Fic: Somewhere to Call Home (2/6, SGA)
Sep. 20th, 2008 08:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thefroggTitle: Somewhere to Call Home
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thefrogg
Beta: anonymous
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Author's Note: I'm giving up and posting part two.::glares at Tadd::
Previous Chapter: Chapter 1
Narran is in deep winter when they arrive, forest blanketed in white and eerily silent. He slips through the trees like a wraith, letting her stumble along behind him until she learns to pick up her feet and step in his tracks.
Grumbling, she scoops up a double handful of snow, packing it single-mindedly. It hits him in the back of the neck and splatters over his jacket.
He chuckles good-naturedly and shakes himself, but offers no retaliation.
"You could have said something."
"Little bird, some lessons are learned better by doing, not by hearing." He pauses to lift a branch out of her way; she waits for the snow weighing it down to slide off in wet clumps. "Besides, next time, you're breaking trail."
She shoots him a caustic look that he doesn't see. "I have smaller feet than you do."
"I said I would teach you what you need to know. I never said it would be easy."
"Or make sense, apparently."
~~~
Distant howling breaks the silence; he stops so abruptly she barrels into him and nearly falls.
"What is that?" Fear edges her voice and widens her eyes.
"Something that shouldn't be anywhere near here." Another howl echoes the first, off to their right; the first answers. "Fly, little bird, back to the gate!" He gives her a gentle shove.
She runs as best she can, kicking up the snow, uncertain ground throwing her off balance over and over. The howls are closer now, voices raised in terrifying song as more join the hunt.
The Wraith inspire a different kind of fear.
"We're. Not. Going. To. Make. It." The wind whips the words behind her.
"Stop then."
"Stop?!" She does it anyways, catching herself against a tree.
He grabs her unceremoniously by arm and hip and hoists her upwards, trusting her to catch the lowest branch before letting go and swinging himself up beside her. "Keep going."
She nods and turns from him, leaning on the trunk as she reaches up for the next branch.
He follows, hands steady, boosting her between branches with knee and shoulder.
~~~
The howling things burst into view, all smoke-and-cream fur and snapping jaws. They move too fast to count, but there must be at least a dozen.
"Now what?" she whispers, watching as they jump, snarling in frustration.
"Now? Now we kill them." He suits deed to determination, and sinks a throwing knife into a furry throat.
It coughs once and dies; its companions pause, then raise their heads and howl in chorus. A second falls, and a third before the pack realizes their vulnerability.
"Blaster?"
"You don't want to smell these once they burn. Trust me."
"Joy." Her hands slip from her pistol to her bandolier, and she braces herself; she meets a pair of too-green eyes and lets fly one of her spikes.
~~~
The easy kills are over quickly, seven bodies lying in the snow. The rest circle the tree, yipping and snarling, keeping their heads low.
"Go for the hip or shoulder."
"Got it," she mutters. Her first target stumbles and jerks its head up; a blade finds its throat before it can recover.
Then it's just another exercise, the targets moving more than usual, and less predictably.
She counts sixteen as the last stumbles to its death; only two spikes remain in her bandolier.
He tips back his head and howls in eerie imitation.
She jerks back in fear at the sound, barely catching herself, and stares while he listens.
The forest is silent again.
~~~
She wants nothing more than to collapse and spend the night trembling in reaction.
Instead, they spend hours tramping through the snow, hauling the carcasses into the trees; he pries a few claws from the last.
Then, by mutual agreement, they leave Narran behind.
~~~
"Were you scared?" The words are muffled against his throat; his arms tighten around her briefly and she feels his lips against her scalp.
"Anyone who would say no is a fool or a liar. I am not a fool."
She laughs softly, sad and broken. "Just a liar, then." She knows better than to think that true.
"Mm. When I have to. But not about this."
"No," she whispers, squirming in pointless effort to get closer before settling again. "Not about this."
~~~
Dawn breaks without sleep, the first she's seen of the three spent here. It holds no beauty, tension lingering, fear too slow to fade.
~~~
On Tagren, he trades one wicked claw and a hastily drawn map for stacks of market credit, then gives her half.
"Was it worth it?" she asks, relief tightening her throat, then fans her share out. The wooden strips bear markings she cannot read; they mean nothing to her.
