They were separated seconds after the battle erupted, each pulling back to a defensive position. The hostiles retreated once they realized their weapons were crude in comparison to those who came through the Ring of the Ancestors.
Sheppard waited until he was sure the locals had actually retreated and weren’t feinting before radioing his team to check in. He didn’t get a response from Ronon, so he contacted Teyla again. “Teyla, you got a visual on Ronon?”
She hastily scanned her surroundings, her breath growing short. “Negative, Colonel.”
She could hear Sheppard curse under his breath. “Alright – McKay, Teyla, we split up and look for him. Stay in radio contact at all times – check in every five minutes. Understood?”
Both affirmed.
“Good.” She could hear the grim determination in his voice. “Let’s just hope he got sidetracked by a fruit tree or something...”
She couldn’t smile at his optimism for her stomach was growing cold. Apprehension sped her heart and she clumsily trampled a young fern as she started in the direction where she last saw Ronon. Her bangs fell forward, slightly obscuring her vision. She shook her head but they remained where they were. Hardly caring, she called out his name. There was no answer.
She jumped slightly when Sheppard contacted her through her earpiece. Shoving down her growing panic that it had already been five minutes since they began searching, she allowed herself the small hope that one of her teammates had found him, safe and whole.
“Got anything yet?”
She closed her eyes and let out a breath to compose herself, her stomach cringing with dread at his question. “No, Colonel, I have not.”
Sheppard sighed. “Alright, keep looking. I’ll check back in another five.”
She was surprised to find her lower jaw had grown weak and the coiling fear inside nearly choked her words. “Yes.” The static of their radios hid the quiver in her voice, and for that she was thankful.
Taking a moment to tuck her bangs behind her ears, forehead glistening with perspiration, she bit the inside of her lower lip to stem its tremble. The wind blew and the swaying trees and bird cries around her darkened, suddenly foreign and ominous to her senses.
“Ronon?” The wind blew her bangs loose again and her chest heaved with urgency, apprehension making her voice shrill. “Ronon?!”
The wind shifted and she held her breath, eyes wide. Her name had been in that gust. Stock still, she strained her ears. The wind died and she heard it again, coming from the west. It was Ronon’s voice. Holding her awkward P-90 at the side, she dashed towards her name. “Ronon?”
After a few heartbeats she slowed, waiting for a guiding response. When there was none, she drew a breath to call his name again. Before she could let it out, she heard a branch break to her right and ran in that direction, weapon at the ready.
Yet no manner of weaponry could have protected her for from what she found.
Ronon tried to step away from a pine, stumbling to his knees. The lower half of his shirt was soaked with dark blood. She gasped then suddenly had to fight off the urge to gag and turn away, instead slowly lowering her firearm as she looked to his face. He was looking down at his hands which were resting on his stomach around a protruding knife hilt. He pulled them away when his body spasmed and sluggishly turned them over, palms up, the blood glinting in the sunlight. He looked up to her and the betrayed fear in his eyes constricted her throat.
She stumbled forward and wrestled to detangle herself from her gun, noting how the blood also coated his breeches and his waxy complexion.
“Teyla...” his voice was a cracked, pleading gasp that made her heart miss a beat. He seemed dizzy and looked down, disoriented, before falling over backwards with a choked whimper.
She caught his shoulders before he hit the ground and eased him into her lap. “I’m right here, Ronon.”
He awkwardly straightened his legs and she looked to his bloodied torso once more before pressing a button on her radio. “Colonel Sheppard, I have found him, yet he is in grave need of medical assistance.”
She could tell Sheppard was running by the pitch of his voice. “What happened?”
Her eyes traveled to the knife hilt and another dark tear in the fabric, indicating a second wound. “I do not know...” She glanced around her at the trees fringing the small glade. Smoke was rising from the east. “I am to the west of the village in a clearing. Please hurry.”
“I’m on my way.”
Ronon’s muscles were incredibly tight and he grunted in pain as he fought to control his agony-induced writhing. She tugged on her sleeves, shrugging off her coat, the memory of doing the same on a more pleasant occasion flickering behind her eyes like firelight dancing off cave walls. She leaned over him and pressed her wadded jacket to the open wound on his left flank, pressing down. He was gritting his teeth, beads of sweat adorning his temple, his skin sticky. She guided his left hand to his side to direct him to apply pressure to his wound while she examined the embedded knife.
