Author's Note: I had intended to post this chapter earlier in the day. But the site has been a little weird today, so I haven't had the chance to even upload. Here's the next chapter. I will respond to reviews, but I figured you'd want the next chapter first. :) Also, this chapter is pretty intense emotionally and contains some wartime violence against women. I've kept it tame, but just thought I'd give you a warning. Enjoy! ~lg
oOo
Late that evening, Ronon slipped out of Olina's home and wearily headed for his own bed. He was tired from the mission, tired from the fight, and tired from the discussion he'd just had. Not that he'd ever let Olina know that. She had waited patiently for him while he endured Beckett's medical checks, preparing a hot meal and fresh bread for him to appease his hunger. Compared to him, she ate sparingly, but her face had begun to fill out a bit since she'd left Ataliya.
No, it was her request that threw Ronon. She had looked him in the eye and asked him to take her back to Kiah. He'd been surprised at first but later realized that he should have seen that coming. Olina often fought against what was good for her, eventually coming around to his way of seeing things. She brought a softness to his life that was lacking, as well, and Ronon agreed if only to be with her when the memories and emotions hit.
A form rounded the corner ahead of him, and Ronon hesitated slightly. Not enough that anyone would notice, but he shifted his hand to draw his weapon. The figure passed through the light from a house, and Ronon relaxed marginally when he recognized Lorne's features. The major turned quickly and fell into step with Ronon.
After several moments of silence, Ronon sighed. "What?"
Lorne glanced up at him. "How bad did it get out there today?"
Ronon stopped at his home and invited Lorne inside with a wave. He lit a few lamps and glared at the other man. "Sheppard tried to pick up the wrong girl."
Lorne nodded. "I'd heard rumors, but. . . ."
"It's bad, Lorne." Ronon paced his room, irritation rising yet again. "We do our best to negotiate a deal, and he threatens it with his actions."
"It's called 'rebound' on Earth."
"Whatever it's called, it needs to stop." Ronon met Lorne's eyes. "If we hadn't been there, he wouldn't have come back alive. We can't have our leader out there, destroying our attempts to get supplies we need."
"Agreed." Lorne sighed deeply, as if he already carried a heavy burden and was picking up yet another one. "I'll make a trip tomorrow."
"Might be a good idea," Ronon agreed. "Uh. . .speaking of, I need to go to Kiah tomorrow."
Lorne blinked. "O-kay."
Ronon stared at him, not answering because he didn't want to divulge Olina's request. She'd been direct in asking him, but he sensed she wouldn't want anyone else to know why she needed to return to Kiah.
Lorne sighed again, this time out of frustration. "I'll let Sheppard know."
"Thanks."
Lorne nodded and headed for the door. He stopped as if something else occurred to him. "Kavanagh stopped by earlier."
"Yeah?" Ronon grinned wickedly. "Was he complaining about the sewage system?"
Lorne snickered, unable to stop the laugh. "Ah. . .no, I think he learned his lesson last time!"
"Too bad."
Lorne laughed again but sobered quickly. "He said he heard something in the tavern. Said you needed to watch your back."
"Okay." Ronon bit down on the comment that he always watched his back. He watched as Lorne left the small room. The major wasn't easily intimidated, but Ronon hadn't taken the time to get to know the man. He'd always been busy training the Marines or going off world with Sheppard. However, with Sheppard decidedly distracted by the any woman who showed an interest, having someone like Lorne around to handle negotiations might be a good idea.
As he prepared for bed, Ronon resolved to spend more time learning to interact with others instead of pounding out his frustrations in the sparring ring. Maybe, if he could do so, he could figure out what to say to wake Sheppard up to the dangers of his lifestyle.
oOo
Kiah looked absolutely unchanged. Olina stood just beyond the gate, looking around and forcing herself to breathe. The last time she'd been here, her nostrils had stung with smoke from her father's funeral pyre and the ruined villages. In the last three to four months, however, the crops had grown and time had worn away some of the ruins. At the gate, however, nothing looked changed. The Kian breeze still rippled the grasses, the mountains still rose to impressive heights, and it still smelled like her home. For just a moment, she could close her eyes and see Geir heading her way with a smile, pleased with her trading prowess off world.
Then, Ronon touched the small of her back, and the memory shattered. Olina drew in a sharp breath and forced the tears to stay behind her eyelids. She would not break down, now. Not yet. Not until she'd finished what she came to do.
Thankful for Ronon's presence at her side, she began the long walk to the village where she'd grown to adulthood. Olina set a quick pace, pushing herself to continue in spite of the memories now coming stronger with every passing moment. Part of her reason for coming here was because she couldn't remember her father's face. It came back to her now as she let the tall grass flow through her fingers. The smiles of pride, the times he sat back from the table after eating too much, the stern glare he gave when he didn't get what he wanted from a trading partner, that shrewd glint when he had said trading partner where he wanted him, the spark of amusement just before he startled her with one of his wry jokes. . . .The memories went on and so firmly transported into the past that the sight of her village startled her.
