Vision

by EGrace

What if Daniel had had a little more time to deal with the death of his beloved wife? If you'll recall, he fell in love in the very next episode.

Title: Vision

Author: Elizabeth Grace

Dated: March 2007

Environ: Stargate SG-1

Categories: English / 27,600 Words / Adventure; Drama; Friendship

Rating: "T" This story contains some violence and mild language and is not appropriate for children under the age of 13.

Disclaimer: Vision is written by a fan for fans for the sole purpose of enjoyment. It is not intended to infringe upon copyrights held by Dean Devlin, Roland Emmerich, MGM, Showtime, Forever in a Day author Jonathan Glassner, or any other licensed holders of copyrights to Stargate or Stargate SG-1.

Distribution: I'd be honored if fellow fans create links on their sites to this story or share it with even more fans via distribution lists. I would ask only that you give credit (or blame, as the case may be) to the author. A little advance warning of your intentions would also be nice.

Feedback: Definitely welcome, whether good, bad, or indifferent. "That which does not kill me will only make me stronger."

Spoilers: Vision is set immediately following the events of the third season episode Forever in a Day. Yes, I said third season. The first draft of this story was written way back. The dialogue in the Prologue is that actually spoken in the final scene of the episode.

Premise: What if Daniel had had a little more time to deal with the death of his beloved wife?

Notes:

1. During my research I came across no less than four variations of Sha'uri and two variations of Amaunet. The use of Sha'uri in Vision is an intentional choice, not an unintentional error; I prefer the original pronunciation from the film, which I believe is best reflected with this spelling. The use of Amaunet is simply my preference.

2. Sakhmet (also spelled Sekhmet) and Ptah (pronounced "tah") were an actual goddess and god in the Egyptian pantheon. The smattering of facts which Daniel tells Jack in Vision was originally obtained at The "old" words which Ilaria uses are in fact Italian. As I don't speak Italian all that well, I relied heavily on translations I obtained through I tried to make the translations obvious in the text, but if you have any doubts there is a short dictionary at the end. Additionally, the title "doge" (soft "g") is the actual historical title for the ruler of Venice.

Prologue

Daniel lay on the floor of the tent and stared disbelieving at the gentle perfection of his wife's dark, exotic beauty. Pain blossomed wild and raw behind his eyes, but he forced them to stay open and he stared, consumed by the stunning sight of her after so long. Thick, lustrous curls, soft against her cheek, soft around his fingers--even softer than he remembered. Full lips that could tease or scold, soothe or excite, smiling gently at him now. And those warm brown eyes, their depths shimmering and sparkling. He'd been lost in those eyes since the first time he'd looked at her--and finally, finally, the demon was gone, leaving only Sha'uri to stare back at him, the same amazement in her tender gaze.

"I love you, Daniel," she whispered, and hope and love and relief surged in his breast.

Sha'uri. After so long, Sha'uri. But even as he watched, the light in her eyes dimmed and flickered and was gone. She was gone. After everything they'd been through, despite all his promises he'd… A terrible ache welled up in his heart, spread cold and heavy and paralyzing through his soul. And still he stared.

She could be sleeping. God--he wished she were just sleeping. Soft and beautiful and sleeping by his side. Anywhere--even on this godforsaken planet. Just… sleeping.

But no breath warmed his trembling fingers. Sha'uri would not smile at his touch and move into his arms. There was no life, no light, no warmth left within her. He'd failed her. The dreams she'd given him spun in his head with the pain and--and words…

"I am sorry, Daniel Jackson." The words came to him from a distance, soft and heavy…

Teal'c.

He remembered forgiving Teal'c--she'd made sure he would forgive Teal'c--but Teal'c hadn't failed her… he had. Standing right in front of her, too overwhelmed at the sight and the sound and the simple presence of his wife to reach out and grab her hand and that insidious ribbon device and protect them both, giving Amaunet time to act--and forcing Teal'c to choose.

"You did the right thing, Teal'c," he managed. I left you no way to save her.

The totality of her loss--his fault--crushed him, pressed him into the floor, crashed through his hopes and his dreams and all the promises he'd made to them both in the long, awful nights of their separation.

"Oh… God."

"Teal'c?"

Words--more words--and he struggled to understand, fought stubbornly against the pain whirling faster, brighter--that was Sam, and Jack, bringing thoughts of the mission, Kasuf, the child--the child--but Daniel didn't care, didn't want to care, there was only Sha'uri…

Oh, Sha'uri… For so long he'd ached for her, dreamed of her, and now she was here, right in front of him… but she was gone. Gone. His fault. The tears fell, hot and stinging.

"Daniel Jackson will be fine," Teal'c said, but Daniel didn't believe that.

His fault… Sha'uri!

He couldn't see her anymore. Daniel blinked, panicked breaths skittering in his lungs, blinked furiously to make her come once more into focus through the scalding tears. But there was brilliant, blazing light now--that horrible device--vicious, incandescent pain searing his head and sizzling down his back and ruthlessly taking him away from her.

Sha'uri-- "I love you, too," he choked, reaching through the dazzling, fiery light, but the hand that gripped his wasn't hers. Jack… Only Jack couldn't help. He had lost her--he had failed her.

He tried to speak, to beg to be left alone with her just a little longer, blinked again to clear his eyes--but they moved him, rolled him to his back, and his head exploded with blistering, breathtaking pain.

He gasped, seized with the shock of it, his back arching hard and high, while the pain shook him and pounded him and sliced through him mercilessly. When the darkness fell full and heavy he almost welcomed it. But this time, there would be no more dreams of Sha'uri. He'd failed her, and lost her, and there would be no more dreams.

Forgive me, he begged her, and plummeted with the darkness.

One

Daniel listened, heart thudding wildly, as the Gate scraped and spun in its tracks. The seventh chevron locked into place, stone grating on stone, the sound reverberating in his spine. Gate energy crackled and he couldn't help but wince as the event horizon whooshed and flared and reached for him. He turned, looked away from that softly shimmering light, thinking hard about giving himself another day or two before he tried this again.

Except he couldn't handle another silent day of roaming his lonely apartment and his empty office with nothing but guilt and a very concerned Jack or Sam dropping by. And he'd promised her. He'd promised Sha'uri he'd look for the boy. That meant grabbing what was left of himself without her and starting over, stepping through that god-awful portal and throwing his body half way across the galaxy and praying he could hold it together now that he knew she wasn't out there anymore.

He could do this. He would do this. He would not break another promise to her. Daniel blinked, breathed deep, turned back to the Gate and his teammates. And only barely kept from wincing again at the guilt and misery still burning deep in Teal'c's eyes.

"We could do this without you, Daniel," Jack said, shrugging with deceptive calm, eyes dark and carefully, sympathetically blank, "if you need another day or two." As if nothing more than the headaches was holding him back.

Daniel felt his throat close--knew with desperate certainty that he'd break down and sob like a baby and never step through the Gate again if he didn't move--so he moved, pushing past Sam and Jack and Teal'c and staring down at the ramp as he walked. Behind him Teal'c moved first, his tread steady and nearly silent, and finally Jack and Sam scrambled after them.

The platform leveled. Another few feet and… Head down, Daniel clenched his fists and stepped into the event horizon, leaving Earth behind.

The Stargate grabbed him, shredded him, screamed through him and flung him effortlessly to PT7256. That icy tingle in his fingertips, that little hitch in his breath--so familiar, and all that remained of his body's recovery from Gate travel. Automatically he stepped away on the platform, to give them room behind him. Warm, moist air ruffled his hair, and he looked up before he could think about it.

It was barely morning here, and probably early summer for this hemisphere of PT7256. The small meadow that housed the Gate was blooming, overrun by a host of unusual flowers, and the woods surrounding them were lush and vibrant with new growth. As the noise of the Gate's activation faded, birdsong resumed, wandering with the breeze to add a final touch to the bucolic picture.

"Well, now, this is an exciting place," Jack sighed, slowly turning and scanning the forest.

Sam looked up from checking on the DHD, a small, wry smile shaping her lips. "Yes, sir," she agreed. "Everything's in working order."

Daniel breathed deeply of the fragrant air and marginally relaxed. "I think we're overdue for a quiet, peaceful planet," he said softly. Please, he prayed, not even sure anymore what god he was praying to. Let this be a simple mission, uncomplicated and easy. Just this once. I don't know how much more than that I can handle.

Jack snorted. "Quiet? Peaceful? Sounds familiar, but I can't quite place it." He turned once more. "Anybody got anything?"

"Yes," Teal'c spoke for the first time. "There is a structure visible."

Daniel pulled his binoculars from his pocket and focused the lenses where Teal'c pointed, through the break in the trees to the west, his brow crinkling and his stomach clenching as he considered the stronghold perched like a sentinel on the mountaintop.

"It's got a strong European look--possibly Italian. More castle than fortress, so its builders were likely unopposed. I think--yes, there are flags flying."

"Sounds like somebody's home. Let's go to work, people," Jack ordered, heading for the trees. "We've got a good two or three hours of hiking ahead of us. Teal'c, you're on point."

Daniel tucked his binoculars away and fell into line behind Sam. Maybe they would be friendly people who'd never even heard of the Goa'uld. Maybe there wouldn't be any plagues or mind-altering machines or deadly weapons or wife-stealing de-- Daniel forced a deep breath into his lungs, searched wildly for anything else to think about. "Ah, it's not exactly easy to get there from here, is it?" he finally commented.

"There is a path," Teal'c announced. Daniel glanced up as Teal'c pushed aside a low-hanging branch and nearly disappeared into a thick, dark cluster of trees.

"A path? You're kidding." Sam followed cautiously.

"I am not. It is overgrown, but visible." Teal'c's reassurance drifted back, already muted by the dense forest.

Daniel paused at the clearing's edge. "I wonder why they didn't build closer," he mused aloud, gauging the distance once more. "I mean, with the Gate out in the open like this, not to mention visible from that castle, they must know it's here."

"Good question, Daniel. I can't see too many Goa'uld tolerating a hike like this one's going to be," Jack scoffed.

He had to swallow the lump in his throat. Sha'uri would have been enthralled with the beauty of this wild, unknown forest. He had to take another deep breath. "Maybe we'll get that easy mission after all, Jack." He glanced back over his shoulder just in time to catch Jack's sad smile.

"If you say so, Daniel. Watch your step."

Daniel was too busy stumbling over a gnarled old root to reply.

Two

"Ahhh, there you are," Ilaria whispered. She turned back a little to the left. Yes--there. The wind carried the unmistakable minty scent of the plant she wanted. There might even be enough, judging from the strength of the scent, that she could finally make the trade with Rilla. With any luck, Emers wouldn't be there this time.

Ilaria stepped off the trail into the woods, navigating through the undergrowth cautiously. She hadn't been this far into the forest since before Avo had died. But of course Emers didn't want anything that grew closer to her house. Of course she'd gone to speak to Rilla the one time Emers hadn't been with his patients. Of course he'd demanded a higher price than usual for Rilla's weaving. Ilaria sighed and kept walking. Her grandfather would have made her laugh, and see this as just another adventure. Forty steps, as the scent of the inverdura grew stronger. Forty-five. Until finally she heard and felt the stems break under her feet.

Ilaria backed up a pace and sank carefully down, setting her walking staff aside and pulling her shoulder pouch around. Eagerly she reached out to collect the delicate leaves. New, soft, clean clothing. It would be worth it, if all this work meant she could finally have two new skirts and a tunic for the summer. Humming softly, Ilaria picked until the pouch was over half full.

Finally she pulled a small knife from her belt and felt on the ground until she could grip the base of one of the plants. Enough of this nonsense. It had taken half the morning to find this much inverdura--time she could have spent walking the hour to Emers and Rilla's house. The next time someone demanded this particular rare plant, she'd have it growing wild and full in her own garden.

She dug with the knife, enough to loosen the soil around the base of the plant, and gently pulled. Ilaria sighed in relief to feel the roots slide across her fingers. They were easily transplanted then. Ilaria calculated: four plants ought to be enough to keep a good stock on hand, if she harvested the leaves regularly this summer. She added the first plant to her pouch and set to work digging out the others.

Three

Nearly two hours later, Daniel still wasn't sure if they were following a trail. But Teal'c led with unwavering conviction, heading steadily westward, and Daniel couldn't drum up enough enthusiasm to question their path. He simply plodded after Sam.

It still surprized him, that he could so easily keep up, but a year of hard, physical life on Abydos, followed by two years of Stargate missions full of hikes like this one, had honed his soft scholar's body. An unexpected side effect, from an unexpected number of turns his life had taken.

He shook his head, wondering not for the first time what his life would be like now if Catherine had been any less compelling when she'd pulled him out of the rain to talk in her staff car. If he'd had even a hundred dollars more in his pocket, would he have heeded the knots in his stomach, and ignored her job offer?

Maybe. If she hadn't piqued his curiosity. But his unquenchable thirst for knowledge had driven him then as relentlessly as ever, egging him on to learn, see, experience, understand. Even on Abydos, peaceful and relaxed and gloriously happy with Sha'uri and her people, he'd explored and experimented and learned. All his life he'd filled the emptiness in his soul with curiosity. Sha'uri had understood. She'd been so indulgent. Well… Daniel smiled to himself. Most of the time. Until she would decide she'd had enough and drag him home to eat, or to sleep. To love. Or simply to be. Once she'd been taken… Friendship had filled some of the emptiness, and hope. But his curiosity had been what had truly sustained him. Because someday, if he learned enough, maybe he would understand.

But now? Now, when the hope had been taken from him? When she was gone? When those precious memories of their year together, so distant now, no longer soothed the ache in his soul? Would curiosity be enough? Daniel sighed heavily, deeply afraid it would not.

"Another headache, Daniel?" Jack asked, the light, quiet words nevertheless laced with worry.

Daniel paused and dredged up a small smile. He'd have to work harder at reassuring his friends. They worried too damned much. Although now that Jack had said something… "It's not bad," he shrugged. He turned back, ignoring the small headache once more, blindly moving just to keep moving, and would have fallen if Jack hadn't grabbed his arm.

"Woah--thanks, Jack," Daniel mumbled. Yeah, falling on his face on this suddenly steep slope would have done a lot to reassure Jack. He looked up, forcing himself to pay attention, and followed Sam's example, using the trees to brace himself and control his descent. At the bottom of the hill Sam sat down, her back to a tree that resembled an oak, and pulled out a bottle of water. The trail was slightly more obvious here, and Teal'c was already far ahead, almost out of sight.

"Where's Teal'c going in such a hurry?" Daniel asked, reaching for his own water and drawing several long, easy swallows.

Sam took a few sips and tipped her hat back to look up at him. "Just scouting ahead for a bit. If that castle overlooks a village, we could be close to the outer borders. We can wait here."

"Sounds like a plan," Jack agreed, sitting down right in the middle of the hill. He dug into a pocket and produced a Snickers.

Daniel rotated his shoulders, resettling his pack, and began patting his own arsenal of pockets. Surely he'd remembered a snack. Binoculars, sunscreen, tape recorder, flashlight, antihistamines, Swiss Army knife, notebook, tissues, pen, stills camera… Daniel pulled out the notebook and pen and sat to make his first note for PT7256: Forgot chocolate.

What else? Idly Daniel rubbed at his temple and tried to gather his scattered thoughts. Appears to be early summer, he finally continued. Temp is in the 70's. Plant life is abundant, varied, and most closely resembles eastern North America. Terrain is mountainous. Evidence of birds and small mammals. Woods have an old, primal feel, with no signs yet of--

Another Snickers landed in his lap. "Thanks, Jack," he said absently, and tore open the wrapper.

--no signs yet of development or encroachment by the inhabitants.

Principle indication of PT7256's civilization so far is a structure visible from the Gate, but several miles distant. Structure resembles a medieval to early Renaissance European-style castle, with Italian overtones to the architecture. Flags indicate present occupation.

Hmm. But by whom? No signs yet of Jaffa. No Goa'uld aircraft in the air. Was it just wishful thinking, or had the Goa'uld never plundered this planet?

No evidence of the Goa'uld as yet. Presuming, then, that the castle is more recent than the Gate, the distance from the Gate and the difficulty of the "trail" lead me to believe either the Gate has--

A shadow fell over his notebook.

"The trail widens ahead," Teal'c calmly reported. "In approximately 200 meters another trail crosses this path, and there are signs someone has recently traveled this secondary track northward."

"Do we stick to the original trail, Colonel?" Sam stood, brushing off the seat of her pants, and Daniel popped the last of his Snickers into his mouth and scribbled the last of his notes as he, too, stood.

--the Gate has always been unimportant to these people, or it has become so over time.

Jack scrambled down the rest of the hill as he considered. "Negative. We don't know who these people are yet, and I'd rather not have hostiles coming in behind us. If someone's out here I want to know who and what they are. Into the woods, folks. Teal'c, bring us up parallel to that secondary track, heading north."

Resolutely Daniel tucked his water, notebook, and pen away and pushed his glasses back up on his nose. Here we go. Please. Let them be friendly, and free of these parasites.

Jack squeezed his shoulder as he brushed past. "Recon only, people--no contact yet. I've never trusted this much peace and quiet."

