Fic: You can run with us 12/?

[valandhir]

Author: Flaim aka Darkfalconheart

Story: You can run with us. (12/?)

Pairing: nothing as of yet.

Rating: for this chapter: 13 , may be higher in later chapters

Warnings: some violence

Status: WIP

Spoilers: Up to ‘The lost tribe’.

Wordcount: ca. 4500

 

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. 

 

 

 

Chapter 12: The mission before us

 

Wise men said: just walk this way,

to the dawn of the light.

The Wind will blow into your face,

As the years pass you by.

Hear this voice, from deep inside;

It’s the call of your heart,

Close your eyes and you will find,

The way out of the dark.

 

(The Scorpions: Land of the Morning Star)

 

They had been ambushed, separated and overwhelmed by sheer numbers whatever resistance they had been able to mount proved too weak, to withstand those forces. The Wraith had been more efficient and dangerous than all those he had seen before. But this thought was useless now. Thrown into one of their cells, Ronon silently studied those fighters that were assembled here. Harki, Ana and Heri were among them, as were many others. Avila wasn’t here, as was Shalukar. Inwardly Ronon cursed, they had acted on information that must have been faked! Shalukar had been doubtful from the beginning, but Ronon knew the Master Specialist had been overruled by Headquarters. But still, as long as he was out there and free things were not lost. The doors opened and another man was thrown in to them. It was Kari, who came to his feet cursing. “Calm, Kari.” Ronon turned to the wounded man. That meant team chrál had not made it either. “You alone?”

“No, he isn’t.” A voice cut in. “I fear I must inform you, that all your people have been caught.” More Wraith were filing in, a group of them dragging another prisoner, holding him down. Even on his knees, the prisoner struggled against them. Ronon did not meet Avila’s eyes, he had hoped that at least his friend might get away. But perhaps he had bought the time for Shalukar. If the Master Specialist made it back to Sateda, then there would be reinforcements…

Two Wraith dragged a lifeless figure in, tossing it to the ground carelessly. Ronon froze, when he recognised Shalukar. “He is not dead – yet. He is alive, barely.” The voice spoke again, and this time the speaker walked into the cell.

He was tall as all Wraith were, but he looked different, more human, but deep down in his soul Ronon felt an icy cold emanating from him. A legend, a nightmarish legend, had just stepped out of the shadows and taken on an eerie life. “He fought well, but he won’t last until nightfall.” The Wraith Lord went on.

Ronon straightened up and growled. “What do you want?” he barked at the Wraith leader. There had to be reason why they were still here and not stored away in cocoons for a late dinner.

“The question is – what do you have to offer, Specialist Dex?” The Wraith studied him intently. “You leader will not survive without help and your friend… he is not much, but not much is better than nothing, don’t you think?”

Avila raised his chin, casting a defiant glance at the Wraith leader. Ronon’s heart sank, he knew where this was going… he knew what deal was offered, stories of such deals had been told and retold all along the fighting worlds for centuries. But he had never believed he might one day be the one to cut that deal…

 

John Sheppard woke with a start, his head still pounding, his heart racing. It was a dream… a dream only, not real. Still, it had been frighteningly real, and so surreal all the same.

“Another nightmare?” Jircanor, who was on watch, had heard him wake up.

John nodded in the darkness. “Yeah.” He whispered. “Another one… I do not know, what Ronon did with this Wraith thing…this Wraith leader.” He looked around, but his friend wasn’t here, he was out for another nightly hunt.

Jircanor checked the stairs, before walking over to John, squating down beside John. “Don’t judge Ronon for whatever you saw in that dream. Others too have been in that situation – knowing the price they would ultimately pay.”

John took a deep breath, calming down. “Not judging… but Ronon was… was marshalling all his courage  for something he deeply feared.”

Jir nodded, a movement hardly to be seen in the dark. “Who was not afraid, when facing this, for the first time?” he said in low tones, speaking to himself. Focusing again on Sheppard. “Would you die to protect your friends? Suffer?”

John nodded silently.

“And if not your death could safe your friends, but something most feared and reviled in the known worlds?” Jir asked softly. “Sometimes it is the only choice there is. Ronon made that call once, and he saved a lot of lives that day. I made the same choice a long time ago.” Jir rose suddenly, frowning into the darkness. “I thought I heard something.”

