The Dragons of Rhuddlan
Chapter 2
Cenedl: Kindred
A/N: I'm falling back on my herbalist background for this story, for obvious reasons. Don't try it at home!
For the purposes of this story: Nard = lavender.
I don't own anything.
Voices woke Sam. She was now in a private chamber somewhere in a large stone building, and there were people approaching from the hall. From the sounds of things, they were carrying something heavy. She tried to sit up, but nausea swept over her once again. What hadn't registered before while talking with Hugh or whoever the Griffith man was called now rang loud and clear in her mind. Great, she thought, a concussion on top of everything else.
The same woman who had watched over her earlier came in behind two men-probably servants, Sam realized—who were carrying a pallet and bedding. At the woman's direction, they set the pallet near Sam and the fire, and spread the blankets on it. Shortly afterwards two more men came in, carrying somebody in green combat fatigues from Sam's own time. She would have recognized that head of brown hair anywhere, even if it was caked with blood. They set him on the pallet and left.
"Daniel?" she exclaimed, trying to move so she could see him and not get sick again.
The woman, who Sam now saw was very pregnant, knelt down beside her. "Is he your friend?" she asked in broken English with a thick French accent.
"Yes. We were attacked." Sam paused, wondering how to explain Daniel's injuries. "Two of them burned Daniel with flaming sticks," she said finally. That was as much as she dared to give anyone in this world unless they knew about Goa'uld, the Ori, or the Jaffa.
The woman smiled; she reminded Sam a little of Janet Frasier. "Why don't you get some sleep while I see to your friend."
"Please—let me help."
"You," the woman said, "need to rest. You'll be of no use to me or to your friend if you do not sleep."
She was right, but Sam had always had a stubborn streak when it came to her teammates.
"Sam?" Daniel said tiredly. "Is that you?"
"Yes," she replied. "Do you know if Cam and Vala are here?"
"They didn't come through?"
"I woke up alone."
Mitchell shook his head again at Richard Woolsey's insistence that the weapons fire had caused the Stargate to malfunction. "No! Get this through your heads!" He flung the water glass across the room, not caring that it shattered against the bulletproof glass overlooking the embarkation room. He didn't care how odd that would look to some of the people down there. "That Stargate did not malfunction because of weapons fire. Where I am from, the only time it ever malfunctioned with this time lag problem is when Carter was trying to dial out in the middle of a solar flare." Mitchell paused for breath, feeling like he'd just run fifty miles in full army kit. He wanted to get up and pace, but his knee was on fire now. As it was, Dr. Frasier was not going to be pleased with him in two days.
"I'm telling you," he said, "the Ori have something to do with this. It wouldn't be the first time we met up with them, and I wouldn't put it past them to pull a stunt like stranding me who knows when!"
"Colonel Mitchell!" Hammond barked. "I realize you are in a difficult situation. So are we. We want to find our own people as badly as you want to find yours. But for the time being, I am ordering you to stay calm."
Mitchell buried his face in his hand. He hadn't realized he'd been shouting. He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the third briefing in as many days, and this time the IOA was involved. Even in this time and place Woolsey was still an idiot, and trying to explain time travel when he didn't even understand all the various ways E could equal MC squared was giving him a headache on top of the knee, and on top of the migraine Woolsey had already innocently given him the moment Mitchell had found out the IOA would be involved.
"Look," he said finally, trying his best to speak with a steady voice, "the Ori have these weird voodoo powers they use. We don't know enough about them yet; hell, we don't even know where their home galaxy is. The point is, I think the Ori on that planet sent me here. I think they separated SG1 on purpose." How would Sam explain it? "If I'm here, and I'm not supposed to be, I could be causing some major problems in this timeline. If I'm here, and the rest of SG1 except for Teal'c aren't here, then that probably means that the Ori have figured out a way to…..I dunno, warp the fabric of time itself."
"The Grandfather Paradox," Woolsey said quietly. "If you travel back in time and kill your own grandfather, what would become of you?"