Four

Ilaria hummed cheerfully, luxuriating in the soft, cool feel of her hands in the earth, breathing deeply of her garden's scents. The inverdura would do well here, in this sweet, shadowed part of her garden at the forest's edge. Carefully she lowered the final plant in its hole and pushed and pressed the earth into place around it. A cup of water from the bucket, ladled evenly around the base, and she was done.

Oh, but she'd managed to get her back all knotted up. Sighing, Ilaria arched her back and rotated her shoulders and finally stretched her arms high, easing the small aches while around her the forest rustled and twittered. Her stomach rumbled and Ilaria groaned--this had taken far too long. A quick lunch, then, before she walked into Pianto.

Ilaria dusted her hands off and plunged them into the bucket, splashing the still icy water onto her face and lifting her hair to smooth her cold, wet hand along her neck. A warm snuff of breath gave her only a moment's warning before Ghost thrust his snout over her shoulder and licked her cheek.

"Ghost," she chided, laughing, fighting for balance while he pressed against her back and did his best to wash all the spring water from her face. He whuffed, raising up to push his paws playfully into her shoulder, and Ilaria reached and grabbed and tumbled backwards with him, unable to resist. They wrestled and smacked and snapped at each other until suddenly Ghost went still and stiff-legged, nose up as he sifted through the scents on the shifting breeze. He tensed, his growl barely audible, and at his unmistakable behavior Ilaria's hand tightened on the scruff of fur she still clasped.

People. But… no one walked this far, no one even hunted this deep into the woods. She was the only thing here, and no one had ever made the journey just to see her. Had she done something wrong? Numbly Ilaria thought back over her last visit to the city. Only a few hours, before the disapproving silence had shaken her enough to send her hurrying home. She'd visited Rilla's shop, bargained with Emers for the clothing. She'd traded for the leather she'd needed, and bought some seeds. No! She had offended no one.

The sounds reached her then. Small, insignificant, still some distance away. Ilaria turned her head, listening, focusing, and sifted the unnatural tones and whispers carried by the wind from the natural music of the forest.

There. Metal clinked--tools? And--there, as well? Rustling--cloth, as they walked.

Whoever they were, however many there were, they were not on the trail. And they would see her soon.

"Go," she whispered fiercely, pushing Ghost away as she stood and shook out her skirts. They would not find her playing in the dirt with her "demon" companion. But Ghost leaned hard into her leg, making her stagger.

"So be it, Ghost," she murmured, pausing to bend and lovingly run her hands over the animal. "If you are this determined, then we meet them together." Ghost licked her chin in answer, and Ilaria buried her face in his coat. He stood patiently while she let her uncertainty and irritation run off her, and breathed in the peace of her forest.

The metal clinked again, louder, and Ilaria quickly grabbed her staff and stood once more. Closer now, the signs of their movement were more easily read. There were at least two--or perhaps three?--thank heavens Ghost had stayed! But--they were wearing clothing that crackled oddly and shoes that thumped the ground with a curious resonance. Ilaria gripped her staff more tightly and, breathing deeply, turned her face to the noises as they grew clearer.

The closest one abruptly stopped. That odd cloth whispered with movement, and the sounds of their passage went silent. They'd all seen her, or been warned. Ilaria straightened her shoulders. This was her home, however much they might wish otherwise. She would greet them as her grandfather would have. Let them take it as they would.

"Hand to heart and soul," Ilaria spoke clearly, letting her voice carry, and touched her palm to her heart and forehead. "I give you greetings. I am Ilaria." She turned her palm out to the closest one, then let her hand fall. Ghost shoved his nose into her hand, and she almost smiled.

Cloth crackled softly again, as that one moved forward.

"Hand to heart and soul," he said, hesitantly, apparently repeating the gesture. "I give you greetings in return. I am Daniel."

Not quite right, but then so few still knew the old customs. Well, whatever had driven them all the way to her, they had exchanged the greetings for neighbors. Ilaria relaxed a little. But--why would he not name the others? Did he mean to insult her?

"And your friends?" she asked, more sharply than her grandfather would have approved. But then, he'd never endured what she had.

"Oh--I'm sorry," Daniel stammered. "I didn't realize-- This is Jack, and Sam, and Teal'c."

Such odd names, she mused, as their movements betrayed the presence of three others. Names which gave her no clues where in Pianto they might be from. Ilaria hesitated. Who were these people? "You are far out of Pianto, vicinos," she finally continued, taking refuge once more in the old customs. "May I help you?"

"Well, actually," Daniel spoke again. "We're not from--'Pianto,' did you say? We're visitors here."

"Visitors?" Ilaria repeated, brow wrinkling with confusion. "From the east? Are you lost?"

"Not exactly. We're from a place very far away. We came through the Stargate."

"'Stargate'?" Ilaria stumbled over the strange word, at a loss. "But… there is nothing to the east. Where is this other place?"

"The Stargate isn't a place, it's a thing. You haven't seen it, two hours east of here? Great big circular thing, sitting in a meadow?"

"The Circolo?" Ilaria gasped. "You have walked to the Circolo? I mean no disrespect, neighbors, but--why?"

"You know the Gate--the Circolo. That means 'circle,' Jack." His voice had lowered, steeped in cautious deliberation. "Of course. But we didn't walk to it, Ilaria, we came from a place called Earth, through the Circolo."

Through the Circolo. The stories…

Brutal, suffocating fear lanced through her and Ilaria staggered back, grabbing Ghost by the ruff to drag him with her. She dropped her staff and ripped the dagger from her belt, holding it to her own throat as Ghost crowded close, growling menacingly.

"I will not be taken to host your demon serpente," she snarled, trembling so badly she was already drawing blood. "If you waited another thousand years, there would still be those like me who know the stories! You will not take us unawares again!"

"Ilaria, NO!" Daniel had started forward, but Ghost's growl spiraled to a furious bark that stopped him cold. "PLEASE, don't hurt yourself!"

His voice was jagged with agitation, frayed with panic--and dark with an agony so intense that Ilaria hesitated.

"I host no serpent," he fiercely vowed, "nor do my friends. We are their enemies!"

"I know the stories," she snapped. "You came through the Circolo."

"The Gate--the Circolo--it's just a path, Ilaria. A road that anyone can use if they know how. The Goa'uld--the serpents--they aren't even the ones who built the Circolo. They just use it, to steal people away from their homes and families to host them and their children."

Again Ilaria hesitated. The stories spoke of only the serpentes and their servants. No one else had ever come through the Circolo. But this Daniel's voice held loathing when he spoke of the serpentes, and echoed hollowly with the same lonely ache that sometimes threatened to overwhelm her.

Ilaria sank to her knees amidst the inverdura she'd trampled, suddenly weary to the depths of her soul. She either died by her own hand, trusting the stories, or she trusted what she heard in this man's voice. She had never felt so alone.

"Help me, Avo," she whispered.

These are the stories, piccina. As I have heard them, so I tell you. They are old stories, from so long ago that those who lived them are gone to dust. But we can never forget, for the Circolo will always stand.

"Ilaria," Daniel murmured, his hushed voice no less intense. She gripped the dagger more tightly, for he had crouched down to speak to her, and edged closer while the memories filled her.

"Please," he continued, the single word sharp with desperation. "The Goa'uld came to our world, so long ago that we forgot. But since they've come again we've fought them. We're just here to--"

"The stories," she choked, trembling. His words echoed so eerily with her grandfather's that Ilaria couldn't breathe. Was he the storyteller for his people? Could this be true?

"Daniel," another interrupted, urgently--a woman! "Colonel, we should go, we've upset her enough."

"We're out of here," a third voice agreed, clipped with irritation. "I said recon only, Daniel. Didn't I say recon only? Let's go."

Daniel sighed, and backed away to stand. His voice was thick with a weary sadness. "I'm so sorry, Ilaria. I didn't mean to frighten you, and you're right to fear anyone who comes through the Gate. We'll leave."

Shock kept Ilaria silent as they backed away. When they actually turned and continued walking from her, she dropped her dagger in amazement and surged to her feet. "Wait!"

They paused, turned back, but came no closer.

"You took her counsel," Ilaria blurted.

Daniel sounded surprized. "Of course we did. Sam is our friend, and our teammate."

"Teammate?" she echoed faintly.

"We work together," he clarified.

Ilaria clenched her fists, and Ghost, still pressed to her side, whined at her distress. She weighed the stories with her own knowledge of the last few minutes. They were not of her people--no man she knew would apologize to her or take a donna's counsel as this "Colonel" had. And if they carried serpentes, her fear would have meant nothing to them--she would be lost already. They had made no demands, no threats, and instead of cold arrogance and power, their voices were brimming with sincere emotions. Wherever they were from, however they had arrived, they had treated her better than the serpentes would have--and certainly better than her own people.

"Ilaria," Sam asked gently, "do you want us to go?"

Ilaria shook her head, then forced a deep, shaky breath into her lungs and brought both hands to her heart. "Serenita," she murmured, "I beg your forgiveness." And she exhaled, releasing her fears to be carried away by the winds. She bowed her head then and swept her hands wide to once more show them her palms. They would not know the form, she knew that now, but it was comforting, when everything else felt suddenly different.

"Peace, Ilaria. We would beg your forgiveness as well," Daniel said softly. "We did not mean to frighten you."

"Granted," Ilaria smiled, wonder dawning in her. He reproached himself for simply frightening her, when the misunderstanding had been hers! She had only known such kindness from her grandfather. Who would, she realized wryly, no matter her fears, have taken her to task for her horrible manners.

"Please, if… if you have traveled far, then you must be weary." Ilaria sank almost to the ground, in a bow her grandfather would have been proud of, and spoke the words of hospitality in as strong and clear a voice as she could muster. "I would be honored if you would accept my home as your own, the fruit of my lands to sustain you, the work of my hands to bring you comfort."

The silence stretched for a long moment. Some kind of silent conference? Her heart pounding, Ilaria could only wait. And fear. And, she admitted to herself, hope.

"We would be delighted," Daniel finally replied, his smooth voice both intrigued and wary. Perhaps she was not the only one who did not often make friends.

Ilaria offered a tentative smile to her new guests and finally knelt to run her hands playfully over Ghost. He calmed immediately at her touch, understanding the crisis was over, and licked her chin again. "Serenita, Ghost," she told him, and laughed aloud when he nudged her with his cold nose before bounding away.

Except she'd lost her bearings now. On hands and knees Ilaria searched through the dirt and the broken inverdura stems for her dagger and her staff. "If you'll wait just a mo--"

"Ilaria," Daniel sounded so stunned that she paused in her search and raised her head to where he stood. "You're blind?"

Five

The moment the words left his mouth, Daniel could have kicked himself. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ilaria," he stammered. "That was unbelievably rude of me." He hurried forward then to retrieve her staff, still several feet in front of her, and paused when she sat back, startled by his sudden movement.

"Your staff is here," he said softly, and opted to roll it to her.

Ilaria's hands trembled a little as she caught it, and a palpable air of sadness had settled over her. But she forced a smile as she resumed her search for the dagger. "You meant no offense. The illness left no outward sign--how could you have known?"

She shifted then, and Daniel caught sight of the weapon peeking out from under her skirts. "Your dagger's at your knee."

Her smile was easier this time as she retrieved the dagger. "Thank you. It belonged to my grandfather, and I would hate to lose it."

She was gracious enough not to comment on the need to clean it as she wiped the weapon on her skirts and sheathed it, but Daniel's eyes flew to the wound at her throat.

"You're bleeding," he said gently, standing as she did, hating that she'd nearly killed herself because of the way he had handled things.

But she only brushed her skirts off and nervously gripped her staff. "It's nothing. I will see to it." She ducked her head, all uncertain suddenly, and fingered a fold of her skirts.

"It will take but a moment to refresh the fire. There is fresh bread if you are hungry, and minestra. If… if you would still care to come?"

Daniel exchanged a puzzled look with Sam. "We would like that very much, Ilaria. Thank you." Why would they have changed their minds?

She sighed, as if a great weight had been lifted from her, and finally raised her eyes to look straight at him. He could see it, now, the curious flatness in her gaze. And yet those brown eyes were looking directly at him. It was unnerving, now that he knew she could not see. "Welcome to my home," she said, a graceful tilt to her head. "Please, won't you come inside?"

And Daniel watched in amazement as Ilaria stepped easily out of the bed of crushed plants she'd been working in and carelessly wove her way through the garden as if she could see every last inch of dirt and vegetation. He'd never encountered a blind person who could move with such surety. No wonder he hadn't figured it out. Sam passed him, looking at him oddly, and abruptly Daniel realized he was standing there like an idiot watching Ilaria when he should be following. He hadn't been caught this flat-footed by anyone since--

"Daniel," Jack said, anger and concern warring in that softly spoken word, and Daniel winced.

"I swear, Jack," he sputtered as Teal'c slipped by, "I was well hidden. I know you said recon only, and I swear that's what I was doing. She must have heard me."

Jack sighed, giving him that long-suffering "Will you ever learn?" look, and clapped him on the shoulder. "I know, Daniel. Just--are you sure you're up to this?"

Daniel forced a small, crooked smile. "I don't know yet, Jack."

"Fair enough," Jack nodded, and jerked his chin towards the sprawling stone structure. "Come on. I bet you're dying to get a look around in there."

"Yeah," Daniel murmured, when actually he'd had no such thoughts. He'd broken the mission protocol and nearly gotten another innocent young woman killed--not exactly good signs that he should continue his Gate traveling. And now Jack wanted him to go into her home and get closer to her and another culture obviously plundered by the Goa'uld at some point, when all he wanted to do was… what? Hide in his office for another month? Quit the SGC and run away to the most remote dig he could find, as he'd dreamed of doing?

Coward, he chastised himself. He'd promised Sha'uri. Her son wasn't in his office. Or anywhere on Earth, for that matter. And… neither were the answers he was looking for. And damn it, he wanted answers. He deserved answers. He might never understand why he and Sha'uri had carried such a heavy burden, paid such a high price, but he had to try. He simply couldn't live otherwise. Wearily Daniel sighed and followed Jack. The answers might not be in Ilaria's home, but he had a job to do while he was looking.

A quick glance around the kitchen they passed through showed a room that was bright and meticulously free of clutter, and he reminded himself even as his hand strayed to a curious kitchen gadget that he had to return anything he touched precisely to its place. One interior wall housed a massive fireplace which could be accessed from the far room as well. Daniel glanced across the embers and the covered metal pot hanging over them and then followed his teammates through an archway into that large central room, which was surprizingly colorful, equally bright, and equally pristine, with most of the tools and a number of masks and weavings hanging on the walls. Daniel stopped to stare at an intricately detailed tapestry depicting what could only be the house itself, viewed from a riotously blooming garden. The technique and patterns once more reminded him of medieval Italy, but the composition was completely unique.

"This is beautiful," Sam said softly, and Daniel glanced over at the mask she was examining. It was a remarkable representation of the wolf-like creature Ilaria had called Ghost, done in a stunning shade of purple.

"The weavings are by Nonna, my grandmother, and the mascheras are Avo's, my grandfather's work," Ilaria said proudly, kneeling to deftly stir the embers still glowing in the large fireplace. "That particular maschera of Ghost was his last piece."

Sam turned, a curious eyebrow raised. "How did you know I meant that one--'maschera' means mask, right?"

Ilaria hesitated for a long moment, and Daniel wondered at the fleeting glimpse of fear on her face. Perhaps she was having second thoughts about inviting four absolute strangers from another world into her home. Which would make her very smart, indeed.

"That maschera--that is, 'mask'--is what hangs in that corner of the room," she finally replied, briskly--nervously?--stacking wood over the embers.

"Of course," Sam grinned, shaking her head in rueful amusement at the obvious answer.

Which was apparently the exact tone Ilaria needed to hear. She smiled, noticeably relaxing, and stood as the kindling caught and the fire crackled to life. "My home is now yours," she said softly, her words taking on that curious rhythm that reminded Daniel of rituals, the practiced, graceful motions of her hands of long-standing ceremonies. "Be at ease. I will bring food and drink."

She turned, retreating swiftly to the kitchen, and Daniel started after her, curious in a way he couldn't identify to simply watch her move.

But Jack touched his shoulder lightly, motioning them all to the far corner of the room. "First impressions, people?" Jack asked quietly.

"It would appear the Goa'uld have not visited this world for nearly a millennium," Teal'c murmured.

"She did say a thousand years," Sam concurred. "But if the Goa'uld have been gone that long, why haven't these people developed more technology? On Abydos they were denied reading and writing, plus Apophis was visiting regularly to keep them cowed. But it sounds, at least, like these people have been here alone for some time."

"Daniel?" Jack raised an eyebrow.

Daniel shrugged and turned, letting his eyes sweep the living room. There were textures everywhere, he realized, rugs and cushions and carvings that practically begged to be handled. And everywhere were loving touches that spoke of a caring and reasonably prosperous family. But that wasn't what Jack meant. Daniel made himself take a second look.

"At least in this home," he said, sifting through what he saw and what he knew of Western European history, "the culture most closely resembles medieval Italy, just as the Renaissance was beginning. 'Circolo,' 'maschera,' 'serpente'--those are all Italian words. The tools, the furniture, even the masks have a number of European characteristics, but Italian is the most prevalent. Nothing looks Goa'uld at all--not even the masks."

