Fic: You can run with us 2/?

[valandhir]

Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart
Story: You can run with us. (2/?)
Pairing: nothing as of yet, maybe John/Ronon later on
Summary:  John was captured by the Wraith, they made him a runner.
Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters
Warnings: some violence
Status: WIP
Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.
Wordcount: ca. 3600
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, names or other various parts of the SG/SGA universe and all rights are with their respective owners. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction, and no copyright infringement is intended. 
Author’s note: And here is the second chapter, I typed it down in one long go. Probably you will note that I tend to capitalize the word “Runner”. While I always have to fight against the capitalizing habit of my native language, I did this one on purpose to distinguish the Runners from just a person who jogs.

The poem I quote at the beginning is by Herman Hesse and I translated it best as possible.

The hunt begins

 

Wondrous to wander through mists!
Parted are bush and stone:
None to the other exists,
Each is standing alone.

 

(Herman Hesse: In the mists)

 

The wind swept over the rolling hillsides and was howling around the walls of the city. The Guards at the gates had long retreated under the protection of the deep gateway. In the midst of another autumn storm the Guards were glad to escape at least the chilly cold of the eastern winds. Close stood they together, staring into the grey afternoon that was rapidly darkening. Carefully did they watch out, the walls were still breached in several places, from the battle not long ago. And it was well possible some enemy tried to sneak up to them. Still, the harsh wind made them retreat below the archways more than often. So they never saw the dark figure that left its hideout near one of the tall trees and started creeping around the tower when the afternoon grew gloomy.

John Sheppard peered cautiously around the thick oaken tree. The old tree had been a perfect hideout from he guards and everybody else for all the day. Now, in the evening, he dared to leave the den at It’s roots, where he had sat unmoving during the brighter hours of the day, and looked around. He had escaped his hunters up till now by carefully sneaking around and hiding whenever possible. The night before a Wraith had stood no two steps away from his hideout and had never sensed his presence. Some things he had learned from Ronon had not gone to waste obviously. Now he could only hope that he managed to bring the message close enough to be found and sneak off before anybody realised he was there. It had taken him more than three days to get back towards the settlement, and he would not ruin his plan by being impatient.

Carefully he looked around. The city walls were damaged in three places, guards at every breach. John winced, the battle had extracted quite a toll on Vintár’s people. But with all the guards out here, there would be a good chance, that his message would be found and in turn be delivered to Atlantis. Silently he moved, creeping towards the shadow of a fallen tree. In all the noise the storm made, it was easy enough to avoid being heard. He ducked under another rock, watching the gate. The guards had turned around, gesturing to someone inside the Archway. Some more people came towards the city gate, carefully peering out into the rapidly darkening evening.

John Sheppard nearly froze in place. The man standing at the gate with the guards was Major Lorne and he seemed inclined to check the area outside the city with his team. Inwardly John Sheppard cursed. If he came too close to Lorne, Lorne’s subcutaneous transmitter would explode, killing the man in the process. John stared over to Lorne, silently willing him to go back to the city, to retreat back into the safety of the walls. But Lorne did only gesture his team to follow him out into the storm. John sighed, he could not risk coming too close to Lorne and his people. He had no idea what the critical distance was, and he would not endanger them. Thus he began retreating again, back into the woods he had come from.

 

***

 

The second Wraith nearly got John Sheppard. It had taken him only one moment too long to dispose of the first one, but then he already felt the clawlike hand at his throat. In reflex he gripped the Wraith’s arm, buckled forward, throwing his enemy to the ground. A kick, a punch, another kick, followed in rapid succession, John successfully dodged the next attack, ramming his knife into the Wraith’s belly. The Wraith screamed as he fell, John finished him off fast.

Panting he stopped, his hand were covered in Wraith blood, he felt about a dozen fresh injuries, all over his body. And he had no time. This was the ninth hunting team he had encountered and there were probably more in the forest.  He had to get away from here, away form this world, to get some distance between himself and the hunters. But how? Returning to the settlement and the gate was out of question, the last thing the city needed was another Wraith attack. He didn’t even want to think about the fact, that Major Lorne and his team were still there. John’s presence would not only endanger but kill them. Going back was not an option.

