Thank you for all the reads and reviews so far! It's a hot day here today, so let's continue our adventure by setting off into the wintry weather…

Chapter 2

General George Hammond climbed up to the bench seat of the covered wagon and picked up the reins. John was still fussing with the harness, checking the buckles, making sure the collar was sitting right on Ronon's shoulders. The General waited patiently until the man he thought of as family had satisfied himself.

John's hands finally fell away from the leather straps and he looked up. "Stay at one of the big inns, yeah? Don't go trying to save money by heading into the backstreets."

"I'll stay at the Grand Hotel. The honeymoon suite."

John snorted louder than the horse. "Champagne and caviar for breakfast?"

"Nothing but the best."

The younger man lingered at Ronon's head, chewing his lip, running a hand through his hair in the way that the General had come to know so well. John was edgy. He had been since he'd got back from the village the day before. Some trouble with that thug Mitchell, no doubt.

"And you'll go the long way, the river road? You won't cut through the forest will you, Pops?"

"John, I've told you I'll take the safe route. No shortcuts, no stopping at strange old houses, no taking candy from strangers. And besides, I've got Ronon to look after me."

The black forelock flapped as John huffed a breath of laughter, but he didn't look up. He was worried, that was for sure. And no wonder. Neither of them had any other family - just each other. The General had hoped John might hook up with a nice girl or boy from the village, but they all steered clear once Mitchell had taken a fancy to him. John didn't think he knew about that, but he did and he'd had plans to move on for a while now. If he could get a good price for the medals and any kind of price for the house, they'd leave in the spring and try their luck somewhere else.

"Goodbye, son. I'll see you late tomorrow, or maybe the day after."

"Safe journey, Pops."

The General shook the reins and Ronon flung his head up and down once and then set out, his loose-limbed, rangy stride moving them swiftly down the lane.

The journey up to the city was uneventful but long and the General arrived late and tired and was glad to find a warm room at a respectable inn that could also look after Ronon's needs. The temperature had dropped steadily over the course of the day and it was possible the clouds gathering over the distant mountains would shed their load of snow soon, maybe even as far as the lowlands. He resolved to get an early start in the morning, quickly do the rounds of the jewellers and antique shops and be on his way.

As it turned out, the General's business took even less time than he'd hoped. When he placed his precious medals on the first counter and opened their velvet-lined boxes, he was met with a faint sigh and a shake of the head.

Did the man think he'd stolen them? "These are mine. I earned them fair and square."

"Oh, I'm sure you did, sir." The jeweller picked up the King's Medal for Gallantry and looked at it through his eyepiece. "Sadly, bravery rarely meets with its just reward." He placed the medal carefully back on its blue velvet. "Lead," he said.

"Lead?"

"With a thin plating of gold. I've seen a lot of these lately."

It was the same story in the next shop and the next, and unless the jewellers and antiquarians of the city were conspiring to cheat him, the General concluded that they were telling the truth; the medals were worthless in terms of money.

Were they now worthless to him too? Because they weren't made of gold? No. No matter how the state may have cheated him, and others like him, they still told the story of his career, still marked those events where he had done his best and fought for his colleagues and his country. He packed them away, each in their velvet-lined box, collected Ronon from the inn and set off for home.

Snow began to fall - a few soft flakes here and there at first, but those few flakes grew to a steady downpour and then the wind picked up, flurrying the snow into spirals and blowing it into drifts at the side of the road. The cover of the wagon flapped and Ronon snorted and tossed his head, but he plodded on steadily.

Then, out of the growing blizzard, a party of riders emerged.

One of them called out. "Are you heading for the river road?"

"That's the plan."

The rider sidled her horse closer and pulled down her scarf. "River road's blocked," she said. "Drifts as high as a house."

"That's high." She was exaggerating. It hadn't been snowing that long.

"Well, you can go and see for yourself. But I wouldn't recommend it. We're heading for the way through the forest."