"Italian?" Jack repeated, running a restless hand through his hair. "This would be the first time we've seen a European culture transplanted by the snakeheads. Seems odd the Goa'uld would have transported people all the way from Europe to Ra's gate and then ignored them. I wonder when and why these people were taken."

Daniel shrugged, and turned back to Jack. "I can tell you more once we've seen the city. We might find more evidence of technology there, and hopefully a library, but I don't think we'll find much of a Goa'uld presence. Not anymore, at least." Thank whatever gods were listening. "Ilaria said she knows 'the stories,' so perhaps she can tell us more."

"About what?"

Daniel spun around, as startled as the rest of the team, to find Ilaria in the doorway to the kitchen. Her neck was neatly bandaged, her face carefully smooth, and her voice filled with a world of cautious curiosity.

She hesitated, her hands full of a heavy tray of terracotta cups and a pitcher. "You wish to know the stories?"

"Allow me to assist you," Teal'c recovered, already halfway across the room.

"So you do speak," she laughed lightly, heading for the large, low table in the center of the room. "I was beginning to wonder. What an amazing voice--you should speak more often."

Jack snorted, but Teal'c merely smiled as he took the tray from her. "Thank you."

Ilaria's jaw dropped, her hands fluttering in empty air. "Oh, but-- Please, you are my guests. You should not-- I--"

Teal'c set the tray on the table carefully, but the sound of its placement nevertheless stopped Ilaria's protests cold. "The tray was heavy," Teal'c said mildly.

"Thank you," she finally said, softly, following Teal'c to the table and gathering a graceful composure around her as she knelt and began pouring.

"It is a cold tea, sweetened with arancia juice," she informed them. "I hope it is to your liking."

"I'm sure it will be," Daniel replied, motioning everyone to be seated, hoping he'd read her right. They would offend her soon if they upset her hosting rituals any further.

Apparently he was right this time, because Ilaria calmly poured and carried a cup of the tea to each of them in turn. "I will return with minestra and fresh bread," she said shyly, offering that low curtsy again, and fled back to the kitchen.

The moment she was gone, Jack leaned over. "We don't have time for a tea party, Daniel," he whispered. "Find out what you can and let's get moving."

Daniel shook his head, smiling at Jack's completely typical lack of interest in or patience for anything remotely cultural, then smiling wider just because he'd found anything at all to smile about in the first place.

Schooling his face to his most innocent expression, Daniel took great delight in baiting Jack and waiting in silence while Ilaria carried a tray of bread, terracotta bowls, and smooth wooden spoons in, then returned to the fire to swivel the hanging pot closer and begin serving. Jack's scowl grew to mammoth proportions and Daniel finally considered his first question, but Ilaria carried the last bowl of steaming soup to him and he lost himself in watching the calm grace and surety of her movements. Perhaps she had retained enough of her eyesight to--

"Is the soup to your liking?" Ilaria hesitated over the words, her hand trembling a little as she began slicing the bread, and abruptly Daniel was ashamed at how easily he'd lost sight of what this woman had been through in the last half hour, how much courage it must have taken to trust them at all, much less invite them into her home.

"It's delicious, Ilaria," Sam covered for him. "Thank you. Won't you be joining us?"

Ilaria hesitated again, dumbstruck, and Daniel realized she hadn't brought anything at all for herself. "Please," he added. I'm sorry I overlooked what all this must mean to you. "Among our people it would be very rude for us to eat without you."

She turned away, eyes blinking rapidly, hands clenched in her skirts with the curious storm of emotions that filled her, and Daniel put his soup down and dared a swift, gentle touch to her elbow. Ilaria drew in a startled breath and froze.

"If you'd rather not, we'll understand," Daniel continued, in as soothing a voice as he could manage. "But we'd consider it an honor if you'd share the meal and speak with us."

"That is a lovely custom," she blurted, her voice husky with emotion. "You do me a great honor."

The curtsy she gave them this time was impossibly low. Daniel felt his own throat tighten. He didn't deserve such respect from her, any more than he'd deserved the way Sha'uri had first offered herself to him. None of them did. He stood, to give her his seat, but she had already disappeared back into the kitchen. Daniel waited long, silent moments for her to return, berating himself the entire time and searching for the gentlest way possible to get the information they needed. And doing his absolute best to ignore the concerned looks passing between Jack and Sam and Teal'c. He could do this.

Finally Ilaria had composed herself enough to rejoin them, this time with a cup and bowl for herself. Daniel pulled another chair to the table for her, taking note of the amazement written in her every gesture as he helped her to sit and served her himself. Interesting. Was the hostess to be little more than a glorified servant to guests in her home, or were women simply not treated with respect in this culture? Perhaps both? No wonder she suddenly looked so fragile.

Jack cleared his throat.

Daniel's brain kicked over. "You mentioned 'stories' before, Ilaria," he began. "Would you tell us some of them?"

Six

It was no use. Her stomach was simply doing too many somersaults for her to eat, her hands trembling too much for her to even hold the bowl he had served her, her brain whirring too much for her to think or speak at all, much less recite the stories. She could not do this. Estraneos in her home--estraneos in her world--why were they speaking with her? She was no one, just the herbalist, cieco and useless and--and--

"Ilaria?" Daniel murmured her name, a second, infinitely gentle touch of his fingers whispering across her hand where she somehow miraculously still clutched the bowl.

She put it down, before she could drop one of Nonna's beautiful, irreplaceable dishes, and got up to pace the room, nerveless fingers reaching automatically as she did every day to check Nonna's pillows and blankets, Avo's mascheras and tools and figures, and her own, wonderful plants. Everything in its place, comforting and calming, as ever. Even though estraneos from the Circolo were… were in her home.

They were so kind to her. Why? Why were they not hurting her, not even ignoring her, but speaking with her and touching her and serving her and treating her better than anyone had since Avo…

Avo. He would be so disappointed in her. How she wished he were here, how she wished the fever that had taken her sight had--

Courage, piccina. No matter what happens, promise me you will meet it with courage.

"Si, Avo," she whispered, making herself stop and take a deep breath, willing her racing heart to slow, her trembling limbs to still. Courage. The midday sun was warm on her cheek, the stone carving beneath her hand cool, and Ilaria realized she stood before her grandfather's favorite chair. She smiled, remembering the hours at his knee as she'd learned the stories. Almost she sank to her knees again, almost she rested her head on the cushion to wait for the first one. But that would not do. Avo was gone, and estraneos--amicos?--waited patiently for her to speak. It was her turn to tell the stories. This, at least, she could do.

"Si, Avo," she repeated, more firmly, and sat, and opened her heart and her memories to her amazing new friends. The familiar words washed over her like a balm.

"These are the stories, amicos," she began. "As I have heard them, so I tell you. They are old stories, from so long ago that those who lived them are gone to dust. But we can never forget, for the Circolo will always stand.

"One thousand years ago they came. One thousand years ago they marched through the Circolo from a world far away. One thousand years ago they stole our wives and sisters and daughters, husbands and brothers and sons. Malignos. Serpentes! With eyes of fire and words of thunder, with hands of lightning and staffs of death. For four generations they came, demanding tribute, destroying our homes, killing all who dared speak against them. One thousand years ago they came."

Ilaria recited them all, flawlessly, sinking deep into the words and the rhythms of the stories which she alone preserved, of people long since dead. The miller, who'd followed his son through the Circolo vowing vengeance, but never returned. The weaver, who'd watched helplessly as her daughter was eaten by a serpente. Wife of the Doge, beautiful and kind and wise, one of the first to be taken, gone forever, through the Circolo. One after another, Ilaria brought them all to life.

How easy, to lose herself in their pain and their fears, to shout with their small triumphs, to grieve with their losses. And how liberating, to let all the words and emotions pour out of her, one after another.

"For thirty-six generations has the Circolo stood silent," Ilaria finally finished, her voice gone hoarse with the unaccustomed use. "For thirty-six generations have the serpentes trodden other lands, stolen other children, destroyed other peoples. For thirty-six generations have the stories been told. That we may remember. That we may recognize the malignos when they come again That we may fight the serpentes when they try to steal and kill again For thirty-six generations has the Circolo stood silent. But it will not remain silent forever."

Ilaria spoke the final words of the cycle, suddenly breathless and shuddering with shock and horror and a fear she could not name. "It will not remain silent forever," she whispered, and added to the stories for the first time in over thirty-six generations. "And nothing will ever be the same once the Circolo speaks again."

An odd clicking sound broke the deep silence and brought her back to her home, to her new friends and her very first audience. She sagged back in the chair, raised tingling, trembling hands to cover her face, lightheaded with the triumph and relief and pride and humility all flooding her at once. There were sounds, words, movement she should be paying attention to--Daniel, the others, her duties--but she was empty and exhausted and she'd pay attention in a moment. Just one moment. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She'd done it. She'd recited the stories, all of them, without a single mistake. Beginning to end, thousands of words, finally spoken and shared. And to those who would believe, not scoff. Understand, not belittle. Oh, how she wished her grandfather had been there to hear. To rejoice with her. To meet the first people through the--the Stargate--in thirty-six generations. To put her to bed and tuck her in and take care of her guests. She had to smile through the hot tears now coursing down her cheeks.

"Ilaria?"

Daniel, from low, in front of her. Squatting down where she'd sat, at her knee as she'd been at her grandfather's. No man had ever spoken to her with such respect in his voice. She was suddenly, fiercely glad she'd told the stories to him.

Painfully she cleared her dry, tired throat and sniffed and scrubbed at her face. What could she offer them now? More tea? Latte? How could she--

"That took almost forty-five minutes. You must be very thirsty," he said, and Ilaria wondered at the deep sorrow in his voice--and stilled at his tentative touch on her own hands. Gently he wrapped her fingers around her cup of tea. "You never had lunch, either. I would have insisted you eat first if I'd known the stories would take so long. Can I get you another bowl of soup?"

Ilaria felt the tears threaten again. Why was he not afraid to touch her? And--how did he know the old customs? She had never expected to be given the deference her grandfather had once been accorded. "Are you the storyteller for your people?" she blurted.

He sat, where Teal'c had been, and Ilaria recognized the silence for what it was. The others had gone back out to the gardens. "I'm a storyteller, yes. Or rather, that's part of my work."

"What is your work?" Ilaria rasped, and finally remembered to sip her tea.

"I'm an archaeologist," he replied, "which just means that I study ancient cultures. Most of the time I have to dig through what's left of very old temples and homes to learn anything about the people I'm studying. It's unheard of to find someone like you, who still retains the knowledge from a thousand years ago. I hope you don't mind, but I recorded you while you recited the stories. That was amazing. How long did it take you to learn them all?"

Ilaria's jaw dropped. "It took me four years, once Avo started the proper lessons," she stammered. "You made a record of all of the stories just now?"

"Ah, it's just, well," Daniel stammered back, "maybe it would be easier to explain if you just listened."

There were more clicks and a whir and another click and a sort of hiss and Ilaria opened her mouth to ask what these odd sounds meant and her own voice filled the room, coming from where Daniel sat.

"These are the stories, amicos. As I have heard them, so I tell you."

Ilaria closed her mouth, held her breath, but her own words, her own voice, continued.

"They are old stories, from so long ago that those who lived them are gone to dust. But we can never forget, for the Circolo will always stand."

Another click. Cautiously Ilaria tried a quick breath.

"That's what I meant, Ilaria," Daniel said. "This little device copies your voice and your words onto something called a tape, which I can play back and listen to over and over. The stories will always be preserved now. It's not as elegant or as meaningful as learning them the way you must have, but it is useful."

They will always be preserved now? She couldn't breathe. Her skin prickled and her heart thudded and her hands clenched the cup almost hard enough to shatter.

"Always?" she repeated, voice gone hoarse again, a low, thick roaring in her ears. The answer to her greatest fear, her greatest failure, handed to her all unexpectedly by strangers?

"Yes," Daniel said hesitantly, and Ilaria surged to her feet with her joy and tried to bow properly with the gratitude that suffused her, but her legs were like Nonna's jelly and she staggered instead and almost dropped her tea.

Daniel caught her and the cup. "Why don't you sit down for a little while yet, Ilaria," he suggested, concern and confusion mixed in his voice. "Jack will just have to wait. I'll get you that soup now."

His kindness on top of everything else completely undid her. Ilaria sank back into the cushions and bowed her head and struggled to silence the sobs that shook her.

"What's wrong?" Daniel knelt in front of her again, this time covering the fists she clenched in her lap with strong, gentle hands. His unexpected, unbelievable touch robbed her totally of her voice, and Ilaria could only shake her head.

"If the recording is against your customs, I'll destroy it," he said urgently. "I should have asked first anyway, but you were obviously--"

"No," she choked, "please, it has been my greatest fear, to die here alone without passing the stories on to the next generation. I do not understand the magic of this tape, but if it means the stories will not die with me…" Ilaria brought his hands to her face, only then realizing she'd gripped them. "How can I ever repay you?" she whispered against his fingers.

"You owe me nothing," Daniel insisted, low voice full of pains and sorrows she could recognize, but did not understand. "I'm grateful you'll entrust them to me." Gently he freed himself and she waited, listening dully while he went to the fire and ladled out some hot soup. She was so very, very tired. But the heat was blissful against her hands when he closed her fingers around the bowl. "Why are you alone here?"

Surprized, Ilaria took a deep breath, but for once the sorrow and the loneliness were not so heavy to bear. "Only my mother's parents would shelter me after the illness took my sight. But Avo died five years ago, Nonna the year before that."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you move to the city once they were gone?"

"To Pianto?" she gasped. "I can't go back--I am cieco."

"'Cieco'? You didn't go to the city because you're blind?"

Seven

"Say what?" Jack turned, eyes narrowed.

"I know, Jack," Daniel sighed, tucking the precious tape into a pocket of his vest and zipping the pocket safely shut. "I couldn't believe it, either. But you heard the stories. In at least three of them the narrative mentions that the Goa'uld killed everyone with a deformity or a handicap. Typical Goa'uld cruelty." Daniel didn't bother to keep the venom from his voice. Story after story, Ilaria had just stirred up too much of it for him to contain.

Sam shook her head. "But, if this prejudice came from the Goa'uld, why would these people continue it?"

Daniel forced himself to shut down the memories swirling in his head and focus. Why would they treat Ilaria that way? "Two possible reasons," he finally continued. "The association of deformities and death must have become ingrained over that hundred years when the Goa'uld were here, and it's just gotten worse with time. More importantly, they don't believe the stories."

Teal'c raised an expressive eyebrow. "They do not believe the Goa'uld exist?"

"Nope. They consider them fiction, not history. According to Ilaria most of them have never even seen the Gate in person."

Jack's eyes hardened. "Then they're in for a rude surprize. If we've found this Stargate, so will the snakeheads--sooner or later. And if these people don't even believe their own history, they'll be sitting ducks." Impatiently he checked his watch. "We need to get moving, talk to this Doge and see if he'll believe us. Can Ilaria tell us the best way to get to that castle?"

"Well, actually," Daniel turned to glance back inside the house, "she's coming with us."

"I thought you said--" Jack started.

"That they wouldn't let her live there," Daniel interrupted. "But because she wasn't born blind, the Doge didn't exile her totally. She's allowed to trade in Pianto, which is what she's doing today. Medicinal herbs for some work clothes."

"Nice," Jack drawled, sliding his sunglasses on. "I bet they just feel all superior and charitable with this little arrangement."

"Then she's all alone out here?" Sam sighed.

"The rest of her family will have nothing to do with her." Daniel shook his head, Ilaria's abandonment striking a painful chord he did not want to think about. "But at least she had her grandparents--they were the only ones willing to share her exile. She was only ten."

"That's incredibly unfair," Sam gasped.

"She is not alone today," Teal'c calmly pointed out.

Uncomfortably Daniel shifted. "We might not be doing her any favors," he worried.

Jack cocked an eyebrow. "You think we can make this worse for her? Daniel, she's already pretty much hosed."

Daniel started pacing. "But if she shows up in Pianto with four strangers in tow--strangers who can prove the stories are true--what happens to her then? Her people might not embrace her, Jack. In fact, I think it's likely they'll ostracize her even more."

"Maybe," Sam grinned, a curious glint in her eyes. She gestured, and they all turned back to the house, where Ilaria stood, radiant and calm, in the doorway. "But I think she's earned the chance to rub their noses in it a little."

This was not the same Ilaria he'd left to finish her lunch. That Ilaria had been tired from reciting the stories and overwhelmed with a few simple gestures of kindness and respect. This Ilaria looked more than capable of demanding that and more from the Doge himself.

She'd exchanged her worn, soiled tunic for a delicately woven white blouse. The new skirts were obviously of a finer material than her others, splashed with brilliant colors in a pattern that reminded him of the garden tapestry. The boots showed far less wear than her sandals had, and she'd added a long, dark brown vest, richly woven and trimmed. Her long brown hair, held back in a simple ponytail before, was now twisted in an elaborate, elegant coil at her neck. But what drew his eye the most was the pride in each step and gesture as she approached them. He didn't understand where this was coming from, but the difference was apparent. Maybe Sam was right.