After taking the Wraith’s weapons John began another run deeper into the forest. It was harder than it had been the days before, the hills were steeper, rising higher with deeper valleys in between them. He was crossing the foothills of the mountains now. The foothills… what had Vintár said about them? The ruins of an Ancient outpost and another gate were supposed to be there, somewhere. John took a deep breath, the trick would be finding them.

 

***

 

“Nothing, no tracks, no signs whatsoever and nothing else either.” Major Lorne sounded as frustrated as he actually was. “and these woods are crawling with Wraith.”

“There was a runner here, some days ago.” Ronon replied. “The Wraith here are probably just a hunting party.” The tall man had not rested since the day of the battle, and the exhaustion slowly caught up with him.

Lorne sighed. “Yeah, we found some of them dead, killed at a close distance, with a blade. Whoever he is – he is good at what he does. But we found  none of their darts, or other ships groundside.” And there went all their hopes they had harboured on rescuing John Sheppard from the hive ship, before it was too late. For the first time Major Lorne found himself understanding how the villagers on all those worlds felt, when a culling hit them. There was no one to save those who were lost, and the chances to do so were perhaps slimmer than he had ever admitted to himself.

“Perhaps we can catch one of them alive, find out what he knows and where they took Col. Sheppard.” Teyla suggested after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Again the Wraith had taken someone close to her, and she feared that this time there was no hope of finding him again.

Lorne nodded, in his mind already making plans. “Might work. Ronon, what is the best way to trap a Wraith?”

Ronon shrugged, his eyes were out on the hills outside the settlement. There was something out there, he could feel it, a presence known to him. Every fibre of his being called to him to leave the city and the people behind and go out alone, to find whoever might be there. Slowly exhaling he checked those desires firmly, he had to be strong,  he had to find John back, no matter what. Focusing on Major Lorne he said: “When I trap, I kill. But if you want to lure a Wraith to you, you are offering him an easy prey as a bait.”

 

***

 

It was already dark when John found the corpse. It was a Wraith spiked with wooden stakes, pinned to a tree like a rag doll. At first John had only seen the white hair and hidden away, before he realised that this Wraith did not  move any more. Carefully he examined the corpse, it was not fresh but also not much older than 24 hours. So somebody had taken the pains to set up traps in the area. A jolt of new hope rose inside him, if a Runner had set traps here, than he might be closer to his target than he had believed. If he followed that trail it might lead him to the ruins and the other gate.

Finding tracks in the darkness proved undoable soon enough, the night was falling all too quickly, leaving John no choice in this matter. Carefully slipping below a heavy branch, he suddenly found himself face to face with a long naked branch, spiked with sharp pointed sticks, a rope still kept it in place.

John raised his hand, carefully studying the contraption before him. Another trap, one that had not been sprung up till now. Taking most cautious steps he left the trap alone, turning left towards the steep hillside. He was only a few paces away from the place when he felt the ground all too soft below his foot. Stopping in his tracks he crouched down, examining the ground with his bare hands thoroughly.  Truly, it was another trap! Peering in the darkness around him John wondered why somebody had cared to place so many traps in such a close vicinity. Carefully, always aware of the imminent danger, he began to check the ground around him. It was too much like checking some dreary road in the Afghan mountains for mines. Forcing himself to breathe slowly John went on, he had done it once, he could do it again.

The traps formed a tight circle around the steeper part of the hillside, most of them were still ready and none was like the other. John was very sure he had not found all of them. Carefully, keeping down and in some cover as far as possible, he approached the centre of the circle. In the darkness it was hard to see anything. Beyond the fact, that some rocks and tree were ahead, he saw only blackness. Leaning forward some more to examine another patch of wet ground with his hands, John found his hands grasping empty air, he lost his balance, tumbled forward and fell into a hole in the ground.