The homes had been completely destroyed. Olina had returned the day after the attacks for her father's funeral, but she had been so shocked and grief-stricken that the details didn't affect her. Now, she almost reached for Ronon as she surveyed the place. The tree in the center of the village showed some new growth from the damage. Village homes that had been destroyed had been worn down by structural weaknesses and weather, walls falling and leaving the scattered belongings inside open to the elements. Streets that once rang with children's laughter were silent, the stillness broken only by the howl of the wind through the prairie. Olina walked through the place, her memories warring with the reality before her. She wanted to remember this place the way it had been before her sister destroyed everything.
But her mind would not cooperate. Every time she blinked, she saw flames, smelled smoke, and heard screams. Once, she almost ducked as a memory rushed past her, calling for a child who would never answer again. Olina's tears began as she caught sight of her childhood home, the walls caved in and still blackened from the explosion that took her father from her.
She had gone down the street to have a dress altered. Olina was very proficient with a needle and thread, choosing to make her own clothing rather than trade for it on another world. But she could not try on a new dress, take it in, and measure all by herself. As a result, she'd spent the afternoon with her closest friend, finishing a gown that she hoped to wear to the next celebration. The blue brought out her eyes, she knew, and she hoped that it would be enough to turn Ronon's head.
Thinking of the big Satedan brought a flush to her cheeks. Though several years older than Gisli, Olina had never been much more than the sister of a woman known for beauty. But Ronon seemed to see beyond that and into her. At least, he had done just that the few times she'd managed to catch his eye. She remembered the first time it happened. She had visited the new village with her father, stopping beside the sparring ring just for the sheer pleasure of watching him move. He possessed such elegance that combined with his lethality that it sometimes left her breathless. That day, however, she arrived just as one of Ronon's men left the sparring ring. The crowd that had gathered began to disperse, and Olina turned to go with them, regretting that she wouldn't get to watch. At that moment, Ronon had turned around and caught sight of her. The way his eyes narrowed and how his face had softened ever so slightly while he looked at her would forever be imprinted on her mind. With just one glance, he made her understand what Gisli felt all the time.
Now, she stepped down from a chair and carefully removed the gown. Her friend took the new dress from her as she put on her old one. She had just sat down to stitch the hem when the first blast shook the ground. Screams shattered the stillness, a strange whine raced overhead, and another blast sounded further away. Smoke had already begun to darken the sky by the time Olina made it out the front door. Then, she simply stared.
Men and women ran this way and that, panic on their faces as they called for family members or cried out in fear. Men wearing the uniforms of the Genii marched into the village, indiscriminately killing anyone who got in their path. Olina ducked back inside the house before they caught sight of her, peeking through the window as one man snagged a woman by her hair and dragged her into a building. His comrades laughed coarsely and continued their march.
More blasts, that strange whine, and more screams filled the air. Olina crawled on her hands and knees to her friend's room. She looked around, trying to find the woman she'd shared lunch with as she opened the wardrobe. While a tight fit, they could both hide in there. But her friend was nowhere to be seen, and Olina realized that she had lost sight of the woman while she'd watched the invading soldier carry away his captive. Tears streaming from her eyes, she closed the door and drew her knees up to her chest.
Why would the Genii attack like this? What had drawn them to this world? Sheppard and his people? It was the only logical answer and one that caused Olina to panic. By now, the sounds of fighting had faded into the distance, but the same strange whine came from overhead. Hoping it was okay to come out, Olina opened the wardrobe door and crawled out. She pushed to her feet and looked around.
The dress she'd spent hours creating was ruined, partially buried under a wall that had fallen while she'd been inside the dresser. Soot darkened the white panels, and Olina realized she didn't care. All that mattered was finding her father and sister. They had to be okay!
Carefully climbing over the rubble, Olina found the body of her friend behind the house. She stared in shock as she realized the woman's clothing hadn't been torn in the collapse of the wall. Her clothing had been torn from her body by a man. Rage began to burn in Olina's stomach, something stronger than anything she felt. It combined with the panic and drove her toward the center of her village even as a ship swooped overhead. The strange craft, called a Puddle Jumper, led a second one on a merry chase. Refusing to be distracted, Olina ignored the bodies and wounded villagers as she made her way home.
Geir lay outside the door, looking like he'd stepped outside and had fallen over his own feet. Olina's home burned, and her father's chest barely moved. She rushed to his side, already murmuring that she would get him to the doctor in the other village just as soon as she could.