Ilaria paused a few feet away, and Daniel would have sworn she was looking directlyat Jack. "Are you ready to go? The walk is not difficult, but it will take at least an hour to reach the Doge's palace."

"How do you do that, this looking-straight-at-me thing?" Jack shook his head.

Ilaria smiled. "Avo said it would be rude of me, not to face people when we are speaking, so he taught me."

"A wise man," Teal'c said.

"He was the storyteller for my people," Ilaria replied, wistful and proud all at once, reaching up absently to run her fingers across an elaborate silver pin nearly hidden beneath her vest and the shoulder strap of her pouch.

"Sounds like quite a guy," Jack gentled his impatience. "But we should be moving along here. Daniel said you could take us to the Doge?"

Ilaria stood even straighter, but some of the light in her face died. "It would be an honor to escort you to the Doge's palace," she said softly, raising her fingers to her mouth and whistling once, loud and long. "Ghost will lead the way to Pianto."

Jack frowned. "Just to the palace?" he clarified.

Ilaria nodded, sharply, fear and anger and pride rushing across her delicate, mobile features. "I may only trade in Pianto. The Doge will not see me."

She turned toward the forest while Jack stared at her, mouth pursed into a hard line, and Daniel felt his stomach clench. How far could they push here? Would it help her in the long run--and was it worth the risk to the mission? Daniel opened his mouth, and abruptly shut it again. This was Jack's call, and for once Daniel was reluctant to influence his decision. Because he simply wasn't sure anymore where the lines should be drawn.

The moment stretched, long and brittle, until Ghost trotted almost soundlessly into the garden. The animal ignored the rest of them entirely, heading straight for Ilaria, who gracefully crouched to smooth one hand down his neck. "Pianto, Ghost," she murmured, and stood and turned to follow the animal out of the garden, but Jack stopped her with a light touch to the hand gripped tightly around her staff.

"If the Doge wants to meet the first people through the Circolo in thirty-six generations, then he'll have to see you, too," Jack decided, an obstinate tilt to his head.

Ilaria smiled, but it was a sad expression. "You have been very kind to me--all of you--and I am grateful. But you do yourself no favors by being seen with me. Anyone who touches me risks cecita and esilio."

"That's 'blindness' and 'exile,' Jack," Daniel translated, aghast. No wonder she'd been so shocked whenever he'd touched her.

"Okay. That's it." Jack shifted his weapon and reached out to take Ilaria's free hand, tucking it deliberately into the crook of his arm. "Now--shall we go?"

Ilaria paled, shuddering, her fingers tightening on Jack's arm. "What is this that you do?" she asked faintly.

Daniel reached across and brushed his fingers over hers where she gripped Jack's arm. "This is one of the ways we assist the blind to walk," he explained.

"The trail could get rough," Jack cheerfully added.

"You assist… " Ilaria took a deep breath, calming herself with a visible effort. They waited, and Daniel hoped they hadn't shocked her too much in their efforts to help her. "Thank you," she finally said. "I think I would like to learn more of your customs."

Daniel stepped back, equally relieved and concerned, watching pensively as Jack gently urged Ilaria onto the path to the main trail. What would she do when they returned to Earth? Was it fair, to come here and change her perceptions of life and mess with her rules and then just leave? If the Doge didn't want any more interaction with Earth, they wouldn't even be able to come back.

"You're thinking too much again," Sam chided him, pushing him none too gently after Teal'c.

"There's a lot to think about," he protested softly.

"Ilaria will be fine, Daniel. And so will you."

Daniel sighed, tired and frustrated and worried and… tired. He wished he could find that kind of faith. Because people like Ilaria and Sha'uri always seemed to pay the highest prices for the Goa'uld's horrific piracy. And he simply could not understand why.

Eight

Ilaria couldn't decide if she ever wanted to reach Pianto or not. Part of her was giddy and amazed and positively bursting with pride to be with these people from another world, who believed her and talked with her and treated her with such astonishing respect. But most of her was petrified. Because she wasn't so naïve, after all these years, to think her people would treat her any better just because the stories had been true. She might hope, but it was a tiny thought. In fact, they could treat her far, far worse. She wasn't afraid for these estraneos. They were strong and smart and… and they could leave, if they were treated poorly. But she was afraid for herself.

What would happen when they reached the city? Everything would change for her. How could it not? All that remained was to see if the changes were good ones. It didn't help that up until now, very few changes in her life had been anything short of disastrous.

Courage, piccina.

Si, Avo. Courage. As ever, memories of her beloved grandfather gave her the strength she sought. Resolutely she banished her worries from her thoughts. There was Ghost and the forest to listen to as they walked, Daniel and Sam and Teal'c with their stories to hear and wonder at, Jack's muttered comments to laugh at, and his strong arm beneath her hand, his presence warm and comforting next to her, to enjoy. She savored each moment.

But all too soon the sounds of the city invaded the forest, until Ghost paused ahead of them in the trail, that low, nearly silent growl telling her there were people nearby. Sadly Ilaria stopped and pulled her hand from Jack's arm, ending Daniel's story in mid-sentence.

"Ilaria?" he finished instead.

"Ghost will go no father," she explained, kneeling. "He fears the city." Ghost trotted back to her, pushing his nose into her chest, and Ilaria set her staff aside, shoving the worries that crowded her mind back for another few moments as well to pet and praise her friend. "Wait, Ghost," she finally asked, and he whined as he always did, anxious to be parted from her.

"Wait," she repeated, until he turned to walk into the forest. Ilaria listened, following his progress, until he'd settled. Finally she gathered her staff and stood once more. "He will be here when we--when I return."

"Ready?" Jack asked, shifting what he carried and stepping back, and Ilaria forced a smile to her lips and nodded. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to help her once they reached Pianto. But Jack's clothes crinkled as he gestured. "Daniel?"

"Oh, right," Daniel agreed, reaching for her, and something sweet and poignant surged in her heart as he placed her hand on his arm. Today she felt more alive than she had in years. She wanted this, she realized--this small comfort, this care, this friendship--more than she'd wanted anything in a long time. But… she was not the only one who would bear the consequences if they were seen showing her this lovely courtesy.

She had to clear her throat. "Are you certain you want to do that? The Doge's anger can be very powerful."

"Don't worry about us, Ilaria," Daniel reassured her, pressing his hand over hers. But his voice held an aching sadness. Why would he… Was he--could he be sad for what she might endure?

No, that was probably wrong, she shouldn't allow herself to think--but she couldn't help it. They were worried about her. She had been right to call them friends. The thought took hold and that giddy amazement rose up sparkling and shining, filling her with warmth and sweeping her worries aside.

Ilaria led them into Pianto, holding that warmth to her as they moved among her people and the conversations around them died. She let it fill her voice as she answered Daniel's and Sam's questions about her people, even as they backed away from their group. She cherished it and smiled with it, even as Jack called out a greeting or two and the frightened, anxious murmurs began.

They reached Rilla's shop and for once Rilla's mother Talia was the one to stammer with unease. Ilaria lifted that warmth like a shield in front of her and simply walked inside--today there would be no waiting on the stoop. Today not even Emers' presence could dent her joy. Proudly she presented the neatly bundled inverdura to him and reached to Rilla for two glorious new skirts and… and a new tunic…

No. She had to be mistaken. Ilaria handed her staff to Daniel and ran her hands over the materials again and held them close to her face as Rilla chattered on about the difficulty of the weavings. Surely she was wrong. Surely Rilla wouldn't…

"Daniel?" she interrupted Rilla's prattling, glad when Rilla inhaled sharply with her rudeness. "Is this tunic green?"

Daniel stilled. "No," he said softly. "I don't think it's been dyed at all."

Her joy shattered.

"You didn't--"

"And these skirts," Ilaria broke in on Rilla again, a wave of hot, angry sorrow piercing her numb disbelief and making her quiet words sharp as knives. "Is the fabric the good strong linen that I chose? Rilla said it was blue, with a pattern of leaves."

"No," Daniel repeated, all gentleness and care.

"That is the fabric you picked," Rilla insisted, and Ilaria's patience snapped. She forced her fists open and let the bundle of third rate clothing fall to the floor.

"The tunic is rough and still stinks of the beast." It took every last bit of training her grandfather had ever given her, but somehow Ilaria managed to keep her voice even and clear and free of the tempest raging through her. "You did not dye the wool or even treat it. The skirts are blue--they reek too strongly of the azzurro berry to be anything but--except the fabric is worn and harsh and also still smells of the original dyes. Our agreement was for new clothing, not unfinished work or redyed cast-offs. You have forfeited."

"How dare you speak--" Emers hissed, but Daniel and Jack both shifted subtly behind her and Ilaria took great pleasure in Emers' sudden, confused realization that she was no longer alone. And then anger surged again, that he had expected to find her alone and defenseless.

She reached out and dared to tug the package of inverdura from his grasp. "I am sightless, Emers," she snapped, "not brainless. You have forfeited."

"I told you she would know." The chair by the window creaked as Rilla's mother pushed to her feet and shuffled haltingly across the room. "You always have been a fool, Emers."

Emers sputtered, Rilla stammered, and Ilaria listened to her pounding heart and kept the angry amusement from her face with only the greatest of effort, listening as Talia sorted through the clothes displayed throughout the store. Finally, a careful tug on her sleeve, and Ilaria gasped with the weight and the sweet smells of the clothing Talia draped across her arm.

"Four new skirts of the kind you ordered," Talia said, almost kindly, "and two of the tunics. The forfeit is given."

Someone--Sam--lifted the package of inverdura from her and disbelieving, Ilaria ran her hand through the soft, supple layers of cloth. Four skirts, two tunics, nearly as fine as her grandmother's work and far better than what she'd ordered from Rilla. They were exceedingly rare these days, but Ilaria knew an apology when she received one.

"The forfeit is received," she acknowledged gravely, handing the garments back. Silently she waited while Talia wrapped them, retrieving the inverdura from Sam. It didn't matter that Emers had forfeited the payment--the people who relied on his medicines should not have to pay for his poor treatment of her. When Talia returned with the package, Ilaria handed her the herbs. "Thank you, Donna." She turned, anxious to leave despite her triumph, but Talia spoke again.

"You wear the storyteller's badge now, piccina," Talia murmured, and Ilaria heard in her voice her own wistful longing for the days when Avo and Nonna were alive and living no farther than a few squares away.

"Si, Donna," she replied, standing straight and tall. "Today I fulfilled the last requirement."

"You told the stories?" Emers scoffed. "To what, the trees?"

"Actually," Sam spoke for the first time, "she told the stories to us."

"And who are you?"

"Emers," Ilaria gasped, stunned at his rudeness, but Teal'c answered him anyway, his stern, deep voice a reprimand all its own.

"We are visitors here, and Ilaria's guests."

Ilaria flushed with pride and pleasure.

"Nice meeting you," Jack drawled, and Ilaria blinked--how could he fill his voice with so much sarcasm? "But we have other business in your fine city today. Ilaria?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and blinked hard to keep the tears at bay when Daniel took her hand again. Ilaria clutched the clothing to her and curled her fingers carefully around his arm as they left Rilla's shop. To stand up to Emers, to receive her due from Rilla, to be the storyteller and walk through Pianto talking with friends--these were moments she wanted to always remember. Every last word and sound and smell and touch. Always. No matter what happened.

Nine

By the time they approached the palace, they were trailing more frowning, grumbling townsfolk behind them than Daniel was in any way comfortable with.

"Jack?" he worried, pressing his hand over Ilaria's and pulling her a little closer to him.

"I see," Jack muttered.

Beneath his hand Ilaria's fingers tensed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, yet," Jack flashed his trademark sardonic grin and waved at another staring shopkeeper. "We've just drawn a bit of a crowd."

Ilaria sighed, a sad smile shaping her lips. "I know. But they will not come closer. They will not risk the consequences."

"Does this always happen?" Sam asked.

"Usually just a handful follow, to hurry me along." Ilaria angled her head, listening. "But many are curious about who you are and why you're with me."

"Peachy," Jack said. "Is that just a guess, or can you actually hear them?"

"I can hear them." Ilaria shifted again, lips parting on a soft gasp.

"What?" Daniel murmured.

"I--forgive me, but I had not realized that Sam is dressed like a man, or that Teal'c's skin is so dark."

"Yeah, we've got that sore thumb thing going for us," Jack drawled.

Ilaria's eyebrows rose. "Sore thumb?"

"He just means we're obviously very different from your people," Daniel explained.

"Different is not often welcome in Pianto," Ilaria said, so softly that Daniel had to lean close to hear her. He was still wondering what, if anything, he could say to that when she rapped her staff twice on the stones now under their feet.

"We have reached the palace street," she announced. Ilaria lifted her chin, straightened her shoulders, but an unmistakable tension now gripped her. "The Doge's palace is to the right, across the piazza at the end of the street. You should be able to see it quite clearly now."

"It's like something out of a fairy tale," Sam breathed.

Critically Daniel eyed the structure. This close it loomed grand and imposing, with its intricately carved façade, its balconies and arches, columns and towers. Daniel wished he could spare the time to take some photos and make note of all the stunning similarities to Italian Renaissance architecture. And, happily, the complete lack of any Goa'uld influence at all.

"Yeah," Jack grunted, pushing his sunglasses back up. "Let's go."

The crowd thickened, streaming in and out of a square packed with merchants and stalls and shoppers. Normally Daniel would have been enthralled with the variety of goods and garments and people. But today he gave them no more than a cursory glance, instead concentrating on Ilaria. With each step they took people melted resentfully, angrily back--and Ilaria grew more and more tense. Gently he squeezed her hand, heartened when she tossed him a small smile in return.

The clang of the staffs crossed in front of them brought Daniel up short.

"Ilaria Brigato," the guard on the right said. "The Doge does not require your presence."

"Maybe not," Jack replied. "But I do."

"We're travelers," Daniel hastened to add. "Emissaries of our people. We seek an audience with the Doge to discuss matters of state."

The guard eyed them with no small amount of suspicion. "Travelers? From where?"

Jack glanced back, one eyebrow raised, his question clear, but Daniel shook his head. Best not to mention the Gate just yet.

"We're from the east," Jack said instead. "Far to the east.

The guard looked them over again, finally waving for another, presumably more senior guard. They repeated their request.

"The Doge will see you," the new man decided, "but he will not see you, Ilaria Brigato. Unless you have trade in the market, you must depart the city at once."

"I already explained that," Jack said, voice impatiently, dangerously soft. "I need--"

"They are my guests," Ilaria interrupted, her smooth tones belying any of the tension Daniel could feel in her. "It is my duty to present them to the Doge, or have you forgotten the customs of hospitality?"

The guards all gaped at her, torn by an order that clearly conflicted with long-standing custom.

Jack drummed his fingers on his MP-5. "We'd like to see him sometime today, if that fits into your schedules."

Another wave for another official, another round of explanations, another round of debate, until finally the latest, an older man who gazed quite sadly at Ilaria, decided to allow her to accompany them. Ilaria stumbled in her shock, and Daniel realized she'd never expected to be able to go with them. Carefully he led her up the grand central stairs.

The interior of the palace was extraordinary. Wall to wall, floor to ceiling, the building was covered with magnificent carvings and tapestries. He'd have given a month's salary to properly examine the three chambers of increasing opulence they walked through. Considering the delay just to get into the building, then, Daniel swallowed both surprize and disappointment when they were given no time to loiter, but instead hurried along and shown immediately into the Doge's audience chamber.

All conversation in the room died as they entered and proceeded to the dais at the far end. The Doge's throne dominated the raised platform, but the Doge himself would have commanded attention in any setting. It wasn't his appearance--Daniel figured the man to be only average in height, and slender, with dark hair and nondescript, European features--but his bearing and his attitude would have marked him for a person of privilege and importance anywhere.

They paused a few feet away from the dais and Ilaria tugged, loosening her hand, and sank into a low, elegant curtsy. "Hand to heart and soul," she said, her voice clear and rock steady, but her hand trembling. "I give you greetings, Your Highness. I am Ilaria Brigato, and I present to you my guests. Daniel?"

She stepped aside, and Daniel repeated the gesture and the words. "I give you greetings from the people of Earth. I am Doctor Daniel Jackson," he continued. "This is Colonel Jack O'Neill, Major Samantha Carter, and Teal'c."

The Doge swept them all with an imperious gaze. "You give the old greeting for neighbors, yet there is no place here called 'Earth.' You are presented as guests of an old family, yet their representative was declared esilio from my presence years ago. Who are you, with your strange titles and stranger garments, and what is your business in my city?"

"We are here to open relations between our peoples, Your Highness," Daniel replied evenly.

"I cannot establish relations with a people who do not exist," the Doge frowned. He gestured at a huge tapestry, and Daniel realized it was a map. "Show me where Earth is, then."

Jack sauntered to the tapestry and tapped what had to be a marker for the Stargate. "Earth is one of the destinations you can reach through the Circolo," he announced. "We came through this morning."

The Doge's eyebrows rose sharply, and around them were gasps of both outrage and scorn.

"The Circolo?" the Doge scowled, leaning forward. "What nonsense is this?"

"No nonsense at all, Your Highness," Jack replied. "We call that large circular thing a half a day from here the Stargate. We use it to explore strange new worlds, and seek out new life, and new civilizations."