Both listened into the darkness, but there was nothing, only silence all around them. John relaxed after a while. “Tomorrow we need to try something with this link.” He said. He felt terrible, having peeked into Ronon’s past again, into things that Ronon might not feel comfortable to share.

 

***

 

When Teyla reached General O’Neill’s office in the morning she found him in a discussion with the new Captain. Teyla walked closer, as the door was open.

“…I think it is safe to conclude, that the Wraith did not realise what was going on, until the end. That’s the gist of it.” The Captain finished a report or analysis.

“And you couldn’t have put this ‘gist’ in a little shorter form?” O’Neill sounded a little cranky. “your mission report has about 50 pages.”

“43, Sir.”

“43…” Teyla was sure that O’Neill wasn’t half as serious as he pretended to be. She stepped into the door and knocked on frame.

Both men turned around to face her. “Teyla, come in.” O’Neil gestured her to enter. “Is everything all right with your people?”

Teyla followed the invitation “Yes, thanks to you they are safe.” It would take time to heal and grief for those lost in the culling. But her people had survived thing like this time and again. Seeing the strength her people had, facing this new adversity filled Teyla with pride. O’Neill had already gestured the Captain to leave. Teyla raised her hand, stopping the man from leaving. “Actually, I came here for a different reason. It is about the search for John Sheppard. I understand, that you intend to take it up again?”.

“Not want – will.” O’Neill replied. “We don’t leave people behind, well --- we might make an exception for Woolsey next time.”  He stopped, focusing his gaze on her. “Let me make this clear: Woolsey screwed this one up, big time. But this doesn’t mean that everybody else has given up on Sheppard.”

Teyla nodded, she could see that he meant what he said, he might be cranky, ironic and …odd, but he was sincere. “When we heard last from Ronon, he had caught up on the trail enough, that he had an address John Sheppard had gone to only ten days prior. He had high hopes to find him soon.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” O’Neill raised his hand. “could we start at the beginning? Woolsey’s notes on the topic were… had an accident.” He gestured the Captain to stay. “Schmiedeberg, make notes of the important points – mind, important only.”

Teyla sat down and began to tell them of the message, of Ronon escaping Atlantis. “He did not meet his contact,” she went on. “he was too late. So he tried to track the man down, somewhere in the middle of this he came across a trace of John himself, he had been seen fighting the Wraith during the culling on Anchoril. Ever since Ronon has been following John’s tracks. But John is moving fast, often showing up in fights with the Wraith. Had Ronon not been a runner, he would have been unable to keep up the pace.”

“Has anybody found out, why Sheppard is moving so fast?” O’Neill asked. “Has he ever tried to contact Atlantis?”

“Not since the disaster with Shelleau.” Teyla replied. “And as for the other – I believe he decided to fight the Wraith on his own, when Atlantis let him down.” Seeing the questioning glances  of both men she began to sum up what she had learned from Ronon’s reports over the last year.

O’Neill listened attentively, sometimes interrupted her for a question, to clarify a fact. “He is getting around a lot, and he is giving the Wraith hell, that’s for sure. But it still sounds…” O’Neill interrupted himself, whatever conclusions he had, he kept to himself at the moment. “Schmiedeberg, any insights?”

Teyla’s eyes turned to the man, who had been taking notes during most of the conversation. “Did Ronon ever mentions signs or traces of a pursuer?” he asked.

“He didn’t mention anything.” Teyla said. “Why?”

“Because… some of this resembles Jerry’s… Sheppard’s MO when running – extreme version. It looks to me like he has somebody chasing after him. Could he have escaped after being captured and been on the run ever since?”

Teyla paled, when the words hit her. The Captain would not even be aware of it, but he had just stated the truth, a truth that fit all the facts she had and it fit all too well. “You are right,” she said in a very low voice. “He is running – the Wraith… they must have turned him into a Runner.”

“A Runner? Like your friend Ronon was?” O’Neill didn’t seem all that shocked. “So we’ll need Beckett on standby to perform the surgery the moment we have located Sheppard.”

“You can’t find a Runner, General O’Neill.” Teyla found her mind and her mouth were working still, despite her mind was cringing, imagining what John must have gone through already.

“All the more reason to get hold of your friend, Ronon.”

“Ronon regularly checks in with a friend of mine, a blacksmith who lives on Belkan.” Teyla replied. “I had planned to visit him soon, together with Major Lorne.”

