General Hammond was fooling himself in thinking that he was actually getting any work done. The computer screen before him hadn't changed in the last hour. While he had come into his office with every intention of doing work, once he sat down the events of the day washed over him.
It had started off badly with a dead car battery and had concluded with an amnesiac team and the loss of his second-in-command. At this point, he wasn't sure it could get much worse.
Or could it?
Why this had to happen to them was something altogether beyond him. Hadn't they had enough hardship in their lives? Teal'c, considered a traitor by his own people, a lone alien among humans, fighting a war he might not win. Because of him, his family was a target, ostracized from the very society that had once cherished and nurtured them.
For Major Carter, this program was a huge coup, but even then, there had been hardship. Taken as a host by a "friendly," Jolinar, fighting countless battles, solving riddles when the lives of everyone on the planet relied on her making the correct decision. She had given up family and a normal life when she first got involved and now even her father was a stranger to her at times as a host to Selmac.
Dr. Daniel Jackson, rescued from a life of ridicule in the archaeological community and thrust headfirst into the military machine, found that he had the most to lose—his wife and his brother-in-law to the enemy.
For Jack O'Neill, this was just one more assignment tacked onto an already lengthy military career—none of which had been easy. He didn't even want to imagine some of the horrors Jack O'Neill had faced head-on over the years to make him the man he was under General West's command during the first Abydos mission. Hadn't he suffered enough at the hands of the Iraqis? Hadn't he suffered enough while he held his dying son in his arms, watching the very lifeblood flow from the only child he had?
Lost in his thoughts, Hammond barely registered someone entering the briefing room. From past experience, he could tell it wasn't Teal'c—that boy was worse than Colonel O'Neill when it came to sneaking up on people. It still amazed him that a man that large could move almost without making a sound.
It couldn't be Dr. Jackson, unless he had drastically changed his personality—although under a potentially harmful alien influence, anything was possible. Colonel O'Neill was generally the first one at a briefing but this time around it wouldn't be so. By default, that left Major Carter.
From his vantage point in his office, Hammond heard Major Carter enter the empty briefing room on level 28. He could picture her movements in his mind's eye—her blue eyes squinting as she looked around the room in confusion, scrutinizing her watch for the time, and rechecking the room. He heard papers hit a solid surface and surmised that she had dropped her notes and pen at her usual spot at the briefing room table. Her footfalls moved toward the sideboard and Hammond vaguely realized that he remembered smelling coffee brewing and offered silent thanks to the airman with the forethought to put some coffee on for the briefing. This might turn into a long session and they might need the extra caffeine. He could picture Carter pouring herself a cup and mixing in a little cream and sugar like she usually did.
It was time to make his appearance, he thought, rising from his desk just as he heard Teal'c's voice.
"Greetings, Samantha Carter. Where are Daniel Jackson and General Hammond?"
"I'm here, son," Hammond said walking into the briefing room from his office. His eyes narrowed when he realized Dr. Jackson was missing—again. He scowled slightly as he turned his attention to Carter. "Major Carter, where is Dr. Jackson?"
Carter walked over to the table, placing her hand on the back of her chair. "I'm not sure, sir. I left Daniel in the commissary. He was probably going to his office. He said he wanted to start his report. Should I get him?" She started to put her coffee down on the table when Hammond's voice stopped her.
"No need, Major. I'll have someone find him. There's no reason for you to go traipsing off after him every time he gets lost on base." He strode over to the sideboard, picked up the phone, dialed an extension, and a familiar voice answered. "Dr. Fraiser, please stop by Dr. Jackson's office on the way down and bring him along." At her confirmation, he hung up and went back to the table. He looked at Teal'c and Carter, standing hesitantly, waiting for him.
"Have a seat, people. Dr. Fraiser is joining us for this briefing so we'll begin when she arrives...hopefully with Dr. Jackson."
Silence descended upon the room. Carter paged through her files, reading and re-reading what Hammond was positive she already knew by heart. Teal'c merely watched and waited.
It was an uncomfortable silence.
Usually, this was one of the more interesting teams to debrief. Experts in first contact situations, they nearly always had something exciting to report—from Dr. Jackson's endless chatter about the discovery of ancient ruins to Carter's barely contained excitement when she went off on one of her scientific tangents about some kind of advanced alien technology they had found. Teal'c's rare but profound insights offered a unique counterpoint to the enthusiasm generated by the two scientists.