"I think I'd take snowdrifts over wolves."

"You're behind the times, old man. The forest way's been made safe. There was a big cull last year - got all the wolves and a few wild cats besides." Her horse shifted uneasily. "Better make up your mind soon - back to town or through the forest." She let the horse go and followed her group, who'd already disappeared into the swirling snow.

The General began to turn the wagon. Either choice involved doubling back on his route. He recalled his promise to John.

"John wouldn't want us stuck in a drift," he said. Ronon whinnied agreement. "But I'm not sure about what the lady said. Maybe they got rid of a few wolves, maybe they didn't. You'd never get them all." Ronon swivelled his ears in opposite directions. "No, I don't want to go back to the city either. If the snow keeps up we could be stuck there a good while. And if there are other travellers on the forest road, we should be okay."

He reached beneath the bench seat. Both shotguns were close to hand, and a couple of boxes of ammunition - always best to be prepared.

The going was easier heading away from the wind and they soon reached the turning toward the higher ground and the path through the old forest. There were no tracks in the snow at the turning, although it was still falling hard and the General supposed they must all have been covered. But even when they were in amongst the trees and there was just a thin covering of snow, he still couldn't see any obvious tracks. Had the party of riders headed for town after all? However, the way was broad and clear and sheltered and Ronon seemed happy enough. The wheels rumbled on and Ronon's back swayed to and fro, and without the biting wind cutting through his clothes, the General began to feel warm and just a little drowsy.

His head jerked up. He'd fallen into a doze but something had woken him. Ronon stood four-square, his head up, his flanks trembling. The snow had stopped, but the sky was heavy with more and it was growing dark.

"What's up, boy?"

A lonely howl floated high into the air, hung as if suspended among the dark trunks and then died away.

Ronon snorted and backed, but then an answering call came from behind them. The General took out the shotguns, loaded them both and stuffed a handful of shells into his pocket. How far had they come? Should he press on or turn back?

A call sounded close behind them and then another off to one side. The General tucked the shotgun in the crook of one arm and shook up the reins.

"Get up there, boy. No sense hanging around waiting."

Ronon jerked into a wary trot, his ears flicking nervously.

Shadows slid between the trees to either side. The General tucked the reins between his knees and levelled the shotgun.

"Time to give 'em a scare." He let one barrel fly to one side and then turned and fired the other. Ronon twitched and quickened his pace, but didn't bolt; as an old army horse, he was well used to gunfire.

The General squinted into the gathering darkness. Maybe the wolves wouldn't bother them anymore. "I think that's done the -"

A huge, black shape launched itself out of nowhere and landed on Ronon's back. The horse screamed a terrified whinny and reared and the General grabbed the driving whip and beat at the great wolf. Ronon plunged forward into a gallop and his attacker fell to the ground, but swiftly came alongside again, joined by other members of its pack. They snarled and snapped and darted into nip at Ronon's heels. The General grabbed the other shotgun and discharged it into the pack. One wolf fell, to be trampled by the others, but the rest kept going.

There was a thud behind him and the General turned, just in time, to send his load of shot into the chest of a snarling animal. He reloaded, left Ronon to his headlong flight and fired to one side and then the other.

Then ahead, in a narrowing of the road, there was a whole host of glittering, feral eyes, luminous in the moonlight. Ronon swerved and the wagon plunged after him, off the track and in amongst the trees, the wheels bouncing over roots, the cover tearing on low branches.

"Ronon, no!" They could have run through the pack, run them over beneath the iron-clad wheels of the wagon. The General snatched at the reins, hauling them uselessly. Ronon wouldn't be stopped. The wagon lurched and jolted and the General was flung up and down as he held tight to the bench seat, praying that they wouldn't lose a wheel. If they did, if they stopped, the wolves would be on them straight away. He could hear them, yelping and snapping at each other; he could see them, running alongside, their tongues lolling, their yellow teeth glinting.