“You’ll have to make do with me or the Captain here.” O’Neill said. “Lorne will need weeks to recover and we’ll be lucky to get him back next time we dial Earth.”

 

***

 

“Your mind is empty except for  one single light, one single light shining through the empty darkness, let it closer, draw it in, feel the light, your are the light. One single flame shining into the night…” Jircanor’s voice broke off abruptly when an invisible force hit him, slamming him into the next wall. The Runner winced as he struggled back to his feet.

John opened his eyes, this was the third attempt to break the link and he had really tried to learn what Jir called the “meditation of solitude.” But this just surpassed all other problems they had into so far. “What was that?” Aside form the obvious of course, John had not the faintest idea what had pushed Jircanor back and crashed him against wall.

“You, your mind protecting the link and in a way protecting Ronon.” Jircanor rubbed his neck as he sat down again. “The reaction came faster and was much more violent than I had anticipated.”

Sheppard frowned. “Me? No way. Don’t get me wrong, Jir, but I usually can’t move objects by force of will alone. The last time Rodney did it he was half way up to Ascension.” 

Jircanor scowled. “There is no need for touching another plane of existence to develop some abilities. And you – you are of the true blood after all. Your abilities are raw, as you are basically untrained, but the potential is still there. I should have expected it.”

John didn’t know what to say. He had envied Rodney for the superpowers the Ancient’s machine had bestowed on him. But that had been before he learned that the same process put Rodney on the fast track to Ascension. “You mean I could learn to do… - stuff, without being forced to ascend?” he asked after a while.

“Ascension was a goal of the Lanteans, it was not tied to their powers, or at least not tied to their natural powers.” Jircanor explained, adjusting the light of one of the glowlamps back to normal levels. “And even they had to use some level of genetic manipulation to achieve Ascension ultimately. Training your natural abilities would not force you down the same road.”

“I always thought that advanced evolution was headed there – Ascension I mean.” Ronon said, disentangling his long legs and sitting relaxed again.

“Not really, the Lanteans had abilities, powers you might call them, they were part of their natural evolution and they lived with those powers comfortably without ascending for centuries. Much as other nations did. They MADE Ascension their goal, striving to reach that stage of development that is necessary for it. It wasn’t a natural process and had next to nothing to do with their natural powers.”

“Sounds like you are not sold on the whole Ascension thing.” John observed quietly.

All of sudden Jircanor grew rather defensive. “It’s just…. I believe we have a responsibility here. We did not come into this world, to this place, just to flee it. It might be hard, it might be cruel and definitely is painful at times, but it is our place and our home.”

John did not know what he had done or said, to provoke this reaction. Something had caused Jircanor to go defensive. “I am not keen on the whole Ascension thing either. Too many rules, too many vague details,” he replied. He focused on the dark haired runner. “You seem to know what you are talking about, and you have powers of your own, could you teach me?” He saw Jircanor stiffen, before the man relaxed again.

“It won’t be easy, not with the Wraith on our tracks, Runner groups are known to be vulnerable. Still… it is doable. I’ll teach you what I can.”

Ronon rose from his sitting position. “Jir, could I have a word with you?”

 

Ronon and Jircanor walked down the stairs of the tower and left the building. It was noon outside. Jircanor sat down on a piece of rubble, exhaling sharply.

Ronon nodded. “I thought as much,” he said gruffly. “You are not ‘handling’ it very well. And you just agreed to stay with us, when we leave this place.”

“I know.” Jircanor shook his head. “It get’s harder and harder no matter how much I fight.”

“Perhaps we should tell John.” Ronon suggested again. “If he were aware of the effect his presence has on you, he’d be more careful. He might even find a way to make this easier for you.”

“NO!” Jircanor straightened up. “No,” he repeated more quietly. “In some days things will have progressed too far, anyway. There is no need for him to know any more.”

Ronon could hear a terrible resignation in Jircanor’s voice and had to try hard not be shocked. Nothing life could throw at him, not the destruction of his home world, no Wraith, not the death of his best friends, simply nothing ever had driven Jircanor so far as just to give in. “Why? Why do you give up?” he asked, trying to understand.