Colonel O'Neill, though, always managed to stay above the fray. He knew when to press for more concrete facts. He knew how to change the direction of the briefing without losing the valuable energy and passion of his two scientists. While on the other hand, he always knew when it was time to curb their enthusiasm and focus on the job at hand. He also recognized the appropriate time to let their excitement bring them to even greater discoveries. Instinctively he knew just what to do. No matter how many times Hammond saw it happen, he was always amazed by O'Neill's leadership of such a diverse team.
General Hammond found himself drawn to this team, watching them together, working as a well-oiled machine. Many times he just observed, acutely aware of his second-in-command. O'Neill's off-the-cuff sarcastic remarks were just his defense mechanism—finely tuned as it was—to turn even the most astute away. He was a great deal smarter than he appeared to be—much smarter than even his team realized. Even when he didn't look like he was listening, Hammond knew O'Neill heard every word—even those unuttered. His cool expression and calm demeanor were just a front, Hammond knew. He could tell after all these years. O'Neill lived for this assignment. He loved the adventure, the excitement of discovery, and the challenges of first contact. He thrived on it. His eyes gave it away. Windows to the soul they have been called by many, and in this case, Hammond had to agree.
From the very beginning, Hammond had been fascinated with this unlikely team. Two scientists and two military men, a fierce loyalty binding them together. A strange family. Three humans and an alien, all tied together because of circumstance, but yet they fit perfectly together, melded into a single, solid unit. On some assignments Hammond knew it was only their fierce loyalty and determination that got them through.
But now, he knew just by looking at them that something was wrong, something was off. Even though they thought they were fine, in reality a huge piece was missing. And the worst thing about it was that they didn't even know it was gone.
The entrance of Dr. Fraiser with a slightly disheveled Dr. Jackson in tow interrupted his musings, bringing him back to the present. He straightened unconsciously in his chair and motioned for Fraiser and Jackson to take their seats.
"Doctors, I'm glad you could join us." He let Jackson and Fraiser settle in at the briefing room table before he continued. Fraiser looked worried—never a good sign, especially when it came to medical matters—so he decided to start with her. "Dr. Fraiser, what do you have to report?"
"Unfortunately, sir, not much more than before." She paused, paging through the array of folders and papers spread in front of her. "According to the test results, SG1 is in perfect health. I couldn't find any abnormalities in any of their lab results and that's gotten me a bit worried." She glanced up, catching Hammond's eye. "I was hoping I would be able to pin this on something specific, something tangible, whether it was an alien germ or a chemical."
Carter leaned forward on her elbows, resting her weight on the table. "So Janet, what exactly are you saying?" she asked, a perplexed expression on her face.
"I'm saying that whatever memory problems you're having do not seem to have a physical or chemical cause—at least not that I can find." Fraiser shrugged apologetically. "I'm going to continue running some additional tests. Maybe I missed something. I wish I could tell you something more positive."
Jackson looked worried, his forehead deeply creased. He had removed his glasses during Fraiser's explanation, rubbing the heels of his hands into his already reddened eyes. Jackson sighed deeply before speaking. "But then, the only other possibility would be that someone was messing around in our heads and I just don't see that happening. These people were primitive but they were friendly and welcoming. They had no advanced technology. And anyway, why would they have any reason to alter our memories?"
"I don't know, but I'd like permission to run some more tests. General, I'd like some more time to observe SG1. We haven't tried hypnosis. Maybe that will help."
Hammond nodded sharply. "Permission granted, Doctor. Do what you need to do to get to the bottom of this. Take as much time as you require."
Carter rubbed her face wearily. Jackson stared at Hammond, his eyes full of dread and dismay. Teal'c merely raised an eyebrow. Hammond knew they had been hoping for some kind of resolution, some good news, answers of some kind—anything but what Dr. Fraiser had reported. SG1 knew they weren't going home anytime soon.
"Anything to add, Doctor?" Hammond asked.
"No, sir." Fraiser said, shaking her head in apology.
"Then you're dismissed. I appreciate the update." He smiled at her, thanking her for her hard work in word and deed, but the smile never reached his eyes. How could it? How could he be happy about news such as this? His premier field team was grounded for an unknown length of time because of something his chief medical officer couldn't identify and his second-in-command was missing in action, left behind on an alien planet halfway across the universe. Ugh. You couldn't get much worse if you tried really hard.
"Yes, sir. Thank you." She rose and quickly walked out of the room, a pensive expression on her face. Hammond could tell that her mind was already on other things even before she left the room.
Once Fraiser was gone, Hammond waited a beat before he continued. "We should probably get on with this debrief. Major, why don't you start?"