And then suddenly they were gone. The howls and yelps were all behind. The General looked back through the wagon's cover. They were just sitting there, in a line, and he realised that, though overgrown and narrow, they had been following a track through the trees.

Ronon's headlong flight slowed.

"Where've you brought us, boy?"

The horse stumbled to a walk, his sweat-covered sides labouring, his ears drooping to either side. The General looked back again. The path was clear. The wolves had gone. He stowed the shotguns under the seat once more.

"I'm not sure what just happened there."

Ronon didn't respond, but kept walking.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to trust your horse-sense. What's that?"

To his left, amongst the crooked, curving branches was an unnatural shape - a clean, vertical line. A building of some kind? There was another, and further along another and this one formed the edge of a rounded metallic structure. There were more on his right and as he and Ronon made their way forward the two lines approached, as if they were following a wedge-shaped section of vegetation between two ranks of buildings. What would happen when they converged?

Something drew his eye to one side. There was nothing there, but surely there'd been a flicker of light. Was this place inhabited? There it was again. But no, it must have been a trick of tired eyes - there was nothing there. By now the trees were sparse and the General could see tall shapes ahead, and when they finally emerged into the open he gasped in astonishment. Ahead of him was an island in a forest sea; a city of towers so tall he had to crane his neck to see the top, and even then the tallest disappeared amongst the clouds. How could this place exist? And how could it be unknown? He had never heard even the faintest rumour of such wonders, hidden here in this wild, remote spot.

There was definitely a light ahead, a soft, glowing point of yellow and Ronon didn't have to be urged to head toward it. Full of wonder, the General let the horse make his own way and marvelled at the beauty of the structures that they passed between, highlighted with white snow and shimmering ice.

There was a wide entrance at the base of one of the towers. Ronon didn't hesitate to go in and they found a huge space where there was plenty of room for a dozen horses and wagons. There was a central column, around which stairs spiralled, but apart from that, the whole, great room was empty, apart from a large bucket of water and another large bucket, which, judging by Ronon's eagerness to plunge his nose into it, contained an appetizing feed.

The General stepped down from the wagon and eased out his sore limbs and aching back.

"Hello?" His voice echoed around the chamber. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

There was no response. But someone must have seen them coming and prepared for their arrival. This didn't look like a place that was set up to take care of horses, under normal circumstances.

"No one about, Ronon."

The horse looked up, chewing, then stuck his nose back in the bucket.

"Okay, then, let's get you settled." Though he was hungry and tired, his horse's needs came first. The General unhitched the wagon, unfastened all the harness and stowed it under the bench seat. He slung a blanket over Ronon's back and cinched it with a spare strap. "There's nothing to tie you to, but I'm guessing you're not going to wander."

Rasping noises came from the bucket as Ronon licked up the last of the feed. He raised his head and blew a lip-flapping snort.

"Goodnight, then. I'm going to see if I can find our host."

The General headed for the stairs and began to climb.

oOo

"Dr McKay is going to be furious!" The clock's hands spun around on his face, graphically displaying his agitation. "Absolutely furious!"

"He won't find out," said the candelabra. At least, I hope he won't, Radek thought.

"We could not leave the old man out there to die from the cold, Richard." The teapot shuffled to the head of the staircase. "It is lucky the wolves are afraid of the city and that we saw him on the external sensors."

"How can you be so calm?" Woolsey chimed several times in a row. "Dr McKay will probably take away our voices for letting him in - turn us back into objects!"

"No, he won't," said Radek, his flames curving toward the clock soothingly. One of his arm branches blew out and he lit it again from the candle on his head. Rodney was unlikely to notice anything they did at the moment. "He's busy. He's trying to recharge it again."

"Again?" The clock ticked sadly. "After nearly ten years, he keeps trying."

"What else can he do?" The teapot's spout drooped.

