He awoke to quiet voices and the snap and hiss of a distant lit fire. He opened his eyes though he couldn’t see anything in the darkness save orange light in the room beyond his small alcove. He sighed, shifting a little since the arm of the shoulder he was lying on was tingling. He closed his eyes as the feeling flooded back into his arm, letting the hushed voices and the sounds of the fire soothe him until he heard Bo’s voice.

“But how come they hurt him?”

“‘Cuz they were mad at him,” Brianna answered.

“That’s part of the reason, Bri,” Curtis commented, keeping his voice quiet. “But they also wanted to scare the other slaves – make them afraid of being punished like he was if they ever tried to escape.”

Bo’s voice was angry. “I wanna hit the person who hurt him as hard as I can.”

“That isn’t ladylike, Isabeau,” Bri reprimanded then Lilliana’s voice chimed in.

“There’s no such thing as ladylike and unladylike, Bri. I understand how you feel, Bo, but I don’t think that hurting them back would change anything.”

“It’s always better to talk first,” her husband added. “And to try to change someone’s opinion before it comes to fighting.”

“The slavers think it’s okay to hurt people like Ronon because they don’t think of him as a person,” Lilliana attempted to explain.

Bo sounded slightly amused. “Then what do they think he is? An octopus head?”

The two girls giggled and when they quieted Curtis continued. “They see their slaves as pieces of property – like a tool. You know how I sometimes get mad when I hit a rock plowing?”

“Yeah,” Bo said. “And you start cursing and kicking the plow and Sam gets scared.”

Lilliana chuckled and Curtis had a laugh in his voice as he responded. “Exactly. Only the slavers think it’s okay to do that to people.”

“But why?” Bo asked.

He could hear a sigh from her father. “I don’t know, Bo Bo. They were taught that it was okay and grew up believing it, just as you believe that it’s not okay to hurt other people like they did to Ronon.”

“Well then they’re idiots.”

“That very well may be true,” Lilliana responded. “But look how late it is. We need to all get to bed.”

There was the rustling sound of fabric followed by footsteps as Bo began to whine to her mother then giggled as her father did something to amuse her. The voices and footsteps faded and Ronon let his eyes shift away from the curtain, his mind stirred awake by the quiet conversation he’d overheard. The child’s fierce defense of him glowed in his heart, warming his chest with tendrils of trickling affection. He knew with certainty that he was now safe and vowed to protect this family if ever harm came to them. In his experience, hearts that welcomed, loved and guarded with such openness were hard to come by, and if there were something that this planet certainly needed, it was more of this kindred.

“Did you hear what they are saying?” Binti excitedly asked as she washed alongside Teyla. The two women had become close since Binti had comforted Teyla in the moments after discovering Ronon’s death.

“About what?” Teyla replied as she scrubbed the earth from her arms, wincing as the cuts there were irritated by the rubbing.

“One of the drivers has been missing for more than a week. They have been waiting for his return.” She glanced to the other slaves who were washing with them.

Teyla furrowed her brow and pretended this was all news to her. “Go on.”

“Today I heard that they saw crows going in and out of the West field all day.”

“And they found a body,” an older male chimed in, his eyes wide with emphasis and excitement.

Teyla studied him and kept her voice level. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Binti continued. “The body of the slavedriver – Jenkins. They said he was all torn to pieces from the crows.” She laughed, as did the man. “Can you imagine? Not so tall now, is he?”

Teyla forced a smile, darkly wishing that the crows had slowly eaten Jenkin’s entrails while he yet lived, for he was the reason Ronon was no longer there to whisper against her temple or share the heat of his heart with hers. “Do they know how he died?”

Binti shook her head, giggling. “The crows ate so much of him they could not tell anything.”

“We think a slave did it,” gushed the man, grinning, his teeth standing out in stark contrast to his ebony skin. “Imagine – a slave killing a driver and getting away with it. Ha!”

“Like in a story,” Binti giggled. “The old ones that our grandfathers used to tell.”

Teyla continued to smile, finishing her washing. Binti and the other man continued to playfully gossip and Teyla’s smile faltered. She was safe. The drivers wouldn’t suspect her now. Ronon had died for nothing.

“When I ran into Tom yesterday, you know what he asked?” Curtis smirked at his daughters scattered around the rough-hewn dinner table. Liliana took a bite of a bean and looked to them all as well. “He said, ‘Those girls of yours are the prettiest bunch I ever did see. They got boyfriends yet?’”

A chorus of “eeews” rang up from the blonde heads as Liliana and Curtis laughed.