His jaw tightens. "No. Makes it easier, but...no." Then he points to the credits in her hand, and tells her what each mark means.
She listens intently, setting values to memory. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she asks then, unable to resist.
"Tell you what?"
"Didn't think so," she mumbles under her breath. She'll have to live with not knowing why they'd gone to Narran.
~~~
He watches as she buys a dozen knives, a short sword; satisfied with her purchase, he adds a pair of tiny spikes to his own collection. They leave the weaponsmith smiling over a handful of credits, and frowning in concerned confusion over a note.
I am a Runner. I was told you can help me.
~~~
She frowns over jars of leaves and powders and oils; very few are familiar to her.
"Can I help you?" The stall owner is an older woman, sharp-eyed and knowing.
Uncertain, she falls back on habit. "I am a Runner. I cannot stay--"
"Yes, you have that look about you."
She swallows, glancing across the lane for her partner; his back is turned, hands gesturing as he speaks with another merchant.
"He yours?" the woman asks, amused.
She doesn't know how to answer.
"Not yet then, I take it."
"No." She watches as bottles are pulled out of a box and filled, listening for explanations and counting out payment. "Thank you," she says finally, painfully awkward and disturbed at how easily she'd been read.
"No need. Good luck with him. You're very lucky."
"Yes." She can't keep herself from smiling. "Yes, I am."
~~~
His eyes gleam with humor when they meet two stalls down, and she feels her face heat, her body clench.
~~~
Her credits are gone by the time they leave, spent on herbs and tea and candy, scented soap and other small luxuries; most of his are still in his moneybelt.
~~~
She throws herself back into training; he says nothing and humors her need to save face.
~~~
They find Gethat in the aftermath of a culling. She presents herself to what's left of the village council; her litany changes. "I am a Runner. I cannot stay, but I would help however I can."
There is no debate, nor even a shared glance. "You can best help by leaving."
She nods, bile acrid in her throat, and turns to her partner. "Stay, help them. I will meet you at Malkon when you have finished."
He raises gentle fingers to her temple, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Two days, little bird. Two days, and I will find you."
Her hand catches his wrist, cups his hand against her cheek. "They need your help more than I. I will be there, or come back." Then she is gone, running back to the Gate.
~~~
Next Chapter
Author:
thefrogg Beta: anonymous
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Author's Note: I'm giving up and posting part two.::glares at Tadd::
Previous Chapter: Chapter 1
Narran is in deep winter when they arrive, forest blanketed in white and eerily silent. He slips through the trees like a wraith, letting her stumble along behind him until she learns to pick up her feet and step in his tracks.
Grumbling, she scoops up a double handful of snow, packing it single-mindedly. It hits him in the back of the neck and splatters over his jacket.
He chuckles good-naturedly and shakes himself, but offers no retaliation.
"You could have said something."
"Little bird, some lessons are learned better by doing, not by hearing." He pauses to lift a branch out of her way; she waits for the snow weighing it down to slide off in wet clumps. "Besides, next time, you're breaking trail."
She shoots him a caustic look that he doesn't see. "I have smaller feet than you do."
"I said I would teach you what you need to know. I never said it would be easy."
"Or make sense, apparently."
~~~
Distant howling breaks the silence; he stops so abruptly she barrels into him and nearly falls.
"What is that?" Fear edges her voice and widens her eyes.
"Something that shouldn't be anywhere near here." Another howl echoes the first, off to their right; the first answers. "Fly, little bird, back to the gate!" He gives her a gentle shove.
She runs as best she can, kicking up the snow, uncertain ground throwing her off balance over and over. The howls are closer now, voices raised in terrifying song as more join the hunt.
The Wraith inspire a different kind of fear.
"We're. Not. Going. To. Make. It." The wind whips the words behind her.
"Stop then."
"Stop?!" She does it anyways, catching herself against a tree.
He grabs her unceremoniously by arm and hip and hoists her upwards, trusting her to catch the lowest branch before letting go and swinging himself up beside her. "Keep going."
She nods and turns from him, leaning on the trunk as she reaches up for the next branch.
He follows, hands steady, boosting her between branches with knee and shoulder.
~~~
The howling things burst into view, all smoke-and-cream fur and snapping jaws. They move too fast to count, but there must be at least a dozen.
"Now what?" she whispers, watching as they jump, snarling in frustration.