Radek said nothing. Since Rodney had given them back their voices, eight years ago, everything had been said over and over: how they should have spoken up; how they could have argued against Rodney, suggested taking a couple of teams with them to make sure the ZPM was returned. How long had they talked round and round in circles? The Ancient had tricked them, Ancients weren't supposed to intervene, Rodney had actually had a point… and so on and so on for years and years. But nothing changed; perhaps they would be trapped forever.

"Hey, maybe he'll fall in love with the old man!"

"That is not funny, Ford." Radek leant through the railings. "Our guest is coming. Everyone on the table. Not you, Mr Woolsey."

"He might want to know the time."

Ford leapt up onto the chair. "Who puts a clock on the table when they're eating?"

The clock grumbled as he shuffled into the shadows at the side of the Mess Hall. "It's a shame that some people can't retain their respect for their leader just because he's temporarily… indisposed."

"You call being a clock indisposed?"

"Be quiet, Ford! He's coming!" Radek arranged himself into a conventional candelabra shape, tall and unbending, his flames steadily illuminating the meal they had prepared for the old man.

A voice called from the corridor. "Hello? Is there anybody here?"

Ford rattled on his saucer and Teyla's painted eyes narrowed in warning.

"Well, I'll be…" The old man stood on the threshold, staring around the hall. His chest rose and fell rapidly and he coughed into his hand. The transporter would have saved him the climb, but Rodney would certainly have noticed that power expenditure. He came forward slowly into the light. "That's a fine meal."

Radek stood a little straighter. It was indeed a fine meal, considering the short time they'd had. There was bacon, eggs, fried potatoes and steamed cabbage - simple but hearty. And for dessert, cherries and whipped cream.

The old man looked around. "Come on out, whoever you are."

The teacup's handle twitched ever so slightly.

"Well, if you're not coming out, then I'll just say thank you kindly for your hospitality. I'm General George Hammond, at your service." He gave a little bow, stared into the shadowy corners as if expecting his host to jump out and then, when nobody was forthcoming, sat down and began to eat.

General George Hammond. And, Radek wondered, did General George Hammond happen to have a daughter or a granddaughter ready to be fallen in love with? Or a son or a grandson? Or a second cousin twice removed, or a friend or a neighbour, or anyone that might conceivably get them out of this cursed situation? It was hard to stay stock-still, when Radek wanted to pace or rub his chin or wiggle the tiny golden circles that were the remains of his glasses. But he'd just have to think and plan while not betraying his semi-animation by the slightest flicker of a flame.

The General ate his meal. And then he got up and wandered out into the corridor, which was Radek's cue to move. The candelabra doused his flames and scuttled from shadow to shadow. He scrambled up the stairs with remarkable efficiency - but then he had been a candelabra for a long time, so he was used to making do. At the top he jumped onto a little ornamental table (Katie Brown, he reminded himself, and really, it was getting harder and harder to remember what was who, or who was what). Then he relit his flames and allowed them to stretch high and blaze with light. After a few minutes he was rewarded by the sound of the General's tread on the stair.

The old man leant against the railing and his breath wheezed. The cold hadn't done him any good, by the sound of it.

"Ah, another fine candelabra," he said. "The place is full of antiques. And all I want is a bed."

Radek had to fight hard to suppress his automatic gesture. But they'd only left one door open and locked all the rest, so surely the old man would find his way. He did. He entered the unlocked room, there was a grateful sigh, a sag of creaking springs (one of the Marines - Radek couldn't remember his name) and the sound of boots being kicked off.

The softest of tiptoeing ticks sounded from the top of the stairs. "Is he asleep?"

"Yes. I think so." Radek bent and clung to Katie's fluted edge and then lowered himself down to the floor, just as Teyla and Ford helped each other over the lip of the top step.

"So, now what?" said Ford.

"Now we think of a way of keeping him here." Radek rubbed the decorative ridge below his mouth.

"Keeping him?" Woolsey's hands spun in opposite directions. "What on earth would we do that for?"

