Finding Home

Ronon has to decide where his home truly lies - with a blue-eyed doctor or a village claiming to be his people.

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16. 16

Ronon remained standing just inside the doorway. To his way of thinking, they actually had very little to talk about. A quick glimpse of his future then his dealings with the witch would cease. A question or two on his part; an explanation on hers, and that would be the end of it.

He ignored her request to sit, but instead, stared at her intently. Ronon's somber green eyes shone well past a level of fury; they now bore the resemblance of Death itself – cold, dark and merciless.

A low rumble came from deep within the man. The growl was certain proof that the beast strained against its bonds. Any fool – even a blind one – could pick up on the warning signs. What with his ridged stance, the rhythmic tic of the muscle in his jaw and the unholy expression etched upon his face, Ronon barely held the beast in check.

Had there been a colleague of Ronon's in the room, they would have immediately informed the witch that her life was in grave danger. Hell any sensible individual – friend or foe – who might wittiness that look - and who might also wanted to continue breathing - would have tread with caution.

However, at the current moment, there was only the witch and Ronon in the cottage. And this certain Vi'denus, with her unwavering smile, seemed oblivious to the danger. She looked so serene. So calm. Ronon's fingers twitched with the urge to wring the woman's pretty little neck for being so at peace. So in control. The briefest of sneers crossed his lips at the thought but was quickly gone before Ronon spoke again.

"I will ask but once more, woman." he commanded in his low resonating voice. "Who. Are. You?" He greatly emphasized the last three words to get his point across which was tell me sooner rather than later.

Narrowing his eyes, Ronon watched as she tilted her head slightly to one side. She seemed to be deciding on how much or how little information she planned to tell him. With a coy smile upon her beautiful face, she at least graced him with her name.

"My name is Dusana", she announced in a sultry voice.

"I am the last descendant of the House Au'den."

And with that said, she fluttered about the room, gathering together a mortar and pestle, a small wooden bowl, and various sized jars of herbs and powders from the cupboard. Then setting the items upon the table, she began measuring out the different ingredients – a pinch of this, a palm full of that. Her attention riveted to her task.

Taking a step towards her, Ronon continued in his dangerous do not fuck with me tone.

"How do you know me?" he inquired.

It seemed that Dusana again paid no attention to his question for she was too busy with her ritual of grinding, measuring and mixing. The urge to strangle the bitch flowed swiftly through him yet again. Ronon took yet another step closer to her, placing him at arm's length from her. If he wished, he could just grab her and shake her until she told him what he wanted to know.

While he considered that particular action, Dusana glanced over at him. Her honey-colored eyes followed Ronon's hand as he placed it upon the grip of his gun. He had decided that shaking the answers out of her was not as much fun as scaring the answers out of her. However, the deliberate movement did not seem to bother her at all, he noted. She was either very stupid or very confident. Or both. Stupidly confident.

Once more Dusana tilted her head to one side considering his question before answering.

"We have met twice before, Ronon Dex."

She could see the great warrior trying to place her by sorting through his memories. Ronon's puzzled look had her grinning.

"You do not remember", Dusana said as she lay the pestle down upon the table.

Brushing her hands together to clean them, she flipped her copper hair back over her shoulder. Facing Ronon, she went on talking. "Of course you would not," shaking her head and waving a delicate hand in the air, "It was many years ago," she said absentmindedly as she made her way over to the hearth.

Dusana picked out a ruby red jar which sat upon the mantel and removed its shiny silver lid. Ronon watched as the witch poured a small amount of the jar's contents into her cupped hand. After placing the lid back tightly upon the jar, she tossed the herbs that she held in her hand into the fire. The dried plants flared for a second before being consumed by the flames. Straightening, she turned to face Ronon again, continuing, "Why would you? I was but a small child then. No more than seven summers in age."

