He awoke again to his shoulder gently being shaken. Lilliana was leaning over him with an oil lamp. She smiled when he opened his eyes then sat down in the chair, setting the lantern on the small table beside the cot. She reached out to feel the temperature of his skin again. “Time to eat.”

He rubbed his eyes, sighing mutedly before blinking up at her sleepily.

She smirked. “You’ve been sleeping for over a day.”

The surprise of that woke him up more and he hoarsely asked “I have?”

She nodded. “Thought I’d wake you up to eat again. I probably should have sooner but you looked so peaceful that I figured you needed it. Plus, you didn’t wake when the girls got in a fight so you were sleeping pretty deeply.”

He struggled to sit up and Lilliana reached out to brace him again. His body wasn’t as shaky so she waited until his dizziness cleared before she handed him the bowl so he could feed himself. He quietly thanked her and took a bite. She braced an elbow on her knee and rested her fist under her chin, watching his movements. “You look stronger. Do you feel any better?”

He nodded as he took another bite.

“Good.” She patted his shoulder encouragingly. “Then finish the whole bowl. I’ll be back with fresh dressings for your wounds.” She rose and he could hear her footsteps fade in the quiet house. He continued eating as he waited, once more running through the possibilities of escape and rescue for Teyla. Though he felt guilty deceiving these people, he couldn’t risk them knowing the truth if there was the possibility of them turning him over to the plantation. And as he felt his strength trickling back into his limbs, thoughts of leaving teased at his mind. As a Runner the kindness of strangers helping him had once cost many lives and he wished no ill upon his newfound saviors.

Lilliana returned with several rolls of white gauze and a jar. She set them on her lap as she sat in her seat once more. Her dirty blonde hair was pulled into a loose braid and she was wearing what looked to be a nightgown.

She took the bowl when he finished eating then leaned across him to open the curtains of a window beside his cot. He gazed outside. The trees bordering the meadow in which the house had been built were rustling gently, their leaves glinting in the pale light of predawn. Lilliana leaned back, sitting in her chair again. “Once it’s light enough I’m going to change your bandages, okay?”

He swallowed then nodded.

She pointed behind her and to the left. “The bathroom is just there should you need to use it now that you’re eating again.”

He followed her hand gesture with his eyes and nodded again with a quiet “Okay.”

She began knitting something from a nearby yarn basket and his face fell as he realized that she intended to sit there until it was light out. He watched her fingers work nimbly with the wool and needles, feeling his shrunken stomach expanding and shifting after the meal. She glanced to him as she knitted. “So you have no memory of being in the river?”

Though she was gazing at her needlework, he studied her face, noting how the thin lines of her visage betrayed the age that was hidden by her youthful countenance. His voice was scratchy at first yet regained its normal deep tone. “I don’t remember anything about how I got here.”

She rested her yarn work in her lap, looking to him. “You must have been unconscious the whole time.”

He sighed, looking down at where his leg was throbbing and finding a healing cut on his quad.

“You had a very high fever when Bri found you. She thought you were dead.”

He looked up to meet her pale gaze, stilling from the firmness of her usually lyrical voice.

“How does a nearly-dead man with his back torn to shreds happen to find his way into a river?”

His heart rate was quickening as he held her gaze, apprehensive of the insinuations in her statement. He tried to keep his voice as equivocal as possible but she noted the renewed shakiness of his arms. “I don’t know.”

She cocked her head at him in scrutiny then began knitting again, her voice light once more. “Well you are one lucky young man, I’ll tell you that much. You have some will to have pulled through. I thought you were dead a few times earlier in the week.”

His shoulders silently sighed, relief calming his pulse since she had changed the subject. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She shot him a smile. “It’s alright. It’s not your fault. I’m sorry my girls redecorated you.” He furrowed his brows in confusion and she quietly chuckled. “Let me get a mirror.” She set her knitting aside once more and disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. When she returned she caught him examining his arms for any new hand-drawn decorations. “Here.” She handed him a mirror. “Your hair was a dreadful mess. They took turns combing it out but I’m afraid the side you were lying on is still... interesting.”

He glanced to her then looked in the mirror, his lips parting as he noticed that not only had his goatee been trimmed down to almost nothing, but what was salvageable of his hair had been brushed out and now grew in the dark curls that he hadn’t seen since he was barely out of boyhood.

When he set the mirror aside she held up a brush, motioning for him to turn around. He crossed his legs and pulled the quilt onto his lap, cringing inside as his back twinged, making his eyes water. She perched on the cot behind him and began picking at one of the remaining lock stumps, careful not to bump his bandaged back. “I’ve never seen hair like this before. Are you form one of the northern tribes?”

He shook his head a little, wadding the covers in his hands as an unfamiliar warmth spread through him from her gentle tugging. “No. I’m from Sateda.”

She glanced at the side of his face as she worked. “I’ve never heard of Sateda. Where is it?”

He shifted his gaze to the lightening outdoors. “It was my homeworld... but the Wraith destroyed it.”