"Because he must have relatives," said Radek. "And they will come and search for him and perhaps among them will be one who will break the Ancient's curse."

There was silence for a moment.

Ford rotated on his saucer. "I think you've finally lost it, Dr Zee. That's not a plan, that's a wish and a prayer."

"Wishes and prayers are all we have left," snapped Radek. "And if you can think of anything better, be my guest!"

The teacup didn't respond.

Cogs whirred and somewhere inside Woolsey, a spring gently twanged. "What do you think, Teyla?"

"I think it is time for a change," she said. "And I think that if there is anybody in this world who can love Rodney, that he or she will arrive soon."

"I agree," said Radek. "But if we do nothing, perhaps they will never arrive."

"So, now what?" asked Ford, again.

"Now, malý šálek," said Radek, "we assemble our wishes and prayers into a plan."

oOo

It was the last ember of a dying fire, the last vestige of a setting sun. He had failed. Soon the tiny light would go out and Teyla, Radek, Woolsey and Ford would become lifeless objects once more and Rodney would be left alone, in the endless darkness and the cold, just as the Ancient had told him, so long ago.

He couldn't find a way of recharging the ZPM. He'd tried, oh how hard he'd tried. But it was hopeless.

He lay down on the floor, his cheek pressed to the cold, flat surface, his body heavy with defeat. The weak, red glow taunted him with his failure. He drew his hood over his head and closed his eyes.

For a long time after the Ancient had left him here alone Rodney's heart had burned with anger. He had been a creature of rage, tearing through the city, roaring his fury, railing against the judgement of his actions, of his very nature, based on one single choice, one single act. And that act, had it been so reprehensible? No! No, it hadn't and he'd yelled his defiance through the empty corridors, into the echoing void of the vast halls of his city, and up into the uncaring, unresponsive sky.

They'd found the city empty, hadn't they? Abandoned and neglected for who knew how many millenia by its creators; by what right did the Ancients, after so long, dictate who lived in it now, judge its new inhabitants to some arbitrary standard and inflict on them such draconian punishment? They had no right. None.

But time had blunted Rodney's anger, turning it to bitter resentment. His defiance, however, remained, and he had used it to fuel his creativity, to stimulate his intellect to new heights. He had used the resources of the city to create wonderful things, bright spots of beauty amid the darkness and isolation. And he had triumphed when he'd given Zelenka back a measure of his life, even if he couldn't restore the scientist fully. But he didn't have the power to revive more than a few companions to do his bidding and bounce ideas off (he refused to admit he'd restored them out of loneliness), and sometimes he regretted animating even those few. They always seemed to find him when he wanted to be alone, when he was letting himself descend into a spiral of gloom and resentment for a while, prior to picking himself up and getting on with what passed for his life, which he would do in his own sweet time, thank you very much, without any unwanted pep talks.

Here they came now. He recognised the rattling progress and skidding halt as Ford's.

"Dr M, Dr M, you need to come, quick!"

"Go away."

The teacup rattled in his ear. "Get up, Dr M, you have to come now!"

Rodney took a deep, long-suffering breath. "No. I'm busy."

"You're lying on the floor doing nothing." The teacup dug its saucer into his spine. "Move!"

"Ow! Get lost, you little -"

"There's a thief!"

"A what?"

"A thief! He's taken Zelenka!"

"What the…?"

Ford shuffled awkwardly in his saucer, his handle twitching with embarrassment. "You see, there was this old guy and he was gonna freeze, so… er…"

"Go on, let's hear it. What've you done?"

"We, er, we let him in."

"You let him in."

"And his horse."

"His horse."

"Yeah, because the wolves would've got him and we made him a meal and let him sleep on Sergeant Coughlin and now he's swiped Zelenka and hidden him in the back of his wagon."