"Thank you!" Mitchell exclaimed. "Finally, someone here understands!"
Except the trouble is, Mitchell thought, watching Woolsey and Hammond exchange a look, I've probably already caused problems here. And I don't think they are even beginning to understand.
"Daniel, do you know where we are?" Sam asked when the woman had left them briefly.
"North Wales, in Gwynedd," he said. "Annwsta—the girl who found me—says this is Tŵr Llywelyn—Llywelyn's Tower. It was built by Llywelyn ap Gruffydd." Sam could see him watching the woman come back into the room. "That makes you Elinor de Montefort, doesn't it?"
Sam stared. "The de Montefort name sounds familiar. Was it Simon de Montefort who led the French in the Albigensian Crusade?"
Elinor de Montefort nodded. "He was my grandfather. My father shares his name."
A serving woman brought in two bowls filled with liquid that she set down near Daniel before leaving. Sam wrinkled her nose; the liquid reeked of a musky, sweet scent. Elinor dipped a cloth in the liquid and began wiping the blood from Daniel's face.
He jerked away. "What is that stuff?"
"Daniel, give it a rest," Sam sighed.
"I've had men speak worse when they are this badly injured," Elinor said, shrugging. She dipped the cloth in the other bowl and wrung it, then dipped it in the first bowl again. "I'm washing his wounds with water boiled with nard. It will stop infection and inflammation, and should ease his pain," she told Sam. After working in silence for a few moments, she asked, "Llywelyn says you are both from Tir-Na-Nog."
"Yes," Daniel hissed through clenched teeth. Elinor was peeling back his combat fatigues so she could clean his side. The same serving woman returned with a pile of clean cloths, and knelt by Elinor. Elinor was using the nard to soften Daniel's jacket and shirt, which appeared stiff with dried blood.
Finally, Elinor finished cleaning and bandaging Daniel. "It's nearly Vespers," she said, standing with the aid of the serving woman. "I'll to check on you both afterward."
When the two women had left the room, Daniel immediately groaned. "I'll never complain about Dr. Lam's infirmary again," he muttered. "Sam, I didn't want to say anything when Elinor was here, but I think it's mid-May of 1282."
"What? You think the Jaffa staff weapons managed to get the Stargate to send us this far back? Even the solar flares managed to send us to only 1969, and staff weapons have a lot less power than solar flares." Once again nausea swept over Sam, and this time she had to reach for an empty bowl nearby.
"Are you all right?" Daniel asked.
"Probably a concussion," Sam said, grimacing once her stomach finished heaving. She pushed the bowl away. "I remember helping you through the Stargate, then waking up here. Do you think maybe the Ori on PXS-282 had something to do with us being here?"
"Sam, that's just it. There's nothing in Welsh mythology that talks about anything even remotely similar to a Stargate, except maybe Cerridwen's Cauldron!"
Sam felt like somebody had just punched her in the stomach—after being sick. "What?"
"There's no Stargate here."
"But there's got to be! How else would you explain how we got here, unless the Ori were involved?"
"I don't know," Daniel admitted. "There's more to this, too. That woman—Elinor. In June of 1282 she died during childbirth. June nineteenth, actually."
Sam closed her eyes. "What about her husband? Who is he?"
"His name is Llywelyn ap Gruffydd." Daniel said it the same way the original owner had. "There's a rebellion going on right now. But he didn't give it his full support until after Elinor died. Then, he fought the English and Edward Longshanks for only six more months before somebody accidentally killed him—or murdered him, depending on who you listen to—on the banks of the Irfon River on December 12, 1282. His head was paraded through London." He moved, trying to shift to a more comfortable position, and hissed again. "It's all in the history books. Or will be, anyway."
"And you think we may have played a part in that." Sam leaned back in defeat. How in the universe were they supposed to get home now?
Daniel shifted again, inhaling sharply. "I don't know," he said. "We might have to do it, Sam, so the history for our own time works out right."
"Do what?"
"Kill Llywelyn ap Gruffydd."