Jir sighed, running his hand through his long hair, tiredly. “Ronon, the compulsion was designed to keep my people in line after we lost the war against the Lanteans. It was not even meant as a deliberate cruelty, the Lanteans just did not wish to worry about us turning on them, and they were well aware we were good at backstabbing if need be. The compulsion was an elegant way to guarantee our ancestor’s loyalties, it is part of our genetic memory still and it can’t be fought. Some days ago I could have refused to answer a direct question asked by your friend, but not disobeyed a direct order. Now, I could evade a question still, but would not refuse the answer if he insisted. That’s the hardest thing about the compulsion: it doesn’t force you but is makes you want to comply, and after a while you can’t tell anymore what is the compulsion and what it is you wanted yourself. Right now, I see how it works clearly: I start to like your friend, liking his company, no matter how much I try not to. And in some more days, a week or so, I’ll probably deny the compulsion had anything to do with my decision  and claim it was my own idea from the beginning. And I’ll probably like it. So there is no way to tell your friend something he cannot change.”

“Wait, I always believed the compulsion was something that prevented your people from going against the Lanteans again.” Ronon said. “But… it is an emotional coding?”

“Far more complex.” Jircanor took a deep breath. “When the long war ended, the Lanteans knew that my ancestors would recover and wait for the right time to strike again. We were an aggressive race after all. Some among them argued that allowing our continued existence as a nation would endanger the worlds they ‘seeded’ all over the galaxy. Other Lanteans believed that it was their obligation to change us, for the better as they termed it. They devised the compulsion in the first place. An elegant weapon, I must admit. It didn’t take our intelligence, or our own will and opinions, but it shifted our feelings towards the Lanteans around. Short meetings would do nothing seriously, just that we usually tend to feel sympathetic towards Lanteans we might meet. But longer contact… the longer the contact, the deeper the change, the stronger the loyalty we begin to feel.”

“You mean in a week or so, you’ll start to see John as a friend, perhaps really become friends with him and you don’t have any choice about it?”

“At that time I’ll probably claim it was my own decision and not believe you otherwise.” Jircanor said. “It has happened among my people back then. That’s why I believed the compulsion to be an excuse of  our ancestors who wanted to follow the Lanteans.”

“But John only has the ATA gene…”

“He is of the true blood, there is no doubt about it. He carries their blood, their legacy. Send him over to Myravin and he’ll be hailed Tamarkhan reborn, send him to Valdoran and he’ll have one of the most feared armies in that part of the world , swear allegiance to him. He is of the true blood, and as others in this world, I can’t deny the loyalties of my ancestors, no matter what.” Jircanor stood up, shoving aside all the discussions. “Our transmitters will go active again in two days time, until then we need to find a way to deal with the link and we need a plan. Runner groups have always been vulnerable.”

 

***

 

Teyla had to stop and let another cart pass by, the donkey did not seem in the mood for a stop. Mud splashed on her boots, when the cart rolled through one of the many puddles the rain had left. Teyla turned around, to check if Dietmar kept up, but he was right behind her, taking in the scenery before him with an expression, that was hard to read.

Teyla walked on, the forge was on the other side of the market. They had to make their way past haggling people, traders bringing in new goods and a bunch of barrels being rolled to the inn. Teyla could already see the forge, a cart was standing beside the building, but she couldn’t see someone else at the forge itself, except Bran. So he had probably agreed to have an eye on the cart for someone.

Bran looked up from his work, when Teyla approached him. A smile lit up on the blacksmith’s face. “Teyla!” he greeted her. “It has been a long time.”

Teyla smiled too. “I had to wait for my daughter to join my family.”

“May she walk free under the skies for many years.” Bran extended the traditional well wished with heartfelt warmth, before he turned to the back of the blacksmith shop and took something from a weapon’s rack there. Coming back with something in his hands, extending them to Teyla. “And may this serve her well, when the darkness falls.”

Teyla accepted the artfully crafted dagger with a smile. It would be rude to refuse it, and among many people a blacksmith’s blessing carried a special spell. 

Some people brushed by, Bran waited until they were gone. “There is nothing new on Ronon.” He said then. “He didn’t come to Belkan, and he didn’t send any message either.”

Teyla frowned. This didn’t sound good. At times it had taken weeks or months for Ronon to return to Belkan, but right now they needed him really. “We… we have some theory about John.” She explained to Bran. “We think the Wraith might have turned him into a runner.”

Bran listened up. “A runner, you say? Then you are lucky perhaps.” He looked around, clearly checking if there was no one listening. “A friend, a fellow blacksmith, came here today. His name is Syrkan. And… well, he is said to have helped Runners before.”