"Now? Now we kill them." He suits deed to determination, and sinks a throwing knife into a furry throat.
It coughs once and dies; its companions pause, then raise their heads and howl in chorus. A second falls, and a third before the pack realizes their vulnerability.
"Blaster?"
"You don't want to smell these once they burn. Trust me."
"Joy." Her hands slip from her pistol to her bandolier, and she braces herself; she meets a pair of too-green eyes and lets fly one of her spikes.
~~~
The easy kills are over quickly, seven bodies lying in the snow. The rest circle the tree, yipping and snarling, keeping their heads low.
"Go for the hip or shoulder."
"Got it," she mutters. Her first target stumbles and jerks its head up; a blade finds its throat before it can recover.
Then it's just another exercise, the targets moving more than usual, and less predictably.
She counts sixteen as the last stumbles to its death; only two spikes remain in her bandolier.
He tips back his head and howls in eerie imitation.
She jerks back in fear at the sound, barely catching herself, and stares while he listens.
The forest is silent again.
~~~
She wants nothing more than to collapse and spend the night trembling in reaction.
Instead, they spend hours tramping through the snow, hauling the carcasses into the trees; he pries a few claws from the last.
Then, by mutual agreement, they leave Narran behind.
~~~
"Were you scared?" The words are muffled against his throat; his arms tighten around her briefly and she feels his lips against her scalp.
"Anyone who would say no is a fool or a liar. I am not a fool."
She laughs softly, sad and broken. "Just a liar, then." She knows better than to think that true.
"Mm. When I have to. But not about this."
"No," she whispers, squirming in pointless effort to get closer before settling again. "Not about this."
~~~
Dawn breaks without sleep, the first she's seen of the three spent here. It holds no beauty, tension lingering, fear too slow to fade.
~~~
On Tagren, he trades one wicked claw and a hastily drawn map for stacks of market credit, then gives her half.
"Was it worth it?" she asks, relief tightening her throat, then fans her share out. The wooden strips bear markings she cannot read; they mean nothing to her.
His jaw tightens. "No. Makes it easier, but...no." Then he points to the credits in her hand, and tells her what each mark means.
She listens intently, setting values to memory. "You aren't going to tell me, are you?" she asks then, unable to resist.
"Tell you what?"
"Didn't think so," she mumbles under her breath. She'll have to live with not knowing why they'd gone to Narran.
~~~
He watches as she buys a dozen knives, a short sword; satisfied with her purchase, he adds a pair of tiny spikes to his own collection. They leave the weaponsmith smiling over a handful of credits, and frowning in concerned confusion over a note.
I am a Runner. I was told you can help me.
~~~
She frowns over jars of leaves and powders and oils; very few are familiar to her.
"Can I help you?" The stall owner is an older woman, sharp-eyed and knowing.
Uncertain, she falls back on habit. "I am a Runner. I cannot stay--"
"Yes, you have that look about you."
She swallows, glancing across the lane for her partner; his back is turned, hands gesturing as he speaks with another merchant.
"He yours?" the woman asks, amused.
She doesn't know how to answer.
"Not yet then, I take it."
"No." She watches as bottles are pulled out of a box and filled, listening for explanations and counting out payment. "Thank you," she says finally, painfully awkward and disturbed at how easily she'd been read.
"No need. Good luck with him. You're very lucky."
"Yes." She can't keep herself from smiling. "Yes, I am."
~~~
His eyes gleam with humor when they meet two stalls down, and she feels her face heat, her body clench.
~~~
Her credits are gone by the time they leave, spent on herbs and tea and candy, scented soap and other small luxuries; most of his are still in his moneybelt.
~~~
She throws herself back into training; he says nothing and humors her need to save face.
~~~
They find Gethat in the aftermath of a culling. She presents herself to what's left of the village council; her litany changes. "I am a Runner. I cannot stay, but I would help however I can."
There is no debate, nor even a shared glance. "You can best help by leaving."
She nods, bile acrid in her throat, and turns to her partner. "Stay, help them. I will meet you at Malkon when you have finished."
He raises gentle fingers to her temple, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Two days, little bird. Two days, and I will find you."
Her hand catches his wrist, cups his hand against her cheek. "They need your help more than I. I will be there, or come back." Then she is gone, running back to the Gate.
~~~
Next Chapter