"Gisli. . . ." Geir's hand lifted from his waist to reach for Olina.
"No, I'm Olina," she corrected. Pushing the sting of rejection away, she met her father's eyes. "I do not know where Gisli is."
Geir looked at her with purpose, trying to tell her something. "Gisli. . . ." His strength already gone, he coughed once and drew in one final breath.
The second he stopped breathing, the horror of what had happened settled over her. Olina barely managed to draw in a breath before the scream ripped from her throat. She shook her father's body, trying to wake him even though she rationally knew he would not answer. A second scream pierced the silence, the strain to her voice barely registering. She looked around, desperate for someone to help her. But no one turned to see why she wept. Still wishing for any hope that her father was still alive, she turned his face to her, murmuring as she did. "No! No, no, no, no, no!" She said the word over and over as she realized that her last living parent was dead.
The overwhelming grief slammed into her, and she lowered her head to Geir's chest. She cried until it hurt to even draw a breath. Someone approached, waiting until she'd lifted her face to close her father's sightless eyes. Then, as Ronon stood, she clawed at his hands. He never hesitated but drew her against his chest, the beating of his heart beneath her ear again bringing her pain to the fore. She cried again, but the warmth of his hand awkwardly patting her back soothed her just enough to think.
Her father had called for her sister. Olina lifted her head. "Gisli! I have to find Gisli! Tell her what has happened to Father!" She began to leave but stopped when Ronon grabbed her arm.
"We will find her," he said. "I promise. We will find her."
Olina stared into his face, not feeling anything beyond the shock and raw emotion. "Please! Help me."
And he did. Right up until the moment she found her sister kneeling in front of Sheppard, begging for the life of her husband and wearing the uniform of the men who had destroyed their home and killed their father. "Traitor!"
oOo
Ronon trailed Olina through the ruined streets of her village, staying close enough to touch her but far enough away that she had her privacy. She reached the rubble of her home and stood a long time, her mind clearly in the past as she wept. The tears that flowed down her face were healing tears, he realized, and he knew that she had done what she needed to survive. Watching her work through the pain was harder than anything he had ever done, and he often wanted to just hug her like he had that fateful day. But he refused. She had asked to return to Kiah, and she would face her demons. While she might never forgive her sister, she would at least find some peace in the process.
He was totally unprepared for her reaction to the old sparring ring in the newer village. The sand remained, the marks of battle and pools of blood covered over by months of wind and rain. But the fence still stood in places. A few Bantos rods lay nearby, and she grabbed one of them. A scream broke the stillness, instantly transporting Ronon back to that day. She threw the Bantos rod, reaching for another and another until they were all gone. Then, she moved on to rocks and then the sand, her grief coming out in a violent eruption that startled him. Olina had wept only a few times since that betrayal, and it had always been restrained. But the raw emotion was still present, the strain of the last weeks on Sateda having built up to this one explosive moment.
When it appeared that she would start tearing out her own hair, Ronon intervened. He grabbed Olina's hands, not minding the scratches she left on his arms as she desperately searched for comfort. He pulled her to him, hugging her as she sobbed into his chest. Like she had the day of the betrayal, she beat on his chest until her strength vanished. The force of her grief exhausted her, and she whimpered a few final times before she finally—mercifully—drifted to sleep.
Ronon caught her before she fell. Her face was still red, the darkness around her eyes a sign that she had not slept well in weeks. That would remain, he knew, but he hoped that she would have found some peace in all of this. Her hair was tangled after her frantic run across the fields and her emotional breakdown. The redness of her skin and the dirt that clung to her face did nothing to diminish her beauty. If anything, the fierceness of her reaction impressed him. He would never seek to see her so angry or hurt again, but she had reacted like a true Satedan.
Gently lifting her, he realized how much weight she had lost in recent weeks. While her face had filled out, her body had been slow in following, likely a result of her fight against returning to face these memories. He carefully positioned her head on his shoulder and turned to the gate. When Olina woke, she would not want to be on Kiah. The memory would be too fresh, too painful. But he knew she would not want those on Sateda seeing her so visibly shaken. Making an instant decision, he dialed an address from memory and stepped through to a late evening. The stars on this world had already appeared, and Ronon turned to a cave where he knew a few blankets and supplies waited. It wouldn't be much, but it would be enough.
oOo
Olina's head ached when she woke. As did her throat and her chest. She swallowed, desperately trying to wet her sore throat while not acknowledging how miserable she really was. Her skin pulled, a sign that her tears had dried on her face. A fire burned nearby, the crackle of the wood and scent of cooking meat comforting in spite of the pain. Every memory of the betrayal was etched into her memory. Every moment was as fresh as it had been months ago. But, along with that, she also saw her father's face clearly.