“Colonel Sheppard is on his way.” She glanced about and noticed that his weapons and earpiece were gone. “What happened?”
“They... tried to kill-” he gasped for air around the agony of his abdomen. “-was a retreat.”
She nodded, resting a hand on his cheek, stilling further speech, her brows furrowed at the effort his speaking required. “It will be all right, Ronon. You’re safe now. They are gone.”
His eyes were squeezed shut and the sunlight shimmered on a teardrop in the corner of one. He let out his breath in a roared gasp, his body shuddering. “Take it out.”
She looked to his right hand resting on his stomach, clenching and clawing the air near the knife hilt. She was no healer and knew that only one experienced in medicine should remove the blade, lest it cause more damage with the exit wound. “I... I can not.”
He tilted his head back in exhaustion as the onslaught of pain eased for a brief moment. “Please...”
Tears stung her eyes at the beg in his voice, his eyes pleading as they searched hers. Her lips parted, suddenly close to sobs.
Sheppard broke through the ringing trees before she could reply. He skidded to a halt beside his native companions, looking them both over. “Jesus – what the hell happened?”
Teyla hastily wiped away a tear, Ronon’s back again arching in agony upon her thighs. “They tried to kill him and stole his weapons when a retreat was called. I found him here-”
“Sheppard,” Ronon’s husky voice interrupted her own.
“I’m right here, Ronon.” He clasped the Satedan’s free hand. “McKay’s already headed for the ‘gate to bring Carson back here to help ya.”
Ronon released Sheppard’s hand, grasping Teyla’s arm, leaving both of his teammates’ skin stained with crimson as a shudder coursed through his frame, stealing his breath. He howled Teyla’s name, tears slipping down his cheeks as he arched upward, his left hand leaving the jacket to claw at the trampled grass at his side. Sheppard’s eyes widened as his once-invincible friend’s body wailed in such palpable mortal agony.
Teyla squeezed her eyes shut, a tear escaping as Ronon gripped her arm in misery. His grip weakened and his body slackened as the pain ebbed, but the taut muscles of his back against her thighs told her that they were already building up another wave of torture.
“Please?” Ronon gasped out again, his voice a defeated plea, tears snaking down his temples.
Teyla tore her gaze from his eyes, their jade marred with pain, making them seem strange and foreign rather than the eyes she was so used to, the eyes she woke up every morning hoping to see. She looked back to the knife in his abdomen and Sheppard followed her gaze, arching a brow as he took off his vest to reach his medical supplies. He paused to pick up the broken, bloodied shaft of an arrow with a significant look to Teyla, knowing it had caused the flank wound.
Teyla gave him a grim nod of confirmation, wiping away another tear with a quiet sniffle before sliding her hands under Ronon’s shoulders. “Hold him.”
Sheppard paused his wrestling of the gauze out of its plastic packaging. “What?”
“Do as I am doing now.” Her guidance was interrupted by a wail from the Satedan and she clenched her jaw, her decision made. Sheppard laid the gauze on his discarded vest and crawled over to Teyla, carefully taking his teammate’s shoulders and easing him onto his lap as Teyla crouched near his abdomen, pressing down on her jacket and gently examining the knife hilt.
“You’re going to take it out?” He tried to ignore the sickening sensation as he felt the quivering of Ronon’s body.
“It is causing him great pain.” She tore the fabric of his shirt near the wound, better able to see the blood-slicked skin. She placed her left hand on his abdomen, her thumb on one side of the hilt, fingers on the other. She began to apply pressure when Ronon screamed and she jerked her hand away, her frightened eyes darting to his face.
Sheppard laid his forearm across the Satedan’s collarbone, applying gentle restraining pressure. “Go on, I’ve got him.”
Teyla blinked the blurring tears out of her eyes and nodded, returning her hand to its former position. She curled the fingers of her right around the hilt then let go once she found them to be slippery with blood. Hastily wiping them off on her trousers, she grabbed again and looked to Sheppard. “On the count of three.”