Most of the audience laughed mockingly. Sam snorted. Daniel winced. "Jack," he protested softly.

"Hey," Jack grumbled. "I thought it sounded good."

"The Circolo is nothing more than a useless relic of a time long past," the Doge scoffed, "the stories about it nothing more than legend and myth, used to frighten children who have misbehaved. Now, where are you from and--" The Doge broke off as one of the guards tentatively approached and bowed. "Paolo? What is it?"

Paolo cleared his throat. "Your Highness, early this morning my duties took me to the eastern tower. I… well, Your Highness, I thought at the time it was merely a trick of the morning light, but…"

"Speak up, man," the Doge snapped.

"I thought I saw a great wave of light, coming from the Circolo," Paolo stammered. "Just as the stories say." The audience hooted in derision.

"That would have been us," Jack called clearly over the din. "The Stargate may be old, but it's no relic. In fact it works as well today as it did a thousand years ago, when the Goa'uld came down on you. If you know how to use it--and we do--it will take you almost anywhere in the galaxy."

"Lies," the Doge decided. "I have no time for such fantasies. If you cannot tell me the truth, then you shall be removed." He waved his hand, bringing several guards running from their posts.

"Daniel?" Ilaria gasped, reaching to clutch at his sleeve.

Daniel gathered her to him. "Jack?"

"Hold it," Jack shouted. "Just--hold it. Everybody calm down. Your Highness, there is an extremely simple way to prove what we're saying."

The guards encircling them paused as the Doge considered. "And that would be?"

"Come with us to the Gate," Jack challenged. "See it working for yourself."

The audience drew a collective gasp, heads swiveling to see the Doge's reaction. But the Doge merely returned Jack's level stare.

Jack shrugged. "What have you got to lose? If I'm telling you the truth, you'll be able to trade with us. We'll send people back who can teach you more about science, roads and buildings and tools, medicine."

The Doge's eyes lit, briefly, before he lowered his gaze. Daniel understood the interest--what they offered appealed to most of the displaced peoples they encountered. Knowledge truly was power.

"If you're right," the Doge finally continued, lightly, as if he humored them, "what would you demand in payment for such knowledge?"

"Oh, I'm sure we'd find something we're interested in, once we look around," Jack replied easily. "But you have to come to the Gate first."

Once again the silence stretched, until abruptly the Doge signaled two of the watching guards.

"Paolo, show them to the Lunare suite. In the morning you will escort them and Consigliere Fontana to the Circolo. If they are lying, you will execute them there. Luka, remove the cieco donna from Pianto. She is not to come before me again."

Teal'c was the first to move, dark and unyielding and easily a foot taller than nearly everyone else in the room, stepping silently between Ilaria and the soldiers. Paolo and Luka didn't manage more than their first steps.

Pale, trembling--and livid--Ilaria pulled away from Daniel and rapped her staff sharply on the smooth stone floor, cutting off the rising mutterings of the audience like so much wasted breath. Shoulders back, head high, she faced the Doge. "I do not need your kind assistance to return to my home, Doge Rilano," she snapped. Daniel blinked at the depth of pride and fury in her voice. While the Doge flushed and surged to his feet with the insult.

"Insolent puttana, you will--"

Ilaria cut him off with another harsh rap of her staff, stunning the entire audience into silence once more.

"You insult me and my family without cause," she said, her voice low and smooth, her face regal and stern. "Even as esilio it is my right and my duty to present such guests to you. I have done nothing wrong and deserve no such censure."

Ilaria turned back to them and offered her most graceful curtsy yet. "Thank you, amicos," she said softly. "I can never repay you for the many kindnesses you have shown me today. My home is always yours to enjoy, the fruit of my lands and the work of my hands always yours to command. I will leave you to the hospitality of His Highness."

"Not so fast," Jack said calmly. "Major, Teal'c, if you would please see Ilaria home? Daniel and I will stay here. We'll pick you up in the morning, on the way to the Stargate. If that's all right with you, Ilaria?"

"Their company would be most welcome," Ilaria nodded, smiling.

"Your Highness?" Jack turned. "We did, after all, accept her hospitality first."

"So be it," he growled. "As long as she leaves."

Again Ilaria curtsied, but even Daniel could tell the difference between this mocking gesture and all the times before. The crowd started muttering again.

Sam shifted her weapon and guided the hand Ilaria held out to her arm. "We'll see you in the morning, sir."

Jack nodded. We'll radio ahead, he mouthed.

Sam turned, waiting for the crowd behind them to part enough for them to get through. When it didn't happen fast enough, Teal'c stepped around them to go first. Following Paolo toward a different door, Daniel struggled not to smile at how quickly everyone moved out of Teal'c's way.

"You know, Jack," he muttered softly as they reached the hall. "Sometimes I wonder if we'll ever figure out how to do this without stirring everything up."

Jack grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now what fun would that be?"

"Fun?" Daniel sighed, suddenly tired beyond words again. "This isn't exactly my definition of fun."

"I know, Daniel," Jack paused, his eyes dark with the pain he rarely showed, his voice heavy with sympathy. "But we've got to keep moving forward, and we've got to remember what's at risk if we don't."

Daniel turned away, lips pressed tight against the pain that ripped through him, as fresh and scorching and raw as that first moment when he'd looked at his wife and a cold, arrogant stranger had looked back. "I've seen my wife possessed and I've watched her die," he rasped harshly. "You don't have to remind me what's at risk, Jack."

"No," Jack conceded softly, "but I do worry you're going to burn yourself out, Daniel. And I need you for the long haul here."

Daniel closed his eyes and rubbed wearily at his temples and the new headache unfurling there. He'd struggled, he'd searched, he'd endured, but he hadn't been able to save his own wife. What made Jack think he had the strength to continue this fight--this war--against the Goa'uld, when the lives of so many were at stake? How could--

A staff weapon sizzled and howled, power and screams and chaos exploding in the market, and Daniel ducked reflexively as Jack threw himself toward the long row of windows and their view of the piazza.

"Teal'c?" Daniel gasped, but there were too many bolts of energy, from too many directions--the harsh sounds of Sam's MP-5--and dreadful, aching horror drenched Daniel as he scuffled to the window and drew his pistol.

He had time for only a glance before Jack surged to his feet and grabbed his arm and pulled him down the hall, shouting at Paolo about a side entrance to the courtyard. But one glance was all he needed--one moment for the images to sear into his brain--

Teal'c, firing furiously, backing down the rows of stalls toward the palace. Sam, shouting, covering the people who ran panicked and terrified past her. Jaffa, streaming into the market, staff weapons ablaze. And, Daniel realized, heart shrinking, soul numbing, no sign of Ilaria at all.

Sword drawn, Paolo pelted down the corridor. "This way! We can--"

"No!" Jack shouted. "Just tell us. You need to get back to the Doge."

Paolo paused, torn, long enough for them to catch up to him. "He is well guarded, they will take him to safety, but the people--"

"Go back," Jack urged. "Tell him the stories are true. Tell him--"

"The stories?!" Paolo snapped, gesturing at the courtyard below. "What have the stories to do with this?"

"Because those are the serpentes," Daniel explained, out of patience, suddenly furious with the need to explain again, to another people, an evil they could not--would not--comprehend. "Tell the Doge the serpentes have returned to steal his people."

Paolo shook his head, jaw tightening. "I must--"

Jack grabbed Paolo's arm as he would have swept past and swung him to look out the window. "Look at them," he hissed. "Your weapons are no match for theirs. Now get back to the Doge and tell him what we said. We'll try to push them back. Go!"

This Paolo could understand. He nodded sharply and bolted back the way they'd come. "To your right!" he shouted over his shoulder. "At the end of the corridor!"

They ran, while outside weapons fire crescendoed and stalls exploded and debris flew and people screamed.

They rounded the corner and headed towards the light streaming in from the high windows at the far end. "What's the plan?" Daniel gasped.

Jack threw himself against the door and risked a quick glimpse outside. "Carter?" he toggled his radio. "Carter?!"

"Here, sir. We were in the middle of the courtyard when they just showed up and started firing. At least a dozen Jaffa. They have a Goa'uld with them, a woman we've never seen before, but she's using that personal force field."

"What's your location now?"

"Down one of the rows, close to the eastern buildings. Teal'c headed opposite to catch them in a cross fire."

They heard her gunfire over the radio--and near where they stood. "We're close to you, Carter," Jack radioed. "Stay there." Jack pushed the door open and handed Daniel his nine millimeter. "The plan, Daniel, is we push them all the way back to the Stargate. If there are too many, you make a break for it and get there first. Radio for reinforcements and hold position at the Gate while we keep them busy."

Grimly Daniel nodded, a pistol in each hand, and followed Jack out. Crouched low, they threaded their way through shattered stalls and scattered goods. Ahead of them Sam surged to her feet, firing across the courtyard. Bullets clanged on Jaffa armor and another fell. Sam dropped, two staff weapon blasts sizzling through where she'd been standing. Daniel scurried after Jack to her.

"By my count we've taken out half the Jaffa," Sam reported. "But I've lost sight of the Goa'uld--and Ilaria."

Daniel couldn't breathe with the horror and the grief lancing through him. Not again--not again--she'd be taken, her freedom lost, her body violated, everything gone-- Not again!

Jack reached for his radio, frowning grimly. "Teal'c?"

"I am here, O'Neill."

"Where's here?"

"The southwestern corner."

"Get as close to them as you can, Teal'c. Carter, stay east, and Daniel and I will take the center. Thirty seconds, then we all come up firing. I want them in full retreat to the Stargate."

"Understood," Teal'c replied. Sam nodded, and ruthlessly Daniel wrenched his scattered thoughts into focus--no time--no time to worry about--focus!--and took off after Jack, following close on his heels as they wove through the debris. Jack finally paused, tucked behind an overturned table, and counted down the last few seconds on his watch.

"Five, four, three--"

Staff weapons fire--bolt after harsh, rapid bolt, lightning over their heads, shrieking across the piazza--and Daniel threw himself on the ground as the front of the Doge's palace erupted, stone exploding in every direction.

"Enough!"

A Goa'uld. That unmistakable, echoing tone. The unmitigating arrogance. Daniel gripped the pistols hard enough to bruise his own hands and dragged a gasping breath of air into his lungs. A Goa'uld. He had to get close enough, he had to kill this time, he--

"We are Sakhmet, your goddess," she crooned, dark and vicious, into the now silent piazza, "and we claim this world for the glory of our lord and your god Ptah. Who dares to deny us?"

"'Tah'?" Jack muttered, daring a glimpse around the table. "What kind of name is 'Tah'?"

"They're not system lords," Daniel breathed deeply, trying to speak normally as he pushed back to his knees. "But they're close, Jack. Ptah was associated with Osiris, and Sakhmet was identified with both Hathor and Ra."

"Hathor and Ra? Oh, she's gonna love us," Jack grinned fiercely, twisting to get a better look across the piazza.

Daniel shoved one of the pistols into his holster and grabbed Jack's arm. "She's a goddess of war, Jack," he snapped, "and one of the Eyes of Ra--it was part of her job to fight his enemies."

A second round of blasts shook the palace and once more sent Daniel to the ground.

"We will not ask again," Sakhmet announced calmly. "Surrender yourselves, or these people die."

Daniel gathered himself to stand, but Jack grabbed his arm and jerked him back down. "She's got prisoners, Jack," Daniel protested. Did she have Ilaria?

Jack glared at him. "Carter, Teal'c," he whispered harshly into his radio. "Stand up and keep her attention. Just don't get shot."

Jack shifted and reached for the knife at his side, tossed it and caught it by the blade, and Daniel's heart contracted. A diversion--Sam and Teal'c were a diversion--

"Sholva!" Sakhmet hissed. "Tauri! Jaffa, kill them immediately!"

Jack surged to his feet and flung the blade at the Goa'uld. Her dark hair swung wide and wild as she pivoted, her eyes blazing, her hands coming up, energy surging, but the knife sliced cleanly through the amber shield and pierced her shoulder, sinking deep into her flesh.

She screamed, a roar of fury and pain, staggering back with the force of the blow, and Daniel dove for new cover as the Jaffa opened fire.

Ten

Again the serpentes' weapons sizzled and shrieked, hot and burning over her, and Ilaria recoiled beneath the deafening blasts, gripping the smooth stones and willing herself into the ground. But she couldn't make herself small enough, couldn't shut out the terrible sounds--her people, pressed and cowering around her, screaming and moaning--explosions, the wail of shattered stone and splintered wood, the thunks and pings and thuds of debris--and the smells, blood and fear and torn, scorched flesh--

"Kill the slaves if the Tauri or the Sholva attack us again!"

The Tauri? Did she mean Sam? Where was Sam? Where was Teal'c? Had Jack and Daniel gotten away?

She wanted to scream, she wanted to run, she wanted to fling herself up and away and through the streets to her forest and Ghost and home and safety--anywhere, she'd go anywhere--but she'd been thrown and jostled and spun and shoved and where was she in the piazza, which way was out, which way was home--

"Jaffa, to us!"The maligno--Sakhmet--an old, evil name from the stories--her voice terrible and soul-crushing and harsh with fury and loathing and-- That was pain. In her voice, that was pain! Her friends--the other weapons she'd heard spitting, that clean singing of a thrown blade--had they hurt the serpente?

"Kree, Jaffa! To us! Bring the slaves." Yes, she was hurt! That jagged edge in her voice could only be pain. Then they could be hurt--

Could they be killed?

"Move!" someone bellowed.

No--her people! The stories! Shouts and cries and movement all around her and a brutal grip, yanking Ilaria to her feet and throwing her flailing and staggering into others.

No… No! She was taken, too! NO!

Another, vicious shove. "Move or die," he snarled, and Ilaria stumbled and gasped and froze.

She could die. If she only stood still, for one single moment longer, he'd kill her. One small, searing instant of death--and she'd never feel the serpente's possession, never host the demon, never…

She would never again sink her fingers into the soil, or listen to the winds singing in the forest trees, or smell the cool, florid sweetness of her garden. Never know the unexpected joy of friendship again.

No.

The weapon whistled, swinging in an arc, brought to bear on her, and Ilaria moved.

Listening, to cloth and footfalls and whimpers, so she would know where her people were, and where to walk. Breathing deeply, smelling sour fear and harsh blood--did they bleed? Did Sakhmet bleed? Where was she? Was that exotic perfume hers?

How could she get close? She'd have to be close to use her knife. There would only be one chance.

Her people shifted, the sounds of their steps changing, and Ilaria knew--they were leaving the piazza, turning down the long street that would take them to the woods. And from there, to the Circolo.

The stories--the stories!

Ilaria exhaled, a slow, trembling breath, and hid her clenched fists in her skirts, mind racing, forcing herself to recite the stories in her head as she walked, combing through them for anything--anything--that she could use against these demons come to life.

The sounds changed, again their steps were different, softer and thicker as they stepped now on the forest path, and Ilaria breathed slow and halting against the panic skittering through her heart. She must count the steps--there was so little time! Once away from Pianto and her forest she would be stumbling and lost and blind, useless against the power of the serpentes.

She had to get close. How could she get close?

Ilaria stumbled into a man's back, realizing a moment too late that they'd been told to stop. What was happening?

She shifted, turning her head, trying to hear, but she couldn't tell--

"I said go, Yarin!" Sakhmet snapped. "Our lord Ptah must be told the Tauri and the Sholva are here. He must return quickly with his army to destroy them and to subdue this world. Now go!"

"Yes, my queen." Footsteps, running farther into the woods, and horror choked Ilaria, left her cold and numb and trembling. More would come.

"We must rest," Sakhmet continued, peevish and infuriated, and Ilaria's breath caught in her throat.

The demon suffered from her wound. What if she offered to tend it? Would they let her get close enough then? Could she--

"That one!" Sakhmet ordered, cold and arrogant and vicious. "Bring that one to us. She will tell us a safe place to rest or she will die."

Could it be that easy? Disbelieving Ilaria waited to feel that ruthless grasp again, but there were gasps ahead, the shuffle of someone dragged forward--they didn't mean her! What could she do? How could she--

The woman screamed, the anguished sound propelling Ilaria forward, pushing people aside, her thoughts whirling-- Could she do this? There was no choice!

"Mighty goddess!" Weapons turned on her, charged, but Ilaria broke through and sank low and graceful in the deepest bow of her life.

In the sudden, incredulous silence her heart beat loud and strong.

Courage, piccina.

Oh, Avo. Help me be strong.

"What is your bidding, mighty goddess?" Ilaria cast her eyes down, used the words from the stories, kept her hands calm and relaxed in her lap instead of clutched around her knife where she wanted them.

The scramble and heavy thud and the woof of breath as the other woman was thrown aside. Ilaria braced, for the cruel hand seizing her arm and dragging her, but soft footsteps came closer, a thick, cloying perfume, mixed with the hot scent of blood, enveloped her--

The serpente…

A sharp fingernail, pricking her chin and forcing her head up. Ilaria kept her sightless gaze low, to show the proper deference. What did the demon look like? She couldn't stop shaking.

"You pledge your service to us?" What an odd voice, full and echoing, with so many layers. And so very, very cold. It froze Ilaria where she knelt.