“I told him as much,” Curtis chuckled. “I said, ‘Tom, you have no idea what you’re talking about. My girls would sooner lick a boy in a fight than—’” he cut himself off as he looked up in surprise. Liliana’s smile faded at his expression and she craned her neck to look behind her.

Ronon was leaning against the archway frame, clad in the baggy, cotton collared shirt that Curtis had lent him along with a pair of breeches, studying them all with a sheepish expression.

Liliana immediately rose. “Ronon,” she said with surprise, looking up, still unused to how much taller than her the Satedan was since he hadn’t had much occasion for standing lately. She grinned at him. “Did you wish to join us?”

His cheeks burned a little as he kept his eyes on the food rather than the faces. “...If it’s no trouble.”

“On the contrary!” Curtis said as he rose, shooing a cat off the chair in the corner of the kitchen and setting it down at the table.

“You know you’re always welcome.” Liliana smiled as she handed him a plate. “I’m so glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

Ronon smiled and quietly thanked them both as he eased into the chair, careful not to let his back bump against it. He looked to Brianna on his right and the twelve-year old smiled at him. He smiled back and she took a bite of potato. Liliana passed Ronon the roast.

“Papa says I can beat up a boy,” Isabeau grinned as she chewed.

Ronon smirked at her. “I’ll bet you could beat up two boys.”

Bo laughed and chewed up green bean fell out of her mouth.

“That’s disgusting!” Brianna squawked as Sanura the toddler laughed.

Liliana was laughing as well and handed Bo a napkin.

“Oooops,” Bo laughed.

Ronon smiled lopsidedly. “Happens to me all the time.”

That caused the family to burst into giggles again. Ronon glanced to Brianna at his side. She was resting her head in one hand, laughing, her cheeks flushed. When she noticed his playful gaze she laughed even harder, cheeks growing crimson.

She had expected a head count, a disciplinary lecture, an example to be made of one of the slaves. She even contemplated offering herself as the culprit, taking the punishment dealt, half-heartedly hoping it would spell her end. Instead, no announcement was ever made. No warnings were ever given. The drudging monotony of slave life continued.

Once it was clear that no action was to be taken on the part of the drivers, Teyla barely took notice. She continued her work, though with less fervor than in the days and weeks directly following Ronon’s death. By her estimation it had now been a month since she had last felt his breath against her skin, though she couldn’t be certain. Time passed in intermittent rushes and long, heart-twisting exhalations.

She sat beside Binti, eating her evening meal in silence. She wrinkled her nose as the stinging scent of pipe smoke slithered into the eating area. She glanced at the lounging drivers nearby, smoking and chuckling as they relaxed, languidly watching over their charges. One of the men eyed the teenaged girl collecting dirty dishes, tipping his hat to her with a wink as she took his. Teyla’s stomach grew cold and the lightest flush raised the hair on the back of her neck. The girl couldn’t be more than thirteen.

She looked at the slaves around her. Binti was absorbed in her meal, eating quickly. The dark-skinned man who had shared in Binti’s excitement over Jenkin’s death was doing the same. Several others licked their bowls clean while the majority looked as if they were restraining themselves from stealing the rest of their neighbor’s food, gnawing hunger still clawing at their stomachs and souls.

A child swallowed hard, looking at the half-full bowl of the man next to him as he ate, his lips peeling and flies buzzing near his head. One landed on his ear and made its way to the dirt in the corner of his eye but the child was so used to the nuisance that he didn’t even bat it away.

For the first time since her will fled with Ronon’s last breath, Teyla felt the fire of inspiration in her breast. The longer she studied the little boy, the longer her eyes lingered on the lean muscles of the slaves, the longer the chuckles of the drivers continued, the hotter the fire in her breast grew. Binti had noticed her friend’s stillness and lightly nudged her with her shoulder, silently reminding her to eat the rest of her half-finished stew before they had to clear out for the next group of slaves to eat.

Teyla ignored her and rose to her feet. Binti furrowed her brow and watched her rise. The Athosian held her head high and her hand that carried her bowl steady as she stepped past several tables and over to the little boy. One of the drivers noticed and straightened. Several of the slaves bumped each other to watch. The little boy looked up at Teyla with his slanted brown eyes. Teyla smiled at him and wordlessly swapped his empty bowl with her half-full one. She rested her hand on the boy’s head for a heartbeat then stepped away. The drivers were silent as she set the boy’s empty bowl into the stack of dirty dishes then strode to her quarters, her shoulders squared.

Branded Heart

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