Rodney felt a flame of rage curl and flicker in the pit of his stomach. Not for his semi-animate companions, although he'd certainly save up a healthy dose of ire for them, but for this intruder, this stranger who'd abused his hospitality, even though he'd had no idea he was being hospitable at the time and, given the choice, certainly wouldn't have been. He snatched up Ford, stuffed him in his pocket and left the glowing cave of the power room behind, his angry strides snapping along the empty corridors, his rage burning higher with every step.

His first contact with the outside world and it proved that he'd been right all along. You couldn't trust anyone, not anyone. "Oh yes," he snarked to himself. "Of course you can have a ZPM, be our guest, why not have all three? Why not leave the city completely unpowered and undefended? Let's all indulge in senseless, selfless acts, pour out the milk of human kindness into our coffee with a liberal hand and then all die horrible, painful, excruciating deaths when everyone in the galaxy finds out what pushovers we are! Stupid Ancients! Stupid, moronic, holier-than-thou, smug, self-satisfied, stupid Ancients!"

Rodney hurtled up the stairs and out into the snowy dawn. His long coat floated out behind him as he strode through the newly-fallen snow, kicking it out of the way as if the soft blanket were a personal insult. He could see movement in the base of the tower where Ford had told him he'd find the old man, hastily hitching up his wagon to make his getaway, no doubt. The hood of his coat had fallen down onto his shoulders. He pulled it up again, tugging it right over his head so that his face was in shadow.

"You!" he roared. "Old man!"

He would have laughed if he hadn't been so angry. The old man jumped and spun around.

"So, you're the miserable excuse for a thief!"

"Thief?" The horse, as yet unattached to the wagon, skittered around, stamping and snorting, until it faced Rodney, its ears flat against its head.

"Yes, a common thief! You eat my food, sleep in one of my beds and then steal from me!"

The old man appeared confused but undaunted. "Now, wait just a minute. I'm grateful for your help. More than grateful, in fact. But I'm no thief. In fact, I've been wanting to thank you. General George Hammond." He stuck out his hand.

Rodney ignored it. "Liar!" he spat. "I know what you've done. Thought you could get away with it, didn't you? Thought no one was watching?"

"I think I'd better leave now."

"I think I'd better search your wagon."

"Go ahead. You won't find anything."

Rodney leapt up into the bed of the wagon. It was empty apart from a heap of old sacking. He pulled the rough fabric aside and, gleaming within, was Zelenka, looking like a valuable antique and as heavy as solid gold. Rodney grasped the scientist's stem, slid down from the wagon and brandished the stolen goods in front of the old man. "See? You see this? How did that get there, hey? You tell me that!"

The General stood up straight, but his parade ground stiffness wouldn't do him any favours here. "I don't know."

"You don't know! Well, that's not good enough. That's just not good enough!" The long years of suppressed resentment flooded Rodney's body like a bursting dam. He'd been judged and punished harshly - why should this old man get away with his crimes? Why should Rodney be imprisoned when thieves such as this walked free?

"I swear to you, sir, that I'm innocent."

"Yeah, innocent. I don't think so." Trembling with fury, Rodney reached into a pocket; and then a weapon was in his hand and he was pulling the trigger and blue fire shot out and hit the General full in the chest. The old man fell to the ground and lay still. Rodney's arm shook as he held the weapon trained on his victim. "See? You see? That's what thieves get round here."

The horse threw back his head and squealed, then reared and crashed down in a thunder of stamping hooves. Rodney fired over the animal's head. "Go! Go on! Get out of here!" He fired again and again, so that the air tingled with static and, though the horse dodged to one side and then the other, it couldn't come near him to avenge his fallen master. Rodney fired once more so that the blast singed the horse's forelock, and finally the frightened creature whirled around and galloped away, disappearing amongst the frost-edged towers and gnarled trees of the old forest.

Rodney held up the candelabra and glared at its golden curlicues. "Now I'll deal with you," he said.

Oh dear. Rodney is in a dark place, isn't he? And poor little candelabra Radek… It sounds like a rescue is needed!

Next chapter out on Wednesday!