The fall was mercifully short, but still painful enough. Groaning John sat up. He saw next to nothing. Whatever scare light bad been shed by the stars up there, did not reach down into this hole. He tried to get to his feet, but before he was even crouching he hit his head. So it was dark and narrow down here. On his hands and knees he proceeded on, following the earthy tunnel that still fell softly downward. After a while the tunnel broadened into a larger area. In the pitched darkness around him John could only feel his way with his hands.

His fingers found something between the earth and the stones, something metallic. Carefully he examined it before picking it up. It was about as long as a pen and of similar shape. When he picked it up it sprang alive, softly vibrating between his fingers before shedding a soft green light around.

John had to give his eyes some time to adjust to the sudden light. Blinking he took in his surroundings, he was in a small cave in the earth and what he saw was nothing else but the remains of a camp.

Raising the green light he crouched into the middle of the cave. It had clearly been a camp some days ago, abandoned now but the tracks were still clearly visible.

Slowly John sat down, leaning against the wall of the cave, he was tired and this was the best place t rest he would find. Trying to ignore the hungry gnawing in his stomach, he studied his surroundings. There was not much, he could see some dry bones of some small animal, a den in the ground, someone had slept there and some wood stacked up at the far side of the cave.

John was sure he had found the Runner’s camp, the Runner who had left the mark at the edge of the woods. Vaguely he wondered who the other Runner might have been.  The other Runner… it was perhaps the first time that John found himself using this word referring to himself. He was still determined to find a solution for his situation, but as of now he could not deny it any longer – he was a Runner.

Again he took in the dank cave. Strange to remember now how often Rodney had called Ronon a caveman. Had it been like that for Ronon? One day a soldier, defending his homeworld, the next day hiding out in a cave, trying to survive? Some indeterminable time later, John’s exhaustion claimed it’s right and he fell asleep.

It was a stir in the darkness that woke him. John’s hand came up, knife at the ready. But there was nothing. Only darkness, silent and impenetrable was around him. Motionless John listened, listened into the darkness surrounding him, but there was nothing. No Wraith jumping at him, no weapon’s fire, no danger. Only now did he realise how hard his heart was pounding. Running his hand through his hair he sighed. He must not get paranoid, he told himself. He needed to stay sane. Crawling out of the tunnel he saw it was already dawn. Time to go on, time to find the Ancient’s base.

 

***

 

Jircanor knelt completely still behind the wrecked remains of the bunker. It didn’t need his field glasses to see this one coming. John Sheppard moved swiftly through the dangerous territory. Jircanor smiled, he had watched the young Runner for about three days now and had come to admire the Atlantean warrior. He clearly lacked the harsh training, that from earliest childhood on instilled the ability to survive, but still held himself admirably against the never good odds. Jircanor had seen how Sheppard had killed a group of Wraith chasing after him, and ambushing a second one. He showed the markings of a survivor.

He still needed to learn some caution, though. He had been smart enough to detect the traps and find Jircanor’s old hideout. He even had the sense to see that it was a rather safe place and rested there. But he had slept too deeply. Jircanor had entered the cave and come close enough the be right beside the sleeping man without waking him up. And even after waking up, Sheppard had never realised that Jircanor was there. He would have to learn to never truly sleep, if he was to survive.

His smile turned a little sad. The Wraith had gotten their first Atlantean Runner, they would boast about that for a long time to come. Like they had when they got their hands on Cayelan, perhaps even more, because the Atlanteans were their greatest enemy of record. Silently Jircanor watched Sheppard making his way past him and uphill towards the ruins of the Ancient’s outpost. Jircanor did not hinder him. Paryan had departed two days ago, so there was no one up there. Still the Runner could not help himself but watch how Sheppard made his way up to the ruins.

Right now Jircanor was sorely tempted to give up his hiding and let Sheppard see him. The young man had done nothing to deserve the fate of so many young Runners. ‘Never approach them when they are new and unproven. It is too dangerous.’ He reminded himself again. He did not believe that Sheppard was a worshipper sent to lure the Runners into a trap, but still – Jircanor could not bring himself to raise and let the young Runner see him. He watched him until he vanished in the ruins.