She’d stopped brushing. “I’m so sorry. That’s terrible.”

He shoved back the memory of the bombed-out buildings and the scent of Melena’s burnt flesh. “...Yeah.”

She began brushing again and he sighed, relaxing under her gentle strokes and her silence. After brushing out one lock she pulled away, setting the hairbrush aside after showing him with a smile how full of shed hair it was. She turned off the oil lamp and he was surprised by how light it was outside. She grabbed the gauze and jar and climbed back onto the cot behind him, guiding his shoulders to angle his back towards the light of the window then set to work, gently unwinding his bandages. “This will hurt a little.”

“It’s okay.” As he felt the air sting against his open injuries as the bandages were removed, the panic that she would see whatever remained of his brand returned and he felt his pulse surge. He asked her a question in an attempt to distract her. “Are you a healer?”

She glanced at what she could see of his face and spoke with amusement in her voice. “That’s the first time you’ve ever spoken on your own accord.”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder and she forced the amusement from her features. “No, I’m not.” He turned away. “But my mother was. I learned a lot from her.” She carefully peeled off the last bandage and wadded it up, scrutinizing the wounds. He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain as she gently prodded the edges of the lash marks. “I think they should air out a bit before I wrap them again.” He began to relax, rationalizing that his brand must have been torn away when she asked, “Would you like to see what it looks like?”

He hesitated then responded with a quiet “Sure.” She rose and carried away the stained bandages, returning with a bowl of water and another handheld mirror.

“Here.” She handed him the second mirror then guided his arm with it to a position near his eyes. She then held up the first mirror, angling it so he could see the reflection of his back. He wrinkled his nose slightly at the orange and red scabbing wounds, coating themselves with defensive slime.

She arched a brow knowingly. “And that’s how they look after a week of being tended to.”

He parted his lips to respond when she shifted the mirror unintentionally as she gently touched the puckering side of one lash wound. His heart slammed into his ribs. He could see nearly the whole of his brand on the back of his right shoulder.

Lilliana pulled her hand away when she felt his body go rigid, about to ask if she’d hurt him when she noticed what he was looking at in the reflection. With a sigh she leaned over, gently pushing his arm down, dropping her voice quietly. “It’s alright, Ronon.”

Though he was stiffly gazing at the quilt he could feel her eyes attempting to latch onto his and he slowly looked to her as she continued.

“I know you’re a slave. We’ve known all along.” She shook her head a little, their eyes locked onto each other’s. “We’re not going to hurt you or turn you over.”

He blinked, his eyes suddenly stinging with tears of relief as her words sank in, alleviating the lung-gripping panic that had consumed him.

Her expression was pained as she studied the squall of fear, relief and trust in his eyes. “You’re safe here.”

He blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek.

She sighed and cocked her head at him, resting one hand on his shoulder and squeezing his hand with her free one. “Have you ever heard of the Abolitionists?”

He shook his head, wiping at his cheeks as another tear fell.

“We’re a group who strongly disapprove of slavery and are struggling to end it. Forever.”

He let out a shaky sigh, his brows furrowed, the words in his chest suddenly released by the warmth of her hand on his shoulder and his faith in the good will she had shown him countless times already. “My friend-” he paused, correcting himself. “The woman I love is still there.”

“The name you asked for earlier?”

He nodded, wiping at another unbidden tear. “Teyla. I was trying to escape to bring back help but I... I came back to get her to bring her with me and I was caught.” He worked his jaw for a moment as the memory of the whipping flooded his senses with chilling fear again. “I was whipped and... she tried to help me but I can’t remember what happened. The last thing I remember is her lying beside me.”

She slowly shook her head. “I’ve heard that at times they throw the bodies of dead slaves into the water or leave them out for the animals to eat. They must have thought you dead.”

“...Or close enough to it.”

She was quiet for a moment, studying his features as he composed himself. “You weren’t born on this planet so you weren’t born a slave.”

He shook his head a little, sniffling. “No. I grew up on Sateda and was a soldier when the Wraith attacked.”

She furrowed her brow. “How did you survive?”

He glanced to her then away again. “I was taken in the culling. They made me a Runner for seven years.”

Her eyebrows leveled out. “...I can’t imagine... no wonder you survived this torment. You’re a warrior.”

He met her gaze again then his eyes shied away, the pain in his back a constant reminder of his debilitation. “I hope I still am.”

She sighed, dropping her hands to hold one of his in both of her own. “You are. You’ve won against death.”

He took a deep, shuddering breath before looking to Lilliana again. “Teyla and a team of explorers came to a planet I was on when I was Running. They helped me – they took the tracking device out of my back and gave me a new home. We were out on an exploring mission when Teyla and I were darted and we woke up in chains. Then we were sold.”

She shook her head minutely, her voice firm. “That’s disgusting. That form of slavery is illegal but apparently still occurring.”

He furrowed his brow. “How is any slavery legal?”

“It was this way when I was born. It’s been for over two hundred years, that’s why we’re trying to change it but the government is so slow in acting and they’re heavily influenced by the merchants who support slavery since its free labor. The merchants in turn pay most of the taxes on their crops so they’re where the government gets most of its funding.”

