Disclaimer: I don't own "Stargate: Atlantis." I am in no way trying to make a profit off this story, I am merely writing it and posting for my and other people's enjoyment.
Synopsis: He'd always led a dangerous existence, a berserker warrior Runner who unleashed his wrath on his enemies. Ronon-centric, slight RononTeyla
Warnings: Violence, character death
Pairings: very slight Ronon/Teyla
Spoilers: Runner; Sateda
Title: Far Away
Dedication: To Dia.Dahling, who threatened me until I posted this. And to TeylaFan, for her patience and for my new sig. Thank you both so much! -hugs-
Author's notes: I have had a very bad day today, and I sat down and wrote this in five minutes. I sent it to my best friend, because she asked how bad my day was and she knows that I translate my emotions in my writing. She came back and demanded I post it. So I'm taking her word for it and sharing it with you all. Though I warn you now: This is one of the darker fics I've written. Thank you so much for checking this fic out, and I hope you enjoy! (And if you wanted to drop a review, that wouldn't bother me. . . lol)
He'd always led a dangerous existence, a berserker warrior Runner who unleashed his wrath on his enemies. He trusted no one. Stayed nowhere. Became a feral, rage-filled creature who knew nothing but the fight.
It stained the battlefield bright crimson. It made no distinction between ally and enemy. It poured and gushed and led to death. It dripped across his hands, down his clothes. All he could see was the blood.
It was his enemy, but his ally. It flowed from the end of his blaster like a tidal wave, sweeping aside the enemy as if they were mere irritants yapping at his heels. But then there were the times when it took those he loved: friends, comrades, family, his world, his home, his wife. It was always his companion, forever his curse: death.
It filled him. It flowed from his core and through his body like fire, burning and destroying everything it came in contact with. It became him – or he became it – as he released his vengeance upon those who had stolen everything from him: his past, his present, his future. It slowly began to come close to avenging her prolonged suffering; her painful death; his shrieking agony. It was his only friend now: rage.
It came quickly, at the end of his own weapon, held by the very enemy that had killed her. It stole away everything in an overwhelming flood of pain, anguish – a scream that hurt his ears, ripped from his throat by the knowledge that it had come without his completing his goal: end.
It returned slowly, with a touch on his forehead of soft lips. And the brush of warm, slight fingers on his arm. Teyla, returned to him. Or he returned to her, through their love.
Ronon woke to the first rosy beams of dawn to a small warmth curled into his side, soft breaths across his throat. A tumble of golden hair fanned across his chest and the hand tangled in the soft tresses. Light glowed on her honey skin, and he knew. This was real, and all the suffering had been nothing more than a dream.