"I was on an errand for my mother," she stood in between Ronon and the table, calling to mind the encounter. "It was the season of the rains." the witch began as she absently played with one of her copper tresses.

"However, on this particular day the rain had stopped. Even with the sun shining brightly the street was a muddy mess. Anyway I was crossing one of the main streets of the city. I had not looked as carefully as I should before crossing."

Dusana's eyes focused on a memory of long ago, "I would had surely been run over and killed by the speeding vehicle if it were not for a young brave warrior who scooped me up and surely saved my life." With her thoughts returning to the present, she finished with a bright grin upon her face.

Ronon traveled back through his memories trying to recall such an incident. He remembered horsing around with his buddies from the academy one such day as they walked along the sidewalk. He remembered a young child crossing the street as a military class A schooner headed right for her. Out of instinct he ran and grabbed her. Spiriting the child to safety before a tragic accident occurred.

"You remember." she said clasping her hands together in delight. She had been watching his face while the memory formed in his mind.

"Vaguely." Ronon mumbled. Her enthusiasm made him nervous.

"When was the second encounter?""

"I was several years older when we next met -" she paused a bit and shrugged her slender shoulders, "- actually we did not really meet face to face." She laughed - a tinkling sounding laugh. "I was thirteen summers maybe then. My powers were starting to reveal themselves to me. Mother would not let me stay and watch as she glimpsed your future and that of your woman's."

Ronon remained silent; remembering that event with more clarity.

A soft sigh brought his attention back to the present and the young witch that stood before him.

"Please do sit", Dusana coaxed. "Looking up at you at such a height is starting to give me a sore neck."

She motioned for him to take one of chairs as she sat down opposite him. Grudgingly Ronon did as she asked – his gaze traveled to the fireplace and the crackling logs. The flame's soft orange glow was the only light illuminating the room because the night had chased the sun from its realm some time ago, Ronon realized. He slowly became mesmerized by the fire.

Frowning, he breathed in deeply to clear his head. The heady pungent smell of the herbs and flowers that she had thrown into the fire earlier surrounded him. Still staring at the hearth he became aware that he could not feel the fire's warmth. A chill went through him – through to his very core.

Ronon tried to stand but his vision blurred. Sitting back down, he pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed tight his eyes. He shook his head to try and clear it but everything was distorted.

From a distance, he heard the dark beast growl. What the fuck?, his cluttered mind thought.

Ronon felt weak. He felt like all the muscles in his body had lost their power to move. He felt like he had sparred with the entire occupants of Atlantis and ran the entire length of it.

For the first time in his life as a warrior, if he had to fight right at this moment, he knew that he would lose. His mind seemed to be filled with shadows. What was wrong with him?

"Ronon?"

He would have physically jumped if his muscles would have obeyed his command because now the witch stood directly behind him. Her warm breath tickling his neck and cheek as she softly whispered his name close to his ear. Her hands rested upon his broad shoulders.

Closing his eyes, his mind raced. Wasn't she just sitting in front of me? When did she get up to stand behind me?

Seeing him trying to figure out what was happening, Dusana confessed.

"The herbs." she cooed next to his ear. "The herbs that I placed upon the fire earlier," switching to the other side of his head, she continued. "They are a combination of things that I will not bore you with, but I assume by now you feel as weak as a newborn babe." She gently brushed a stray dreadlock from his face.

Ronon could only glare at her. Why wasn't she affected?, was his only thought he grasped onto.

"I am a Vi'denus. We are immune to such things." she whispered as she ran a finger along his jaw.

Had he said that out loud or had she read his mind?

Ronon willed his muscles to respond as he clumsily reached for his gun.

"Oh! No, no, no. I will take that from you."

She brushed his hand aside and removed the huge weapon. It was heavier than what she thought. The warrior made it look so easy to use.

"I will just put this over here." She said walking over to the hearth and placing it upon the mantel. "You can have it later," looking him over, she devoured him with her eyes.

"Much later!"

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