Ronon’s left hand dug into the earth, his right gripped Sheppard’s forearm as he attempted to brace himself for what was to come.
Teyla looked back to the hilt and took a few shallow breaths to fight off her nausea. “One...” She tightened her grip, as did Sheppard. “Two...” She closed her eyes briefly, yet when she opened them again they were determined. “Three.” In one fluid movement, she leaned forward, pressing down on his stomach with her left hand and pulling the knife out at the angle it entered.
Ronon screamed, the sound cringing her ears as her lip curled at the blade in her hands. He suddenly went limp and breathed in whimpers as blood gushed from the new opening at an alarming rate. She grabbed the wad of gauze Sheppard had set aside and pressed it against the wound, Sheppard relaxing his grip as the Satedan continued to grow limp in his arms. With every heartbeat she could feel the warmth of more blood soaking through the cotton and the horrible thought that it might not stop flooded her.
“Here,” Sheppard’s quiet voice drew her attention away from the pulsating red beneath her hands. He gave her a brief nod, indicating that they should switch, and she numbly crawled over to him, resting Ronon’s shoulders in her lap once more. His eyes were half lidded with exhaustion, the copper of his skin seceding to a ghostly pale. She looked to Sheppard after observing how short and shallow Ronon’s quiet wheezing was. He’d lifted the soaked gauze up to glance at the wound, but it was obscured with blood. His grim eyes met hers and time seemed to slow as the sound of her blood rushing past her ears enveloped her. She could see the leaves of the trees wafting in the breeze and could distantly hear their whispering leaves and the chirps of birds. Smoke stung her nostrils, momentarily blocking out the scent of blood, fear and death as a warm breeze from the east brushed her bangs off her forehead. Sheppard’s lips were moving and she cocked her head, for it took all the concentration she had to discern his words as he called over his radio to McKay.
Something cold brushed against her hand and she looked down to see bloodied fingertips falling away from hers. Sight and sound returned as the small trails of blood his fingers had left burned, and she caught his cold hand in hers, squeezing it as she looked down to his face. His green eyes were tilted up at hers, and the marring pain was gone. She could see Ronon again, and that made her smile. Her heart melted when he smiled back. Then his face shifted and his eyes closed as he coughed and she held her breath, for red stained his lips. “Ronon?”
He leaned forward slightly, his body suddenly taut as he coughed, attempting to curl up on his side but she and Sheppard tried to hold him in place. When he began to vomit she braced his back, keeping him on his side as blood spilled forth from his mouth. The grass was stained red. Blood. There was so much blood.
“Just hang in there, buddy,” Sheppard whispered as he helped ease Ronon onto his back once more. “Help is on the way.”
Ronon weakly nodded, his breathing labored and his eyes dangerously close to slipping shut. Teyla laid her hand against his jawbone, guiding his head so that he could look up at her, but his eyes were glassy, and she knew he no longer saw the world as she and Sheppard did. “Ronon, stay with us.”
He was limp in her arms and breathing more slowly, as if he were drifting to sleep. His peace relieved her, for she knew he no longer suffered the agony of his injuries, and yet she knew that if he slept he would not wake. “Please, look at me, Ronon.” Her fingers left smudges of blood as she cupped his head in her hands, bending over to look at his face upside-down, her hair falling forward to brush against ears, tickling his jaw line. He shuddered with a gag-like swallow and a momentary whimper, his eyes still distant from hers.
She knew there was nothing they could do to save him now. His body had given up, and he had already begun to leave. She rested her forehead against his, a sob escaping at the chill touch of his sickly skin against hers. Sheppard watched in helpless frustration, blinking repeatedly as own eyes misted, now pressing his jacket against the knife wound, as well. She sniffed loudly, her throat constricting in agony as she fought back the urge to bellow her anguish. She whispered his name as the tears fell and felt his breath tickle her bangs. She pulled away a bit to look at him and was stilled when she found him looking back, his wounded eyes focused on hers. His voice was barely above a whisper and blended with the breeze. “Don’t cry.”
Tears frustratingly blurred her vision at his words and she fiercely blinked them away. She tried to smile a little, unable to comply. “I cannot stop myself.”