The Satedan looked away. The idea that the horror and pain he had witnessed in his two month or so of servitude stemmed from centuries of the same mistreatment was incomprehensible. “I’ve known the cruelty of the Wraith, but I never thought humans could be just as bad.”

She looked down to his hand held in hers, quietly saying, “I know. It’s shameful.” She looked back up to his green gaze. “But you are among friends now. All you need to do is rest and heal. We’ll do what we can to help free Teyla, but we must be cautious. There is violent opposition to Abolitionists in many of these parts. Only those closest to us know where our loyalties lie.”

He nodded, understanding. “What about the Ring of the Ancestors? If I could get there I could-”

She was already shaking her head. “It is in orbit around the planet and only the very wealthy or those under their employ have ships.”

He gritted his teeth, looking back out the window. It was now light enough to see the details of the world outside.

She released his hand and reached for her jar of salve. “I’m sorry – this will probably hurt.”

“It’s okay. I’m very grateful for your help.”

She dipped her fingers in the pungent sludge then touched some to one of his wounds. Though he didn’t cry out, she could see him tense at the sting in the salve’s healing poultice. After a few moments she could hear his breathing quickening so she attempted to distract him from the pain. “What is Teyla like, Ronon?”

He closed his eyes, feeling sweat beading on his brow and nose yet his lips curled in a small, wistful smile. “...Incredibly kind and patient. She sees the good in people... even when they can’t see it in themselves.”

“She sounds lovely. I’d very much like to meet her.”

“...You share her kindness.”

Lilliana smiled then cleaned off her fingers and grabbed a fresh bandage. “What’s she look like?”

He opened his eyes, the pain dimming. “She’s about as tall as my chest... she has brown hair that gets lighter in the sun. Her skin’s a little darker than mine and her eyes are... brown like the rich soil of a riverbank.”

“Oh you can do better than that,” Lilliana teased as she wrapped a bandage around his chest. “You tell the woman you love that she has eyes the color of river mud?”

She grinned as he actually laughed out a “no” and he felt the creeping sensation of heat blushing into his cheeks.

The floorboards creaked loudly and a mustached man appeared, finishing buttoning his collar. He smiled when he saw the two and spoke in a deep, friendly voice, looking at Ronon. “Ah, so I see you really are alive, after all. Every time I see you you’re just sleeping.”

“He does that a lot,” Lilliana chimed in as her husband took the vacant seat by the cot.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ronon. I’m Curtis.”

“Thank you for your generosity, Curtis. If there’s any way I can repay your family I’ll-”

“Oh please.” He waved a hand at him dismissively. “Seeing you alive and well after I thought I’d be digging your grave is payment enough.”

Lilliana finished fastening the last bandage as Ronon humbly looked away from the man, struggling to find words to accept this family’s incredible kindness.

Curtis looked to his wife. “How’re his injuries?”

“Better. The swelling has gone down, at least.”

He nodded. “Good. The girls up yet?”

Lilliana rose off the cot, gathering up the excess bandages and shaking her head no. “They should be soon.”

“Alright,” Curtis sighed as he rose, bracing his hands on his knees as he did so. “I’m off, then. That damn cow’s on a schedule.”

Lilliana kissed his cheek as he hugged her before he stepped away to put on his outerwear. She put away the supplies then came back to Ronon. He was in the middle of a yawn when she reached over to adjust his pillows. “How long were you a slave?”

He lay back down, stiffly tugging on the quilt. She reached out to help him. “I don’t really know. A few months, I think. But it felt like ages.”

She sat on the edge of the cot after bringing the quilt up over his shoulders. “Do you know which plantation you were on?”

He rubbed his eyes with a sigh. “I don’t know. We were bought by a blonde woman.”

Lilliana bit her lip. “It obviously was someplace upriver...”

“It was big, too.”

She nodded. “I’ll look into it. You should try and get some rest. You still have a lot of mending to do.”

He nodded, yawning again. “I can’t believe I’m already tired again.”

She reached across to close the curtains of the window once more. “All your energy is going into healing. Just relax and try not to worry too much, okay?”

He looked away from her, knowing it was going to be impossible to chase away his worry over Teyla, especially if Teyla believed him dead. Lilliana patted the top of his head and tugged the makeshift curtain shut. “Sweet dreams.”

“Thank you.”

Though he couldn’t see her behind the green patterned swath of cloth, he could hear her footsteps as she walked away. He nestled his head against the pillow, breathing in the comforting stain of his own scent on the fabric, mulling over the information he had leaned about the planet. Communicating with Atlantis through the stargate was next to impossible and the fact that he didn’t even know the names of his former masters made him bristle in annoyance.

Yet Lilliana’s words had helped to soothe him and he clung to the hope that, with her help, he and Teyla would soon be reunited. He focused on the memory of her arms around him and of the warmth of her breath against his collarbone as he drifted to sleep once more.

Branded Heart

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