What would be a proper, groveling response? "You are the goddess Sakhmet," Ilaria whispered. "We are all your servants."

Sakhmet's hand shifted, smooth fingertips tracing the vulnerable line of Ilaria's neck. Ilaria's stomach roiled and clenched. Now? But, the guards hadn't moved--their weapons were still drawn--then they would likely fire, even with Sakhmet this close. No, then--not yet. The guards would kill her before she could even draw the knife. She had to be sure when she struck.

"Then tell us," Sakhmet crooned, and Ilaria gasped as strong fingers wrapped around her throat and squeezed, ever so lightly. "Where may we rest, safe from the Tauri?"

The one place in the world where I can fight you, demon. "My home is not far, mighty goddess."

All of Avo's tools, Nonna's hooks and needles--she had weapons all over her home--and so many plants that became poisonous if not properly handled. And--if they still lived, wouldn't her friends look for her there? If she failed, surely they would not.

The hand tightened. "Your home?"

The words spilled from Ilaria's lips. "I would be honored if you would accept my home as your own, mighty goddess, the fruit of my lands to sustain you, the work of my hands to bring you comfort."

Sakhmet leaned closer, her fingers twining into the mass of hair bound low on Ilaria's neck. "I will take you for my next host if you lie," she whispered, darkly amused, seductively promising. And chilling Ilaria to her very soul.

Eleven

One shot. That was all he would need this time. Just one shot.

Daniel aimed, sighted, crouched still and silent and hidden among the brush, finger poised on the trigger, calm and focused and ready to fire as he'd never, ever been. The shot was his. Sakhmet was his. If he never made another shot in his life, he would make this one.

Move away from her, bitch. I won't give you the chances I gave Amaunet.

Sakhmet spoke again to Ilaria, once more stroked her neck, and Daniel looked at the naked horror on Ilaria's face and drew a long, deep breath, his finger tightening, easing the trigger back--

But Sakhmet straightened, releasing Ilaria, and Daniel exhaled and relaxed his hands. Slowly Ilaria climbed to her feet. Even this far away Daniel could tell she was shaking.

Go back, Ilaria, he urged her. Go back into the crowd and be anonymous again. But even as the words formed in his mind, he knew the hope was a futile one. Ilaria had drawn attention to herself for a reason. He just had to figure out why.

"What's she doing?" Jack hissed, and Daniel frowned as Ilaria stepped carefully around Sakhmet and her remaining guards. One of the guards flanked her as she continued down the path, Sakhmet following a few paces behind, the rest of the guards roughly urging the others along. Where could Ilaria be going?

"The Gate's over two hours from here," Jack mused. "What do you wanna bet Sakhmet's not up to the hike?"

Of course. "Ilaria's leading them back to her home, Jack," Daniel whispered. "It's the only place out here she could be going."

"Smart girl," Jack muttered. He spoke softly into his radio. "Carter?"

"Yes, Colonel?"

"There's one coming your way at a run. I'm guessing he's heading back to the Gate for reinforcements, too. Be careful, but be sure you get there first. Take him out and keep the Gate under our control."

"Understood, Colonel. Out."

"Teal'c?"

"I am here, O'Neill."

"We think Ilaria is taking Sakhmet back to her house. How much help can we expect from the Doge, and how soon?"

"Thirty men--nearly the whole of the palace guard on duty. We are leaving now."

"Meet us at Ilaria's, Teal'c, but bring them in quietly. Keep them north and east of the house, and cut off anyone who gets past and tries for the Gate."

"You have a plan, O'Neill?"

Jack pivoted, eyes narrowed as he watched the procession heading farther into the woods. Daniel forced himself to wait--Ilaria couldn't afford his impatience.

"Not yet," Jack finally replied. "But I think Ilaria has one. For now we'll follow her lead."

"Very well. I will join you shortly."

"Time to go," Daniel muttered, rising. They were almost out of his view completely now. He strained for a better glimpse of retreating backs.

"Daniel." Jack laid a gentle hand on his arm, holding him back. Daniel raised an eyebrow.

"We can't let them get too far ahead, Jack."

"They won't," Jack promised. He gestured at the pistol Daniel still gripped in both hands. "You're not usually so fast with a gun."

His voice was soft, but Daniel heard all the things Jack wasn't saying, all the things that usually came out of his mouth--Violence never solves anything, Jack. We shouldn't stoop to that level, Jack. Leading with a gun is not the right way, Jack. Except he was beginning to learn that sometimes hesitation had too high a price.

Jack's eyes darkened, pain shared and understanding given, and Daniel knew he didn't have to say a word. Together they turned.

Ghost blocked the way. He growled, low, demanding.

"I don't think he likes the company Ilaria's keeping," Jack guessed, easing slowly to a crouch and holding out his hand. "Easy, Ghost. We're just trying to help here. Wanna tag along?"

Daniel closed his eyes, breathed deep. They were getting too far ahead. "We don't have time for a game of fetch, Jack."

"I don't think that's what he wants," Jack retorted, infuriatingly calm, and Daniel took another deep breath. He had to be calm, as well. Or they'd never get Ilaria or any of the others out of this. Jack nudged him, and Daniel opened his eyes. Padding silently away now, Ghost clearly expected them to follow him.

"Home, Ghost," Jack ordered quietly. "Take us to Ilaria's home."

Quickly, Daniel added. Quickly.

Twelve

Five years alone in this house, longing for a few minutes of company, yet now Ilaria would gladly return to solitude for the rest of her life if it meant the serpente now resting in her family room was dead. Ilaria gripped the pestle more tightly and continued to listen closely over the steady grinding of herbs to the sounds of movement from the other room.

What to do, what to do? Nothing had gone as she'd hoped! If only she'd thought to offer to see to Sakhmet's wound as soon as they'd arrived! Instead she'd lost that first, perfect opportunity, scurrying to prepare the hot tea the demon demanded and only realizing too late--too late!--that the ones she called Jaffa were already tending her.

Ilaria tightened her jaw against the unexpected force of her anger. Who were these horrible Jaffa, that they served such demons? Must they insist on serving her themselves? Didthey have to taste her food and drink? Thank goodness she'd not had the chance to add anything to the tea to give herself away. Oh, damn these Jaffa for all eternity!

All right--not the knife, then. She'd never get close enough before these Jaffa killed her. And not the first three poisons she'd considered--it would have to be a slow poison, something tasteless, or only one unimportant Jaffa would die. Her mind raced, down the rows of her garden, what combinations might-- Oh, that might work… And the taste of the bird would hide that subtle bitterness…

Casually, no longer trying to hide the trembling in her limbs--let him see her fear and think she was too afraid to be trying anything--Ilaria set aside the mortar and pestle and turned to the single Jaffa who'd remained, standing silent and still, to watch her prepare the serpente's meal.

"I need some other herbs, from my garden," she stammered. Oh, Avo--what if he merely nodded? Would she hear? Would he realize she was blind? Her heart pounded.

The Jaffa shifted, the sounds of his movement telling her he gestured sharply with his weapon, and she prayed with all her heart that he was simply impatient with her. Ilaria dipped in a quick bow, heart in her throat, and moved to the door. He followed and she tensed, gasping, and a hard shove in the middle of her back sent her stumbling outside. Yes. He merely wanted her to be quick. Yes!

Ilaria scurried to the far corner, where she'd trampled the inverdura a lifetime ago that very morning, and plucked a few of the leaves that had survived. The minty taste would compliment the bird nicely and further serve to hide the bitter tang of…

What was that sound?

She picked a few more leaves, turning her head, listening for the thread of sound that didn't belong…

There. Soft, a whisper, the crinkle of her friends' clothing!

Ilaria bit her lip, hard, to keep from shouting, from crying, from bolting after that small chance of safety. No, she was not the only one in danger. Her people remained, huddled in a corner of the family room, terrified and cowed. They were her people. She must kill the demon!

"That's enough inverdura," she blurted, as if she spoke nervously to herself. She must tell them what she planned. How? She couldn't very well shout that the cardellino was poisonous if ground so and prepared so. Was Daniel out there? He'd known the old words. But--would the Jaffa? She had to take the chance.

Mumbling to herself, she hurried to the other herbs she'd chosen to mask the taste and slow the action of the poison, shoving more leaves into her shoulder pouch with the inverdura and the clothes from Rilla that she'd never had the chance to remove. Finally, casually, as if it was no more than an afterthought, she reached over and pinched off a small branch of the cardellino.

"Yes, the veleno," she said, clearly, the poison, turning and rising and hurrying back to the house. "I have what I need to make the meal worthy of Sakhmet," she announced to the Jaffa. And to her friends.

Please, she prayed, entering the kitchen. What if Daniel hadn't heard, hadn't understood? What if she'd imagined the sounds in the first place?!

What if the cardellino didn't work?

Ilaria swallowed her fear with the tears that threatened and resolutely dug the herbs out of her pouch. She had a meal to prepare.

Thirteen

Veleno? Veleno? Where had he heard… Not a plant, not a food… Daniel's jaw sagged. Poison?!

"Damn," Jack whispered harshly as the Jaffa followed Ilaria back into the house. "I was hoping she'd hear us and make a break for it."

"I think she did," Daniel murmured, "hear us, that is."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "Then why did she hurry back to cook for Sakhmet?"

"She said 'veleno,' Jack. I don't know if the plant is actually called that, but 'veleno' is the Italian word for poison."

Jack grinned. "I like this girl. Think it'll work?"

Daniel shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. There's got to be some level of discomfort for the host body, depending on the plant's potency and how much Ilaria uses, but whether the Goa'uld can handle the toxin is debatable."

Jack grunted. "Teal'c's symbiont doesn't protect him from everything. Maybe she's got a shot at making this easy."

"This isn't a cyanide tablet, Jack," Daniel pointed out. "Most natural poisons like you'll probably find in that plant take time, and that gives Sakhmet a pretty big window of opportunity to do a lot of damage in there."

"It also gives Teal'c and Carter time to bring in the reinforcements," Jack countered.

Daniel shifted impatiently. "What do we do in the meantime?"

Jack turned back, eyeing the house as he considered. "I'm going to circle around," he decided, "see if I can get inside or if there's a good vantage point to see inside."

Daniel nodded, gathering himself. Trying to be quiet in the woods was damned difficult and took a surprizing amount of concentra--

"No." Jack grabbed his arm.

"No?" Daniel repeated. "Jack, I can't just--

"Daniel," Jack interrupted, "if you're right and she heard us, then somebody should stay here. If anything happens and Ilaria makes a run for it, she'll think we're still here. All right?"

Daniel stared. At the house, where Ilaria walked a fine line and waited on another of those godforsaken parasites. At Ghost, pacing silent and uneasy nearby. And at Jack, who looked focused and capable and completely in control.

Daniel finally nodded. Ilaria had a plan, Jack had a plan, and he'd just have to trust both of them.

Fourteen

Heart pounding, Ilaria added a dish of crisp, marinated greens to the tray. This was it. Roasted bird, fried bread, tubers, greens--everything prepared as beautifully and tastefully as Nonna might have done, to tempt the demon--everything laced heavily with the cardellino, to kill. Carefully Ilaria hefted the meal.

Now--Sakhmet had remained, bitterly, haughtily peevish and complaining, in Avo's chair, but where was everyone else? The Jaffa watching her cook was still in the corner of the kitchen. Two had herded her people into Avo's studio and remained to guard them. That left only two more Jaffa. Who were giving her a headache, moving all over the house and the woods and terrifying her that they'd find her friends and making it damnably difficult to keep track of them. Why couldn't they just stand still? They would ruin everything if she stumbled over one of them and dropped her precious tray.

Ilaria passed into the family room, moving slowly with her burden, senses focused. There. And--there. Thank heavens their armor was so noisy! One was by the window, the other once again at Sakhmet's side. Her wound still pained her, then. Good.

Automatically Ilaria counted her steps to the carpet--eight--another three between the chairs, to the table--and leaned to set the tray down. One step back, as custom dictated, eyes cast down as they should be, the old, formal gestures Nonna had taught her a moment of comfort in the middle of her fear.

"You honor me with your presence in my humble home, mighty goddess," Ilaria said, training alone keeping her voice steady, her words a careful blend of those from the old customs and the ancient stories. May they serve her well now! "Please accept these offerings as a sign of my reverence and devotion."

"You please us," Sakhmet replied, that cold voice full of satisfaction and smug, taunting superiority. "Perhaps we will keep you for our servant."

Her face carefully blank, Ilaria dipped low in another bow. I would rather die, demon. Better yet, I would rather kill. "If it pleases you, mighty goddess."

Custom dictated that she serve now, but Ilaria was more than happy to step back once more as the Jaffa left the window and approached to taste the meal. She had no desire whatsoever to be near when the serpente realized she'd been poisoned. But--what next? The stories talked only of how the demons killed and tortured, never how they preferred to be entertained. Should she just stand there, waiting for the next command? Return to the kitchen? Go sit with her people? Dance and sing songs?

Calm--calm! She must remain calm! But--what should she do now?

Wait--yes! That time long ago when her grandparents had dined with the Doge--the servants had remained, but stood quiet and ready at the walls. Would that be appropriate here?

Dishes clinked as the Jaffa finally began serving the meal. Heart in her throat, Ilaria bowed yet again and backed carefully to the nearest wall, next to the fireplace, but no one grabbed her, no weapons turned on her, no one even spoke harshly to her.

So. She would stand there and wait. For the next command. For the first sounds of discomfort in the serpente's voice.

For death.

Would she die today? Or would she kill? Would she be taken--

No--this is no time to panic. Pay attention, Ilaria, she chastised herself.

She imagined every bite as the sounds of Sakhmet's meal continued, painted the demon in her mind in a hundred different lights. Was she dark or fair? Thin and frail, like Talia, or robust and strong like Nonna?

Was she beautiful, as the stories always said? Painted and primped and jeweled in her stolen body?

You will take no more of my people, mighty goddess. I swear it.

Sakhmet had to be half way through the meal by now. A healthy appetite, despite the pain of her injury. How long, before they knew? Had the Jaffa felt the first pangs, the first clenching of his stomach? Had sweat yet beaded his brow? Had his limbs begun trembling?

Eat quickly, mighty goddess. Eat hearty and well and die, and do it quickly. The normal, innocuous sounds of the meal went on and on and on and her palms were sweating, her heart racing, her--

Movement--abrupt, swift-- "My queen!" A gasp, from the Jaffa--

Ilaria froze.

"My queen, the food--"

Ilaria pretended to look up, innocent confusion and dismay painted on her face, pretended to follow the desperate gasps and staggering, scuffled steps of the Jaffa with her eyes.

"What is this?!" Sakhmet hissed, her voice rising as she stood. "What did you do?!"

Dishes flew and crashed and heavy steps thundered towards her and Ilaria cowered against the wall. "Mighty goddess?" she stammered--where was the air, why couldn't she breathe--

She tried to brace herself, but the punishing grip on her arm still shocked her and she stumbled as that angry, unyielding strength yanked her forward and threw her and she fell, hard, against the table, pain shooting up her arms. More swift, slithering footsteps and Ilaria recoiled, but a brutal hand closed hard and vicious around her throat.

Sakhmet.

"You will die for this," she whispered, her voice harsh and fierce, the smell of her blood and thick, sweet perfume choking what little breath Ilaria could summon, the heat of her anger blistering against the cold fear that paralyzed Ilaria. Sakhmet shook her roughly by the throat and began pulling her to her feet.

"I don't understand," Ilaria wheezed, gasping, fighting off the heavy pounding in her head, the crushing agony in her throat. "Does the meal displease you?" Time--she needed more time! She had to be sure! She had to know the serpente would die!

A new sound--soft and surprized through the roaring in her ears--Sakhmet, choking.

Choking!

Joy and wild, rushing relief pushed back the fear and pain and lit the dark corners of her mind. The cardellino had worked--she'd done it! She'd killed the serpente!

Seizing, wrenching pressure on her throat, lifting her to her toes and abruptly heaving her aside. Ilaria slammed against a chair, toppling it, flying over and twisting around and landing hard and breathless on her back.

"Prepare her," Sakhmet snarled, heaving and gasping, and Ilaria heard the shock and the agony in her voice and simply lay there, joyful tears coursing hot and sweet against her skin.

Sakhmet would die... Sakhmet would die!

Hard hands, biting fingers, lifting her and turning her and dragging her hair aside and Ilaria hung exhausted and resigned in the Jaffa's grasp. She could die now, if it meant she'd saved her friends and her people from the serpente's torture. Her friends! What a glorious day they had given her! How she wished--

"They will return soon, my queen. Are you certain?"

Certain? Certain of what? Why hadn't he killed her already?

"Silence!" Sakhmet snapped, and Ilaria could only smile at the depth of agonized fury echoing in that harsh voice. "This body is weak from that insolent Tauri's blade and wracked with pain and we are too far from a sarcophagus."

A fierce tug on her hair, yanking her head back. Sakhmet pressed her face close and Ilaria stiffened and struggled to move away, but the Jaffa's grip held.

"I will take great pleasure in your pain," Sakhmet crooned, but there was so much anguish in her unsteady voice that the threat held no power.

