly – and, apparently, effortlessly. Ronon was fascinated. Having fought her numerous times, he knew the extent of her abilities fairly well. But it was one thing to study her as an opponent, and truly another to watch from outside of the ring. Her movements were so swift that he had difficulty tracking them; even the most experienced Athosian warriors looked like amateurs in comparison.

After an hour or so, they had reached the final match. Teyla stood in the center of the ring, struggling to catch her breath from the last fight.

A tall, scraggly looking boy of about twenty stepped into the ring, carrying a set of sparring staffs. Ronon sized him up curiously.

Rheana, who was standing next to him, followed his gaze to the boy. "His name is Cheveyo," she said quietly. "He's only been sparring for a year, but already he trains with the men. They say he's a natural."

Ronon only grunted, his eyes scanning.

"What do you see?" Rheana asked quietly.

"He's got strong shoulders. Good hands," Ronon's voice was low, calculating. "He holds himself like a warrior." He paused, frowning. "I don't like his eyes. They're confident, but it's more than that. Pride, anger. Seems like he's ready for a war, not a game."

Rheana nodded. "Well, Teyla knows what she's doing. I'm sure she'll do fine."

Ronon chuckled. "It's not Teyla I'm worried about." The conversation ended there as the first crash of wood on wood reached their ears.

Cheveyo had already begun a complicated pattern of blows. His feet dug into the sand as he circled Teyla quickly, striking from every side, every angle. His hands never stopped moving.

Teyla appeared to be trying to keep Cheveyo behind her, opting to duck or roll instead of turning to face him. It was a wise decision, Ronon realized. She was more than capable of parrying attacks from behind, and the blows that did cut through her defenses landed on the hard muscle of her back and shoulders. She'd last longer this way.

Cheveyo threw his full weight into an overhead arc. Teyla was ready. Ducking quickly, she tossed her right stick to her left hand. She took hold of Cheveyo's stick as it came down on her shoulder and dropped to her knees. With a hard tug, she sent him flying over her shoulder, ripping the stick out of his grasp. She tossed it at the driftwood barrier and turned her attention back to her opponent.

Cheveyo came out of the throw well, rolling quickly up into a balanced stance. Too quickly. With fire in his eyes, he made his way back to Teyla in a few short steps, his remaining stick swinging.

Teyla was still stumbling to her feet when a quick, messy backhand landed across her face. She fell back to her knees, stunned, dropping her sticks as her hands dug into the sand. The crowd fell silent. It was a poor move, demonstrating both undisciplined retaliation and a dishonorable lack of respect for one's opponent. But it had been Cheveyo's choice to sacrifice that honor. And it had worked.

Ronon hissed in anger as he watched Cheveyo move in. The boy reached down, taking one of her sparring sticks as his own before kicking the second away. He stepped behind her and grabbed the neck of her shirt, yanking Teyla to her feet and pulling her roughly against him. Securing her with one stick across her neck and another across her rib cage, he planted his feet.

Somewhere to Ronon's left, a voice had begun to count down.

Ten.

It was the next move that sent Ronon over the edge.

Tossing his hair back, Cheveyo looked up to meet Ronon's gaze. His eyes were cold, challenging, as if his real opponent was not Teyla but rather the man on the other side of the driftwood.

So do something about it. The cold eyes smirked.

Ronon's hands tightened into fists as the boy smirked. God, he wanted to. There was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to cross the driftwood and pummel Cheveyo into the sand.

Eight.

There were, however, two things holding him back. One, this was Teyla's fight. As much as he wanted to enter the ring and help her, he respected her enough as a warrior to recognize that it was not his place.

Seven.

The second reason was that Teyla was moving.

She had kept her head low, maintaining the impression that she was stunned. But her left foot was sliding, ever so slowly, back between Cheveyo's legs.

It took Ronon another few seconds - Four. - to figure out what she was up to.

Then his heart skipped.

He had taught her this one.

With one swift movement, her left foot shot to the side, crashing into the inside of Cheveyo's knee. The boy cried out in surprise. He struggled to maintain his balance, instinctively tightening his hold on Teyla. Planting her left foot once more, she threw herself at the ground, turning as she fell.

Cheveyo landed under her with a heavy thud and a groan, his arms falling loose. Teyla was free. She wrenched his sparring sticks away and took them as her own, crossing them over his neck and pressing her knee firmly into his chest. He was trapped.

Ronon could barely make out the countdown through the cheers of the Athosians. But it didn't matter. Teyla had won; the fight was over.

Ronon watched as she staggered to her feet and offered her hand to the boy. After a moment's hesitation, he took it, allowing her to help him to his feet. Ronon was surprised at what he saw. Cheveyo's shoulders were relaxed, his posture loose; he took his sparring sticks from Teyla's outstretched hand and smiled. The pride and anger were gone as quickly as the fight had ended; here was a boy who had lost, and a warrior old enough to know it. Shaking Teyla's hand, he climbed over the driftwood and returned to his already laughing friends.

Bending to pick up her own sticks, Teyla made her way over to Ronon. He rewarded her with one of his rare smiles as she reached the driftwood, offering her a hand as she climbed over. "You did good."

Teyla frowned, fingering the already darkening bruise on her face as they began the long walk back to Rheana's house. "Yes, well, tell that to my cheekbone."

Ronon stopped in his tracks, placing a hand on Teyla's shoulder and turning her to face him. She frowned in confusion. Her heart skipped in all sorts of directions as he stepped into her personal space for the second time that day. His fingers skimmed the edges of the bruise gently. Something deep inside her ribcage curled in on itself. After a few moments, he raised his gaze to meet her own eyes, a smirk on his face. It wasn't fair, she mused absently, that he could do this to her. "I'm sure you'll be just fine." With that he turned and continued on his way.

Teyla shook her head, resisting the urge to laugh at the butterflies in her stomach as she followed a few steps behind. That was the understatement of the century.

END CHAPTER FIVE

A/N: Toldya it was gonna be long. Mwahahahaha. Hope y'all liked it anyway. Chapter 6 should be along sometime in the relatively near future. If anyone out there is still alive after reading my very long chapter, please do me the favor of letting me know by reviewing. Xinnocent smileX