Opening her eyes, she saw Ronon crouched over the fire. Two small birds were on a spit, their meat roasting as he cooked some sort of vegetable in a pot. Looking around, she realized they were in a small cave. Night had fallen some time ago, the stars telling her that Ronon had taken her from Kiah. Now, he looked intimidating as he glanced sharply toward her. His face softened as soon as he realized she had awakened, and he reached for a second pot he'd kept hot near the fire.
"Here." He moved to her side, crouching in front of her as he pushed a cup of warm liquid into her hands. "It's not great, but it'll help your throat."
Olina smiled, the gentleness in his tone breaking through the residual ache from her memories. "Thank you," she croaked. Her voice, strained beyond its limit, broke and fled, leaving her speaking in a whisper.
Ronon returned the smile, his hand coming up to brush her hair from her face. As his fingers ran through the tangled mess, Olina sipped from the cup and found the rather strong tea soothing even if it didn't taste all that good. Ronon continued to let her hair fall through his fingers, a thoughtful expression on his face as he did so. The fire crackled loudly, drawing him away. He turned the meat before glancing at her again. "I. . .uh. . .didn't think you'd want everyone on Sateda to know."
Olina nodded. Her head ached worse with every passing moment, but it wasn't painful to hear him speak. She knew she would sleep again very soon and wanted to enjoy this time. "Where are we?"
"A world where I hid from the Wraith." He busied himself with gathering up a bundle of clothing and another pot of water. "These caves shielded my tracker from their scanners, and I often came here to rest." He looked at the bundle in his hands. "Um. . .while you were sleeping, I went to another world and got these. I know they're not black or gray, but. . .uh. . . ." He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the gesture.
Olina accepted the cloth, smiling again as she recognized the pale linen-like material. "You can tell me that you went to Ataliya." She stood carefully, blinking away the way her head pounded, and hugged him. "Thank you, Ronon."
He hugged her back, holding her tightly for several moments. "Elizabeth said these should fit you and you could always visit her if you want. Before you, uh, go ho—back to Sateda."
Olina touched his arm. "It's my home now, Ronon. I know that."
"Good." He held her gaze for a moment longer and then turned his back. "I'll be right outside."
She waited until he'd disappeared to begin to slip out of the dirty, torn gown she'd worn that morning. The dress from Elizabeth was shorter in length, ending just above her ankles. The laces down the sides were blue, cinching around Olina's curves as if it had been made for her. She tied bows on top of her hips and took in the sleeves with matching ties that tied at her wrists. Then, she used the comb included to brush the tangles from her hair. She was still working on that when Ronon came back inside and smiled as he stared at her for a moment.
Finally, with her hair bound behind her neck with yet another blue tie, she slipped the soft shoes that Elizabeth had sent onto her feet. The light-weight fabric felt different from the heavy mourning attire she'd worn for months. The cool night air cut through it but didn't chill her like it would on Sateda. Ronon knew this and produced a wrap that he said Elizabeth had made.
"I must thank her for this," Olina said as she pulled the stitched garment around her shoulders. "In fact, I probably need to go back there."
Ronon gave her a sharp glance. "Why?"
Olina met his eyes. "All I have is mourning attire. While it is sturdy, it is not what I wish to wear on a regular basis. Perhaps I can find something to do to trade for new fabric for some new gowns. I could even make clothing for others as a way to help on Sateda."
He frowned at her. "You have no need to help. You're under my protection."
"I know that, Ronon." She shook her head. "But I don't wish to sit around doing nothing when I could be helping others."
He understood that and served their meal without another word. Olina ate with him, her appetite raging to the surface with the first bite. It might have been primitive based on how they ate on Sateda, but there was something incredibly special about laughing over slightly-burned fingers as they plucked hot vegetables from the pot. She shared how she'd lost the image of her father's face, and he talked more about Melena, the woman he had loved before Sateda fell. By the time she finished eating, her eyes drooped, and she stood. "Perhaps we should head back."
"Yeah." Ronon's word agreed, but his tone said otherwise. "Look, if you'd rather not. . . ."
She touched his arm. "I would rather be in my home tonight, Ronon. I would love to stay here with you, but people would talk. You've already told me of the trouble with Colonel Sheppard. Can you afford for rumors to start about you and me?"
That argument won the day, and he quickly stamped out the fire. When he turned to gather the bundle of clothing she'd discarded, she stopped him with a quick motion. Leaving it behind was easy as it was simply a bunch of fabric stitched together. But, for Olina, it represented leaving her pain behind. She knew she would still have moments when the grief became too much, that she would still feel the betrayal. But the time for mourning had ended. And she looked forward to what lay ahead.
~TBC