Ilaria smiled through her fear. "Die, mighty goddess," she whispered. One single, searing moment of pain, Ilaria promised herself. Then shining light and peace, with Avo and--

"No," Sakhmet laughed harshly, but the sound changed, spitting and gurgling sickly in her throat.

What was happening? Was the serpente dying?

Soft, slick, slithering rasping that Ilaria couldn't understand, a heavy thud-- Sakhmet had fallen to the floor!

The demon was dead!

Head whirling, heart pounding, tears hot on her face and thick in her throat, limp with elation and relief, Ilaria closed her eyes and waited, trembling, for her own death.

Tearing agony lanced through her neck, blazed down her spine, exploded in her head, and she screamed with the brutal, shocking, incandescent pain. On and on, pulsing and searing, viciously shredding her soul and ripping her mind and she screamed and screamed and--

She opened her mouth, to scream again, to howl with the agony that did not end, but her mouth closed, all unbidden, a thick, heavy, horrifying numbness wrapping suffocating around her and holding her still and silent.

"Ahhh," Sakhmet sighed, and Ilaria listened with growing terror to her own voice. "Much better."

Ilaria felt herself straighten, her body stretch sinuously. She tried to turn, tried to run--No! NO!--tried to open her mouth and scream--Not THIS! Not taken! NOT POSSESSED!--but her mouth stretched instead into a sultry, satisfied smile.

"This body will do nicely," Sakhmet exulted. And opened Ilaria's sightless eyes.

"No!" Sakhmet gasped.

NO!! Ilaria silently howled.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Desperate, aching denial ripped through Ilaria's soul and burst from her body in one tearing, horrified, endless moment.

Fifteen

That scream--it was a sound from Daniel's nightmares, a sound his heart had made a thousand times since…

They were too late. Sha'uri!

Shock and bitter failure crushed him, held him frozen and useless. Jack's orders crackled over the receiver in his ear, Teal'c rushed past, and Daniel forced himself to his feet. Too late--too late!

Silence--abrupt and hair-raising and now Daniel ran. No no no--too late!

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

Gasping, stumbling at the naked horror in that single, wrenching word, Daniel burst into the kitchen. One Jaffa down, smoke rising from the hole in his chest, Teal'c grappling with another--Daniel rushed past into the living room.

Jack wrestling hand to hand with a Jaffa, one twitching on the floor, Sakhmet a motionless heap, Ilaria screaming and twisting and stumbling, her eyes glowing golden and blood on the back of her neck--NO!--and he swung the gun up, shot one, two, three slugs at the Jaffa charging into the room and raising his staff weapon to fire at Jack, but the shots clanged uselessly off his armor and Daniel ducked behind one of the chairs as a bolt tore across the room and blew a hole in the stone wall.

Daniel dove and rolled and came up firing again, again, but the Jaffa twisted aside and his shots pinged and ricocheted. Jack swung one of the stone carvings, a vicious blow to the neck, the impact gurgling and red, and that Jaffa left a bloody trail down the wall as he sagged to the floor.

Again Daniel dove as the last Jaffa fired, the chair he'd been behind skittering back, pieces flying, and he risked standing, raising his gun--the Jaffa turning, his staff weapon swinging around to Jack, Jack bringing his own pistol up, Teal'c priming his staff weapon from the doorway, and they all fired--a deafening explosion--and Ilaria threw herself straight into the midst of it all.

No…

She crumpled, blood staining low on her blouse, her shoulder torn and singed and smoking, and even as Jack and Teal'c both fired again Daniel darted to her, throwing himself to his knees beside her as the last Jaffa was blown back into the wall. Debris settled, the sudden silence shocking.

"Ilaria?" Daniel gasped, turning her head to him with shaking hands.

Her eyes opened, blazed golden. "No. We will not…"

Sakhmet. His heart turned over. The demon light in Ilaria's eyes shimmered, dimmed, flared again as her body arched, as she choked and struggled to breathe.

"Ilaria!" he shouted, holding her pale face carefully between both hands. But she sagged once more, sighing, to the floor, her eyelids fluttering shut. Jack dropped to his knees on her other side, his open pack thumping to the floor with him, its contents scattering. Jack ripped a compress from its packaging and pressed it ruthlessly to the bullet wound in her stomach.

Gasping, Ilaria arched again, but her eyes flew open and this time they were blessedly normal.

"Ilaria?" Daniel whispered.

Her mouth worked soundlessly. Finally a sigh, and it sounded like his name.

"I'm here, Ilaria. Stay with me," he begged her, voice harsh and ragged. "Jack?!"

Jack leaned harder into the wound and Daniel's heart tore at Ilaria's agonized cry. "Damn it, Daniel, we're two hours from the Gate and she's bleeding out," Jack muttered grimly. "Why the hell did she get in the way?"

Daniel shook his head helplessly, then realized Ilaria was trying to speak. He leaned down close, careful not to touch the burns on her shoulder.

"Sa… Sakhmet," she whispered.

"I know," Daniel forced the words out, wretched and miserable--he'd failed again-- "Jack saw that the poison was working, but we didn't come in fast enough and she took you. Why did she take you?"

"… didn't … know …"

"Didn't know?" he repeated, not understanding. Daniel glanced up at Jack. "Sakhmet didn't know…" Jack's eyes widened, and realization broke over Daniel a heartbeat later. "She didn't know you're blind?"

Ilaria cried out, that harsh demon light burning in her eyes for one incandescent moment, and one hand came up to grip his wrist with stunning strength. "The demon?!" Ilaria shouted hoarsely.

"The serpente is dying," Daniel choked, gently stroking her hair back from her forehead as she sagged weakly and her hand fell away. "She can't hurt you anymore."

Gold flamed again. "Take her…" Sakhmet growled.

Brown eyes blinked, closed. "… with me," Ilaria sighed.

Daniel shuddered, his stomach roiling--they had both wanted to die, if it meant killing the other as well. "We should never have let this happen."

"I need another compress," Jack snapped. "This one is soaked."

Teal'c rifled through Jack's pack and came up with another compress. He knelt down next to them as Jack reached, tore, and swiftly exchanged the compresses. "I have instructed the Doge's guards to take the villagers back to Pianto," Teal'c said softly. "Major Carter reports the Gate is secure, and SG-3 should arrive here within thirty minutes."

Jack nodded. "Daniel…"

Daniel's head snapped up. "No, Jack. She can't die. She doesn't deserve this!"

"This will help stop the bleeding," a low voice interrupted, and Daniel swiveled sharply around.

"Emers?" he gasped.

The man nodded, not meeting their eyes as he squatted down, working the mortar and pestle in his hands with strong strokes. "I am no surgeon," he continued, staring fixedly at the yellow paste forming in the basin, "but if we can stop the bleeding you might have enough time to bring her to one."

"Why?" Jack demanded.

Emers didn't pretend to misunderstand. "The stories were true," he replied, his voice rough now. "I… saw her courage with the demon. I had done her a disservice, and the stories were true."

"I guess that makes a sort of convoluted sense," Jack grimaced.

"What are you doing here?" Daniel finally asked.

"I followed you to the piazza," Emers admitted, his gaze still glued to the mixture. "I am bound to report the forfeit, but one of the officials I know would have reversed it."

"Instead you were taken," Teal'c surmised calmly.

Again Emers nodded. He gave the paste a final stir, scooped some onto his fingers, and sniffed it critically. "This is ready."

Teal'c moved out of the way. Emers hesitated a moment, then reached to brush Jack's hands back. Carefully he pulled the bloody compress aside and eased his fingers beneath Ilaria's blouse. His touch was firm as he smeared the paste on the wound, but Ilaria no longer responded to the contact.

No no no no NO!!!

Daniel rocked back on his heels, glanced frantically around. What could he do? There had to be something he could do, some way he could make this right! She could not die!

"The wound needs to be bound, tightly," Emers instructed, rising. "I will make another poultice for the burns."

Emers rushed back to the kitchen and Daniel could only sit there, helpless, as Jack reached for his pack and the rest of the first aid gear. For the first time he realized some of the villagers were pressed against the wall, watching in horrified fascination, that several of the Doge's guards, swords still drawn and ready, ringed them.

"Daniel, find some blankets," Jack ordered. "We'll need to keep her warm if we want a shot in hell of getting her back to Earth alive. Teal'c, radio Carter. Tell her to let Frazier know what we're bringing her."

Blankets. Grateful for something to do--anything to do to make this right--Daniel scrambled to his feet. There had to be a bedroom, if he could find the bedroom--

A guard stepped sharply in front of him, and Daniel just barely stopped himself from plowing into the man. Impatiently he shifted to go around him, but again the guard blocked his way.

"What?!" Daniel snapped.

The man jerked his chin at Ilaria. "These people say the demon entered her."

"Yes," Daniel nearly shouted. "That's how the Goa'uld do it. Do you know nothing of your own history?"

The guard pushed him aside, raising his sword. "Our orders are to kill the demon," he snarled.

Jack and Teal'c both surged to their feet but fury burst hot and red in Daniel and he pivoted and grabbed the guard's arm and pulled him around and swung, years of helpless rage in the hard uppercut. His fist connected with the man's jaw, snapping his mouth shut, his head back, and Daniel followed through with a left hook that sent the man crashing back over a toppled chair.

For a frozen, startled moment no one moved.

Then Daniel kicked the man's sword to him, skittering across the smooth wooden floor. "Get out," he ground out harshly. "Go tell your Doge that the storyteller Donna Ilaria Brigato has defeated the serpente Sakhmet."

Again Daniel turned--blankets, he needed blankets--not caring what the guards or the villagers did or thought or felt as long as they left, but another guard was in his way. Paolo.

With one hard glance Daniel swept past. He didn't have time for their ignorance--Ilaria didn't have time.

"You heard the man, Paolo," Jack said, low and level and commanding. "Take your people out of here."

There was more, but Daniel found a bedroom and grabbed blankets and let the words wash over him. They weren't important--the guards and their orders weren't important. Jack would deal with them. The only thing that mattered was getting Ilaria to Earth and Janet and a chance to live through this.

He hurried back with the blankets, aware in some part of his brain that the last of the guards were filing out, but it was Ilaria who held his attention, as Jack and Emers tended the staff weapon burns and wrapped her in the blankets and Teal'c finally, carefully lifted her, silent and still, her hair dark against her pale face.

Methodically Daniel gathered their gear and hoisted their packs and followed.

Please, he prayed. Please.

Oh, Sha'uri--why?

He was so tired. But he walked, hurrying to keep up with Teal'c's long, tireless strides. Each moment expecting to hear that Ilaria had slipped away. Each step expecting another shoe to drop, another death--another failure, another loss--to somehow, some way endure. He barely even glanced at SG-3 when they encountered them. Jack would deal with them. There was only Teal'c to follow, with his precious burden.

Please.

What a long time ago this morning had been. Had they only arrived on the planet that very morning? Had they known Ilaria less than a day? And yet Daniel knew--Sha'uri, laughing and loving--Ilaria, gentle and so strong--their bodies taken, their hopes meaningless, their right to live and love as they chose ignored.

Why?

Amaunet. Sakhmet. Just names--just part of an academic exercise, once upon a time. Images on walls and vases. Words in books.

How naïve he'd been.

"How is she, Teal'c?"

"She still lives, Daniel Jackson." Teal'c didn't pause, didn't even look aside. "She is strong."

Sha'uri had been strong, too.

Grief welled, heavy and aching, and ruthlessly Daniel cut it off. Ilaria wasn't dead--he could not give up on her.

"She will not die," Teal'c added softly.

"I hope you're right," Daniel managed.

Sixteen

Flashes of light pierced the darkness… fading, swirling, shimmering.

Colors she only half remembered. Objects that she could see, could feel in her hands. But they felt so wrong… so different.

Faces she spoke to, in words she knew but had never spoken before. Names, names--what were the names? That face she despised, that one smiled at her and she knew he was lying. She would crush him, make them all see that no one… what?

Another, touching her, stirring her blood, but that was wrong, this was wrong--who was he? What was the name that went with that face?

Faces--in places that were strange and foreign and full of more glittering colors and edges and shifting light and faces--all the faces--but she'd never seen them before, never touched these things before--then how could she know, how could she see?

How could she be so cruel? Over and over, how could she hate so, hurt so, and enjoy it so very, very much?

No--no! This was wrong! That wasn't her, that was--that was…

Sakhmet.

Fear ripped through her--blazing lightning, sizzling across the piazza--a fierce pleasure as her Jaffa fired and pieces of the palace rained down on those pathetic--

No--no! Sam--where was Sam? Thrown, pushed, wrenched away, losing her desperate grip on Sam's arm, falling, dizzy and disoriented, terror a heavy weight in her stomach--a pain that ate at her, that exploded in her belly and shortened her breath and she didn't have the strength to fight it, already injured and so far away from a sarcophagus and who dared to hurt her?! HER!? She was Sakhmet, goddess of war, an Eye of Ra, she was--

NO! Not possessed! Not taken!

NOT SAKHMET!

ILARIA!! Yes--she was Ilaria!

She'd killed the demon, she'd killed herself, she'd heard the weapons and savaged all her strength and thrown them both towards the sharp, brittle sounds and heat had torn low in her belly and high on her shoulder and she'd thought it would be so easy, one fiery moment of pain and then death, there would be death, Avo and Nonna and all the light and she'd never close her eyes again, but she'd fallen with the pain, breathed the pain, it had pulsed with her heart, scorching and endless and why hadn't it ended--why did it still seize her, still tear through her and burn her and--

A touch, cool on her face, words, comforting--a voice she remembered--but there were beeps and hisses and clicks and more words and she didn't know where she was. Where was she?! She tried to reach for the touch she knew, tried to call to the voice she remembered, but everything hurt and she had no strength and she cried out and--

"It's all right, Ilaria, it's all right."

Daniel?

"You're going to be fine. Ilaria, can you hear me? It's Daniel."

"Daniel," she gasped, and it was her own voice--not Sakhmet's! Relief drenched her and she shuddered, turning her face into Daniel's touch, clinging to the sweet anchor of his hands and voice.

"I'm here," he soothed, one hand brushing her temple and smoothing her hair back. "And so is Sam. Can you feel her holding your hand?"

"Sam?" she rasped, swamped with a wave of dizziness, as soft fingers squeezed hers--

The Tauri female! Mocking her, standing defiant in the still, shocked courtyard, denying her rightful ownership of--

"NO!" Ilaria cried, clutching at Sam, arching, embracing the pain that ripped her breath away and shredded that sudden, piercing vision-- "Sakhmet!"

"She's gone, Ilaria, she's dead!" Daniel said urgently, but another image flared dazzling before her, a blur of movement catching her eye--a human, another of the hateful Tauri--shining silver hurtling towards her and she couldn't move fast enough and fury exploded in her even as shock and agony and impact sent her staggering.

"Please," she sobbed, reeling and breathless, Sakhmet's pain fusing with her own, "kill the demon… please!"

"Ilaria, listen to me." More words, insistent, Daniel. "I promise you, the Goa'uld died. We think the poison you gave her was already in her own body when she transferred hosts, and the shock when you were shot was too much for her. She died."

Brilliant flashes--strange faces, unfamiliar sights and sounds--fierce words and violent feelings, ripping through her mind, reverberating in her body--

"Feel her still," Ilaria moaned raggedly, tossing her head, but Daniel's hands were gone and she was lost in the images and the sounds, bright and glittering and stunning.

Another's touch, cradling her face and turning her head. "Ilaria, it's Sam. They're just Sakhmet's memories," she soothed. "Right now you're weak and confused and her memories are strong, but they'll fade as your body recovers and absorbs the Goa'uld. You have to trust me, Ilaria. I've been through this. They're only memories."

"Memories?" she grabbed at the word. "Not--not the serpente?"

"Just memories," Sam repeated firmly, her touch on Ilaria's face equally sure, and hope surged in Ilaria's heart. She would be free…

Absorbs?

Horror stole her breath and froze her where she lay.

"What is it, Ilaria?" Daniel, his voice so very far away, his hand on hers only barely felt.

"Absorbs?" She wanted to scream, dread a thousand icy tingles in her blood, but the word came out as a whisper. Ilaria waited--no oh no oh no please no--but the only sounds were the beeps and clicks and whooshes she didn't understand.

"Sakhmet is dead. She will never control your body again," Sam finally said, her voice low and edgy and guarded and Ilaria could only lie there, tension tightening her muscles and shortening her breath. Oh no-- Please…

"But your body is absorbing hers, " Sam continued, and anguish crushed Ilaria's soul. "We can't remove a Goa'uld, dead or alive, without killing the host--we just don't know how."

Hope and strength crumbled. Ilaria turned her face into the pillow, tears thick in her throat and hot on her cheeks. Why hadn't she died?

Words, more useless words. Ilaria tuned them out, reaching for the blackness, the silent, endless blackness of her own sight, her own mind, her own d--

"Ilaria!" Daniel said, sharply, his grip on her hand almost painful. "Please. You did it--you killed the demon. You've won your freedom back--your life!"

Her life? She had no life. What little the fever had left her was now ashes.

"They didn't believe me," she murmured, thick and low. "But they'll believe me now."