 

The man packing the cart turned around frowning at Teyla. She stopped, greeting him politely. Offending Syrkan would not do, and he seemed not to be happy to meet them. “Bran advised us to talk to you.” She began diplomatically.

“I know.” Syrkan leaned against his cart, arms crossed in front of his chest. “Bran told me. And as an Athosian, you should know, that those who dare to help Runners do so in silence.”

Teyla inclined her head, indicating she respected his words. “John is a friend.” She said. “And I seek to help him.”

Syrkan studied her closely. “John?” he asked then.

Hope, warm hope bloomed inside Teyla like a flower after a rain in a dry summer. “You know him,” she exclaimed.

“And if it were so?” Syrkan replied. “How would you want to help him? Helping Runners means fighting, and often death in the end.”

“If we can find him, remove his tracker, we can bring him… bring him home.” Teyla answered. “He has friends…”

Syrkan stepped away from the cart and towered over Teyla. “Your friend is a Runner, child. Runners change, they adapt or they die. And your friend did adapt. If he were to come home, you would hardly find the same man you lost. Most resourceful Runners can’t stop running, and your friend is among the most resourceful I have seen. How would you feel, seeing your friend unable to sleep as long as anyone is in close vicinity? Unable to stay indoors for longer than short periods of time? Throwing a knife at a movement he sees from the corner of his eyes, even as this knife might hit you?” Syrkan threw back his head, and a fine scar at his throat got visible. “Your friend gave me this one, when I startled him. And I know how to move among them.” He eyed her coolly. “Go home and mourn your friend, child. He won’t be coming back.” He turned away, intending to leave.

Not willing to give up, Teyla followed him, gripping his arm, to hold him back. Syrkan whirled around, faster than she could see, his first hit caught her off balance, landing her on the ground. Before she could get up, the cocking of a gun, ended the fight. Dietmar had bridged the short distance from his guard position, and had his gun levelled at Syrkan’s head. “You will hear the lady out and answer her questions.” He said in icy tones.

 

***

 

John was standing high up on the remains of the building, studying the ruins around him. The looked oddly peaceful, like dreaming. The young trees and wild flowers that grew in the cracks of the fallen buildings, made it look less miserable. He wondered if this was how everything, even the greatest destruction found some measure of peace at the end. Shaking his head he pushed aside the musings. He had spend definitely too much time in ruins.

He did not need to wonder where Ronon and Jir were. Jir was with Ronon and both of them were close to the tower’s entrance. During the last day John had nearly gotten used to the presence of Ronon in the back of his head. Most of the time it wasn’t much more than a presence, except when e focused on it. The moment he did that, he knew where Ronon was and what he was just doing, which could be… awkward at times. While still unable to break the link, John found himself able to deal with it, most of the time. Much of Ronon’s presence was like Ronon himself, watchful, strong and prone to flare up at times.

Jircanor had said he guessed it might take some more time for the link to fade because it had been unusually intense, and John was willing to give it the chance. Perhaps he was so content because it held back the darkness, the loneliness that John had become all too acquainted with in the past year.

A movement down in the ruined street caught his eye. In reflex he let himself drop down behind the cover of the rubble. There should be no one here.

Peeking down again he saw two figures moving through the street. They moved slowly and carefully, and could never be Ronon and Jir. Something about these figures was familiar, but John couldn’t point out what. He focused on Ronon, hoping his friend would see, what he just saw and be warned.

He felt a warm flare-up, telling him that Ronon was aware of the situation. Silently John watched the two figures coming closer, they covered each other, sometimes stopping, to study some tracks on the ground. One of them gestured ahead as they walked. The other one raised a kind of scanner, studying the area. John stayed unmoving, but his mind was racing, those two were searching for something. A warning alertness rose in John, this did not feel good, something was terribly wrong about them. He silently slid down behind his cover, making his way down in the shadow of the ruin. Unconsciously he knew that Ronon was closing in on the two from the left flank, thus John moved more to the right, getting behind them. The trapped them behind them.

Then things went very fast, John and Ronon attacked the figures form both sides, surprising them completely. Their coordination was perfect, taking down both of them before they could mount any resistance. Perplexed John stared at the two men, that were out cold. He had seen such like them before… or something closely akin to it. They looked like those soldiers, changed and manipulated he met in defence of Michael’s labs time and again. “I guess we are not alone here any more.”