 

***

 

The upper parts of the Ancient’s outpost proved to be nothing but rubble. Here and there a wall was standing, a column reminding of days long past, but nothing more. John did not care much, except for keeping down, moving unseen. It did not take long for him to see, that there was an area in the ruins, where the rubble had been cleared away. Not that it looked like it, there was rubble still there, but it was too well arranged to have fallen naturally. He sneaked over and discovered a shaft that fell from the surface to some room below. It was dark down there, but John was sure, that this was the shortest way he would possible get. Sitting down, he checked that he was alone before he let himself slide down the shaft. He had found what he was looking for.

 

***

 

Trapping a Wraith proved far more complicated than Ronon had ever anticipated. Up till now he had never realised, that most Wraith preferred death to capture. But right now, in these crumbling ruins it looked like they were finally going to succeed. The Wraith they had been chasing up here, had been distracted and careless. He had realised much too late, that this was a dead end, no way out. Ronon grinned, now they just had to subdue him.

Blinding white lights shone suddenly all around them. Ronon spat a curse – more Wraith had just found them. He shot the first one, the second got a knife into his ribs, two more he had to fend off with his blade. Where was the Major with his men? Probably fighting somewhere below the ruins. Damn it! With all his strength Ronon threw himself into the fighting.

 

***

 

The distorted sounds of fighting were audible even down here. Sheppard sighed. More Wraith were coming. He had to get out of here, fast. He would have liked to explore this place, there was ancient technology still running here, and the gate was the oddest of them. Not the gate itself so much, it looked pretty much like all the gates John had seen on his journeys so far, but the DHD had been heavily modified. Some other stuff was rigged up and connected with the DHD. Someone had scratched additional symbols on some of the plates on the DHD. John did not know why, perhaps this DHD had come from another world, where it had been using a different set of signs, or it was serving a purpose Sheppard did not know.

A little apprehensive he began dialling the gate. The sequence ran as it always did, Chevron after Chevron was locking. John looked up, to the shaft he had let himself slide down. The fighting drew closer, he could hear the shrieks of some Wraiths up there. Again he looked to the gate five Chevrons locked, two to go. He hoped the address would work properly. The last thing he needed was to pull a Carter here and to re-figure all addresses for this system.

The corpse of a Wraith came falling down the shaft, followed by another one. The shrieks got louder up there. The seventh Chevron locked. John sprinted to the gate and passed through it, without turning back. Only moments later, dragging two Wraiths with him, Ronon Dex came sliding down the shaft, landing on the DHD.

 

***

“Nothing.” Ronon pointed downwards. “The rest of them must have used the gate to escape. The wormhole was just collapsing when I came down there.”

Major Lorne had sat down on a pile of rubble. “At least are retreating. That’s something.” He stopped for a moment. “There was something strange, that happened in the middle of the fighting.”

“Strange? Except that the Wraith were disorganised?” Ronon cleaned up his bloodied blade on the rest of a Wraithcloak.

“No, when their reinforcements arrived, somebody supported us. He got them right in their back and killed some of them.” Lorne pointed over to the other side of the hill. “The moment I saw him, taking down another Wraith, I wanted to order two of my men to split up, team up with him and…” Lorne decided to forgo the tactic’s lesson. “The thing is – when he saw, that I saw him, he raised his hand and threw something towards a singular tree. I had one of my men look for it when the fighting was over. They found this.” He raised his hand, holding a small hunting knife, with a thin piece of wood pierced on it, the wood was wrapped into a leather strap.

Carefully Ronon took the piece of wood from the blade and studied it, it held nothing beside the strap  and a short strand of hair. Some scratches that looked like they were random, adorned the piece of wood. But to Ronon they were much more, a message, short and to the point.

“Ronon? Do you know what this is?” Lorne looked up, his eyes narrowing.

Gently Ronon studied the strand of hair. It was short and dark, it belonged to a messy head he knew all too well. “It is a trace – a message – by someone who may know something about Col. Sheppard.”

Lorne looked at him doubtfully. “A message by whom?”

Ronon hesitated, bit his lip, then shook his head. “I can’t tell you. But he knows something – that much is sure.”

Lorne stood up. “Let’s get back to Atlantis, Mr. Woolsey will want to hear this.”