Sheppard lifted the cloth of his coat to look beneath, his voice mildly hopeful. “The bleeding’s slowing.”
Teyla leaned back on her haunches a bit more to see. She glanced at the blood-stained grass around them and locked eyes with Sheppard. Both knew it was because there wasn’t much blood left to bleed.
The trees surrounding the glade rustled quietly, filling the moment of defeated human silence until it was broken by a warrior’s weak voice. “Do you remember when it was just me, and it was just you?”
Teyla locked eyes with Ronon again, her heart writhing at the thought that she would never again be greeted by their jade. She nodded once with a wistful smile, caressing his cheekbone with her thumb, unable to breathe in the small space her pain and affection left to her - in the small space that would forever remember the way his eyes bore his unabashed heart as they did in this moment. She bent over and pressed her lips to his, closing her eyes, trying to memorize his scent and the touch of his skin against hers. She took his hand in hers, resting her forehead against his, her eyes still closed as a warm tear escaped. She opened them again and her spirit wilted at the beauty she felt from what she held in her hands, though it was fast slipping away. “It will always be that way,” she whispered back.
He gave her hand an almost imperceptible squeeze and her eyes did not leave his, reveling in the moment, blossoming and withering inside. A whisper in his eyes told her that their hearts were breaking for each other, and she remembered his laughter in the meadow. After a few heartbeats, his body gave a small shudder, and she watched in breathless reverence as his body stilled, and the light in his eyes diminished.
She let herself howl then, for the pain was so great it was suffocatingly numbing. She leaned over the body, her frame wracked with weeping. She barely noticed Sheppard’s arms close around her waist, hugging her to him as tears slipped down his cheeks. “He’s gone, Teyla. He’s gone.”
Time was lost to tears and heat as Teyla labored through sobs. Sheppard cradled her in his embrace, feeling each shuddering breath in her ribs beneath his fingers resting on her back. Both throats burned and throbbed, both chests harbored hidden weeping wounds, bleeding voids where another once dwelled.
There was thumping of feet and Doctors McKay and Carson broke through the trees, each out of breath and glisteningly red in the face. Carson slowed mid-stride as he surveyed the scene, then fell to his knees in the rust-colored grass. McKay stopped in his tracks, his head tilted to the side as his mouth grimaced open, wincing and turning away from the still form bathed in blood. “Oh God...” slipped out under his breath.
Carson felt for a pulse, closing his eyes and leaning back on his haunches when he felt none.
“We’re too late.” McKay’s voice was barely audible as he took a few haunted steps forward, looking from the body to Sheppard who watched over Teyla’s shoulder. Shock and unbelief pitched his voice. “We... we’re too late.”
“Aye, Rodney.” Carson looked to him out of the corner of his eye before tenderly lifting Ronon’s stained shirt to survey the wounds. “We’re too late.” He sighed, looking to the Satedan’s peaceful face, his throat clenching at the finger-stains of blood on his cheeks. He cocked his head, his light eyes shining with helplessness and sorrow as he gently shut Ronon’s still, half-lidded eyes. “Rest in peace, my friend.”
Carson’s quiet goodbye slowed Teyla’s exhausted hiccoughing, reeling her back into her surroundings. She pulled away slightly to look to Sheppard’s face. The thin lines of his visage seemed to be etched a little deeper as he locked eyes with her and gently smoothed the tear-clinging hair off her face. Taking a deep breath, she leaned against him in a hug, the gentle bump of his heart against her soothing, affirming that she still lived.
He kissed the top of her head and looked to the other two men. Carson was methodically stuffing the stained gauze into a plastic bag. McKay’s frown had deepened and he waved his hand violently at the flies who had already arrived.
Teyla pulled away from Sheppard, wiping at the remaining moisture on her cheeks with a quiet sniffle. Bracing herself with a breath, she turned her gaze back to the body. “We should bring him home now.”
Listen To The Wind
Listen To The Wind Home
I. Prologue: The Legends of Leaves
II. A Whisper, A Kiss In A Dream
III. Shadows Dance Behind The Firelight
IV. We Thought Our Hearts Would Break
V. It Always Remains
VII. High Up In The Trees
VIII. Epilogue: Strong Wind