"Who? Your people?" Sam brushed her tears away, the warm, gentle touch ripping Ilaria's heart to shreds. None of her people would ever touch her again.

"They will see only the demon in me." Ilaria laughed, a sad, harsh sound. "And now they will believe."

Ilaria let her eyes drift shut, wishing they'd leave, longing for the blackness to take her, but the strange sounds of this place kept…

This place. This place? She'd never heard sounds like that…

Bitter realization shredded what was left of her. "They have already cast me out--haven't they?"

She couldn't find enough air. Her home, her garden, her things--all she had left of Avo and Nonna--Ghost!--everything she'd ever known, ever touched, ever seen--gone! Gone!!

"No," she moaned, loss crashing through her in great, shuddering, wrenching sobs.

There were words, words, touches on her face and body and she didn't care, didn't listen, didn't want to know any more or feel ever again and something pricked and waves of fatigue rolled suddenly over her, thick and heavy and warm, blanketing her thoughts and her sore heart, and gratefully she let the waves take her, drifting, drifting, spinning and rolling and drifting…

"Ilaria?"

She sighed, shifted, gradually recognized the voice. "Daniel?"

He took her hand and brushed her fingertips across… soft…

"This is one of the blankets from your home," Daniel said, slow and gentle. "And here…"

Cool and smooth under her fingertips…

"I've pinned the storyteller's badge to the blanket," he continued, and something rose up through the thick, numbing fog and the distant echo of loss and pain…

Courage, piccina.

Oh, Avo. But I'm so tired.

"So tired," she murmured, her hand closing around Avo's badge.

"I know," Daniel said, a whisper of his touch across the back of her hand. "The doctor gave you something to help you sleep."

"Daniel…" She wanted to reach to him, to thank him, kindness when she'd never expected any, but the fog was growing thicker and relentlessly pulling her down.

Soft, on her forehead… a kiss…

"There is no demon when I look at you."

Daniel's hushed words wrapped around her soul, peace and sweet solace easing her into sleep.

Seventeen

Daniel slumped in the chair by Ilaria's bed and buried his face in his hands. His eyes burned, and the stubble of two days' growth was prickly against his hands. God, but this had gotten old. How many more times would he be forced to watch helplessly while the Goa'uld destroyed someone's life? How much more of this could he endure? Where was he going to find the strength to go through that damned Gate again?

"Why don't you get some rest, Daniel," Sam suggested, squeezing his shoulder. "I'll sit with her."

Sleep. No worries for a few precious hours. "Yeah," Daniel sighed, "okay." He was definitely tired enough to sleep. And if he was lucky, there wouldn't be any dreams at all.

Janet scribbled the last of her notes on the chart and hung it at the foot of the bed as Daniel climbed slowly to his feet. "She'll be out for five hours, maybe six," Janet said calmly. "I'm ordering you both to get at least four hours of sleep before you come back here."

"Make that three and a half," Jack interrupted from the doorway. "We've got a debrief with General Hammond in five."

Daniel's stomach tightened. "You're back already?"

Teal'c stepped into view. "We are, Daniel Jackson." The angry tension in his clipped words and hard eyes answered all the questions Daniel didn't want to voice anywhere near Ilaria's hearing--sedated or not.

Jack glanced at Ilaria and pushed the door open wider. "How's she doing?"

"She was lucky," Janet replied. "She lost a lot of blood, and we had to remove her spleen, but the bullet missed everything vital."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "And Sakhmet?"

"Was actually useful," Sam snorted. "She couldn't not help stabilize her own host long enough for you to get Ilaria back here--the chemical and biological changes to the Goa'uld when the host is endangered are an involuntary survival instinct."

"But the toxin on top of everything else was too much for it," Janet continued. "It died shortly after surgery. Fortunately, Ilaria will only gradually be exposed to the toxin as her body absorbs the Goa'uld. We should be able to counter any adverse effects she experiences."

"Thanks, Doc," Jack nodded. "Let's go."

Wordlessly Daniel followed Jack and Teal'c to the conference room, Sam at his side. The silence weighed on him, full and thick and heavy, and Daniel struggled to find something to break it. But all he could come up with were more questions--and he didn't like any of the answers he was likely to get. He sighed and sank heavily into his usual chair at the conference room table.

A moment later the general entered, waving them all back to their seats as they stood. "As you were, people." He sat, tapping the folder in his hands. "I have Doctor Frazier's latest report on Ilaria and the Goa'uld Sakhmet. Colonel O'Neill, if you'll start, please?"

"We brought Ilaria's belongings and the samples from her garden through thirty minutes ago. We took everything--Siler even managed to tranq Ghost when he finally got close enough."

Daniel felt the weight in his stomach lighten a little. At least Ilaria would have a clearly beloved animal and all of her things.

But the general sighed. "I take it things didn't go well."

Jack's jaw tightened. "Teal'c and I sat through three Council sessions yesterday and another this morning, but no one except us would speak for Ilaria and we couldn't change the Doge's mind. By now his engineers have toppled the Gate on PT7256. They expected to have cover stones cut and in place in another two days."

General Hammond nodded grimly. "I'm disappointed at their inability to accept Ilaria's return, but I can't say that I blame them for closing their Gate. Once or twice I've even wished ours had stayed buried. Major Carter, has there been any word on Ptah and his forces?"

Sam shook her head. "No, sir. But the Tok'ra were frankly not surprized that Sakhmet had begun excursions to obtain new hosts. Apparently Sakhmet and Ptah had both fallen significantly out of favor with the system lords. They must have been plotting some initiative to regain power, but whatever it was will certainly be curtailed by Sakhmet's death and the failure of her mission."

"So Ptah doesn't have any idea what happened to her," Jack cocked his head, "and since the Gate on PT7256 is down--and we're not going to tell him--he has no way of finding out that we were involved in her death. At least, not unless he's got a ship handy and the time to get there the old-fashioned way."

Teal'c leaned forward. "Unlikely, O'Neill. If Ptah is out of favor, his access to such a ship would be severely limited. It is also extremely doubtful he has enough Jaffa to take one by force, especially with his losses on PT7256."

General Hammond pursed his lips, considering, and finally reached for the phone at the head of the table. "Sergeant, take us back to normal security on the Gate room."

"Very well," he continued, hanging up. "That brings us back to our guest. I've just received approval from the president to offer Ilaria asylum on Earth, unless she chooses to request it from one of our allies. Doctor Jackson, as soon as you think she's ready to hear the news of her exile--"

Daniel rubbed at his tired, aching eyes. "She already knows," he murmured.

"You told her?" Jack gaped.

Wearily Daniel shook his head. "I didn't say a word. She just knew." That her own people wouldn't want her, that she had no place to go… He knew how that felt, the way that single, jagged piece of insight sucked the breath out of you and cut your heart to pieces and shredded your very soul. He'd had no idea how to handle it then, and time and distance and maturity and all of his successes hadn't erased a single moment of that awful helplessness all these years later. So what the hell was he going to do to get Ilaria through this now?

"That's unfortunate," the general said, voice heavy with regret. "I'd hoped to give her some time to heal before we dropped this on her."

"Ilaria has no illusions about her people," Sam commented softly.

"I imagine not," the general agreed. "Colonel, have the animal sent to quarantine and assign a detail to get her things into storage until she's well enough to make some decisions about where she'd like to live. I'll speak to her whenever you think she's ready, Doctor Jackson. Is there anything else, people?"

A place for Ilaria to live, to call her own… No, not a place--she needed people to go to, people to belong to… That's what he'd needed, more than anything. And isn't that what he'd finally found? All because Catherine had dragged him out of the rain. Catherine…

"Then I want all of you to--"

"General," Daniel interrupted. "I'd like your permission to contact Catherine and Ernest."

The general cocked an eyebrow. "About?"

Daniel ran his hand raggedly through his hair. Why hadn't he thought of this sooner? "Ilaria needs more than just a place to go, sir. She needs people--she needs family."

"And you think Catherine and Ernest would want to be that family?" General Hammond clarified.

A slow grin spread on Jack's face. "I like it."

"They never had the chance to have a family of their own," Sam pointed out.

"And they would be close in age to Ilaria's own grandparents," Teal'c added.

"All right," General Hammond smiled. "I've heard enough. Permission granted, Doctor Jackson. Get Doctor Langford and Doctor Littlefield here as soon as you can and brief them on the situation. Dismissed."

People to belong to. That was really all you had, at the end of the day. Daniel stared at his friends as they all stood. He'd lost his first family to accident and his grandfather's misguided choice, and Apophis and Amaunet had ruthlessly torn his second family away. He might never understand why, but at least Jack and Sam and Teal'c had helped him make another. What would he have done without them?

"You all right, Daniel?" Jack looked him over critically, frowning. "Not another headache, I hope."

Daniel shook his head. "Just thinking," he managed.

"Ah," Jack nodded. "That was the Thinking Too Much look. Sorry--my mistake. Come on, let's go call Catherine."

"I guess we're still overdue for that nice, quiet planet," Daniel said softly as they walked. "Maybe next time."

Jack snorted. "You really think so?"

Daniel stopped at the conference room door and turned, shrugging. "I don't know, Jack. I just know we have to go see."

Jack looked him over again. And this time he smiled. "Yeah, Daniel--we do."

Epilogue

Ilaria curled her legs under her and pulled Nonna's shawl closer around her shoulders against the chill late afternoon breeze. If she concentrated she could follow the sounds of movement and conversation of everyone at her new home, the smells of Jack's cooking and Catherine's garden, even the near-silent whisper of Ghost's breath as he lay at the top of the porch steps, but she didn't really need to. They were there, all of her friends, her dear old companion and her wonderful new family, and that was enough for now. She let the words and the scents and the laughter mix and mingle in her mind and relaxed further into the cushions Ernest had set out for her on the porch swing.

Oh, Avo. If only you could see me now. I had to go so far away from Pianto, to find the kind of life you wanted for me. I never would have imagined…

More stories to learn than she'd ever dreamed could exist, history and mathematics and languages to study. A garden to tend, a home to share, with friends who respected her, and family who loved her.

Family. Catherine and Ernest, as loving and caring and patient as her own beloved grandparents, so understanding and accepting that she sometimes had a hard time believing she actually belonged with them now. They'd been so generous with her, opening their home and their lives and welcoming her into their hearts. Touching her, teaching her, encouraging her… and healing wounds she'd never realized she carried. No, she never would have imagined this life for herself. But now she couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

Ilaria smiled, and took a deep breath of the garden's lustrous scents. And of Jack's burgers. Her stomach rumbled.

"I heard that." Daniel, his footfall soft on the porch steps, his voice nearly free of pain and anger, the sorrows she now understood growing more and more distant.

"How long does it take to make these burgers?" she grumbled cheerfully, shifting to make room for Daniel. The cushions with their cool, brittle fabric crinkled, the swing swaying as he sat.

"When it starts to smell like something's burning, they're done."

"Burning?" Ilaria laughed. "I thought you said Jack knows how to cook."

"No," Daniel drawled, "Jack said he knows how to cook and commandeered the grill All I said was that it's a good thing Jack usually knows what he's doing, because he alwaysthinks he's in charge."

"Ah," she nodded sagely. "Then perhaps I will skip the burgers and only eat more of the cookies Sam brought."

"More?" Daniel pounced on the word.

Ilaria scrubbed at her mouth. "Is there chocolate on my face?"

They laughed together this time, and Ilaria treasured the sweet, heady joy of friendship. Her life was so full now…

"You look good," Daniel said softly. "How are you feeling?"

Ilaria turned her warm cheeks into the breeze for a long moment. "Very well, thank you," she managed. "Janet says the… what is the word? To strengthen my shoulder?"

"Therapy?"

"Yes, thank you--therapy. She says it is going well. Another week, perhaps two, and I will be done."

"Good." More crinkling, the soft whisper of cloth as Daniel leaned forward. "And… the dreams?"

Ilaria took a deep breath. "They still come," she replied, training keeping her voice light. "Catherine helps me to record them for you. But they have begun to fade, and I do not lose myself in them any more. Speaking with Sam and Teal'c has helped a great deal. And…"

She paused, her stomach tightening. Daniel hated the Goa'uld even more than she--would he be disappointed in her for her selfishness?

"And?" he prompted.

Ilaria held out her hand, confident in this new world that he would take it, needing the warmth and the strength of his fingers twining with hers. Gently he squeezed her hand, and she screwed up her courage and let the words out in a rush. "And I have learned to appreciate some of Sakhmet's memories," she admitted.

"I… hadn't expected to hear you say that." Surprize had crept into Daniel's voice, but not disgust, and his hand was still gentle on hers. Ilaria breathed a little easier.

"Her greed, her arrogance, her hatred--the things she did and said--all of it repulses me," she hastened to explain. "Sakhmet lived so long, and hurt so very many. But Daniel, I… I see in her memories. Colors I had forgotten, and places and things and--and people I will never see otherwise. She even saw Sam and Teal'c in the piazza, and Jack when he threw the knife at her. To know what they look like is a great joy to me."

His silence was so unsettling. Again Ilaria turned her face away, to wipe at the tears she did not want Daniel to see. She swallowed, hard, nerves finally overcoming her training and roughening her voice. "Her possession was wrong--evil. But--how can I explain the wonder of seeing again? Even if it is in her memories. Is it terrible of me, to take something good from such evil?"

He pulled his hand from hers, and for a moment her heart sank. But then a soft touch, on her chin, lightly turned her back to face him. Daniel brushed her tears away for her and her breath caught in her throat at his tenderness.

"No," he said, his own voice thick with his own tears, "it's not terrible at all. What Sakhmet forced on you should never have happened, Ilaria. I will always regret that we didn't get to you in time and you had to suffer that. But I'm glad you've found anything at all to appreciate about the experience. It helps, a little. Doesn't it?"

"Yes," she smiled, relief bringing a fresh spate of tears for her to struggle with. She reached again and gripped his hand hard in both of hers. "It does. I wasn't sure you would understand."

"There are many things I don't understand, Ilaria--many things I may never understand--but I finally figured out I can't let that stop me from living," Daniel said. There was hope in his voice, and finally Ilaria let herself relax.

"I wish I knew what you look like, too," she sighed.

"Didn't--that's right," Daniel said slowly, "Sakhmet wouldn't have seen me. I was too busy hiding behind a table while Jack was throwing knives. Here." He shifted, and something clicked. "Let me just get my glasses out of the way."

"Out of the way?" She didn't understand. How could they be in the way?

"So you can 'see,'" he replied. With both his hands he brought hers up, and Ilaria stilled at the feel of his face beneath her fingertips.

"Daniel?"

His hands fell away from hers. "Don't you want to know what I look like?" She heard a challenge in his voice, and gentle encouragement. And underneath it all, a friendship and an acceptance and a respect she realized she need never question.

Ilaria smiled, joy a sparkling cascade through her heart and soul, and let her fingers dance and smooth and whisper across his features. Such strength in his jaw, and cheekbones. Such kindness in his mouth. Such beauty in his eyes. She let her hands finally rest, cradling his face.

"Thank you, Daniel," she said, low and husky. "You have brought wonder and meaning back to my life."

Again his hand cupped hers, and pressed her palm to his cheek. "And you have helped me find the strength to keep going, Ilaria. Thank you."

"Hey up there!" Jack shouted. "You guys want any of these burgers?"

"Are you certain they're done?" Ilaria yelled back. "I don't smell anything burning."

Jack sputtered something about ungrateful guests, but beneath her hands Daniel's laughter grew and shaped his face and for a moment Ilaria lost herself in the feel of a smile.

"Come on," Daniel gasped, standing and drawing her up with him. Casually he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm as they started down the stairs. "Before Jack burns our burgers just for spite."

"He wouldn't do that," Ilaria calmly declared.

"Oh, no?" Jack challenged.

"I've heard him speaking to Catherine," she loudly "whispered" to Daniel. "Jack may like to think he's in charge, but he would never risk her displeasure."

"Hey," Jack scoffed, "still a colonel over here."

Catherine laughed as she approached, and Ilaria wasn't surprized to feel her free hand taken warmly between both of hers. "You've added a very perceptive young woman to our family, Daniel. It didn't take her long at all to figure us out."

"I know," Daniel said, softly. "Ilaria sees things very clearly."

"Sometimes," Ilaria managed, her heart full. "It helps a great deal, not being alone any more."

"It certainly does," Daniel agreed. "It certainly does."

Dictionary

Amica/Amico - friend.

Arancia - orange, as in the fruit.

Avo - grandfather.

Azzurro - blue.

Cardellino - goldfinch; used here as the name of a poisonous plant.

Cecita - blindness.

Cieco - blind.

Circolo - circle.

Consigliere - councilor.

Donna - simply refers to a woman; used here as a form of address usually associated with respect.

Esilio - exile.

Estraneo - stranger.

Inverdura - a fictional term based on the Italian word verdura, which means green or greenery.

Latte - milk.

Lunare - moon.

Maligno - demon.

Maschera - mask.

Minestra - soup.

Nonna - grandmother.

Pianto - weeping, lament; used here as the name of the city.

Piazza - public square.

Piccina - child.

Puttana - whore.

Serenita - peace.

Serpente - serpent.

Si - yes.

Veleno - poison.

Vicino - neighbor.