Carter launched off on her scientific tangent, explaining the various discoveries she had already made, just in the few moments she had had this evening. Some of the rock samples they'd brought back had traces of naqahda in them but it was also mixed with some other element she hadn't been able to identify...yet. With enough time and study, she was positive she would be able to find out what it was and exactly what it did. At a cursory glance, it seemed to provide some kind of enhancement to the naquada, at least on the surface, but she couldn't understand why. She wasn't even sure if it was a metal or if it was something else entirely. She was already planning some tests to figure out just what the relationship was between the two. She continued for some time, until Hammond held his hand up.
"Major, I think you've convinced me this planet has value, at least for mining. How about we give Dr. Jackson a little time to enlighten us about the people?"
She looked a little stunned that he had cut her off so abruptly, but acquiesced immediately. She turned to Daniel, who was already gearing up.
"General Hammond, I believe a closer examination of this culture will prove to be beneficial, not only for us, but also for them." He leaned forward on his elbows, as if the extra weight would emphasize his point. "Sir, these people fought off the Goa'uld hundreds of years ago and the Goa'uld have not returned. That should tell you something about them. I believe that they could make a valuable ally for us in the fight against the Goa'uld."
"I agree with Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, quietly but firmly. "These people seem to be fearsome warriors, willing to fight for their freedom and their beliefs."
Jackson looked at Teal'c, surprise etched into his face at Teal'c's outburst but his surprise quickly turned to gratification. He gestured to Teal'c. "General, with that kind of endorsement, how can you argue with us?"
"Dr. Jackson, I'm not arguing with you in the first place. This planet, as far as I can tell, might prove to be a valuable resource to us in our fight against the Goa'uld, both in its people and in its materials. I am merely concerned with the events that took place over the past two days while you were on this mission. In addition, I'm also concerned about your state of mind."
"Sir, no disrespect intended, but Dr. Fraiser can't find anything wrong with us and we all feel fine. Why do you insist that there's something wrong with us?" Carter asked, exasperation tinting her words.
"Because, Major," said Hammond, as he rose and pointed to the Stargate below. "I watched the four members of my very best field team walk through that Stargate a day ago and only three returned. I have a problem with that." He paused, trying to get his temper under control. He was tired and frustrated more than angry, he knew, but right now anger was all he had—that and a lot of unanswered questions.
He looked around at the tired faces surrounding the briefing room table. "Let's adjourn this discussion now. It's late and I know you've all had a rough day. We'll reconvene this briefing two days from now. Maybe by then we'll have something more to add. You are all confined to the base until further notice. No exceptions. Dismissed." He watched SG1 quickly gather their belongings and leave. They weren't even talking amongst themselves, Hammond realized, and sighed softly to himself. Normally, SG1 was a very talkative group and the lack of idle banter that surfaced following the briefing worried Hammond more than he wanted to admit. That was not a good sign.
XXX
Daniel was in his lab, buried in his books, when Carter found him later that same night. The base was quiet and she was restless. Even though it was nearly 0100, she knew Daniel would still be awake. He was reliable like that. He was consistent. Gotta love consistency.
But when she stepped closer, she realized Daniel wasn't studying. His glasses were lying next to him on the desk. His head was resting on his crossed arms and he was fast asleep, snoring softly. Carter hated waking him but she knew he would forgive her and thank her in the morning—especially when he didn't wake up with an uncomfortable crick in his neck. She crossed the room quietly, gently shaking his shoulder and calling his name.
"Daniel...Daniel, wake up. You should be in bed."
He woke suddenly, gasping. An expression of panic and fear crossed his face quickly before recognition set in.
"Sam! Oh gosh, I'm sorry. What time is it?" He rubbed his eyes, squinting across the room, trying unsuccessfully to read the clock on the wall.
"It's just after midnight. Did you have a bad dream or something?" she asked, concerned. Normally, Daniel wasn't so jumpy.
"No...I don't know," he said shaking his head. "I just had a weird feeling, but it's passing now. Sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you." He looked at her again, his forehead furrowed. "What are you doing down here anyway? It's late."
Carter shrugged her shoulders. "I was nearly doing the same thing in my lab, but I don't think I can sleep. For some reason, I'm restless tonight. Maybe it's because I know I can't go home to my own bed. So I came to see what you were doing. Teal'c was doing his kel-no-reem and I didn't want to bother him."
"So, I was your second choice?" Jackson teased. He yawned wide, his eyes watering.
"No, silly," she said smiling and swatting his arm playfully. "You know better than that. It's just that Teal'c's room is on the way here. It never hurts to check." It almost felt like old times. Why she thought that just now, she didn't know, but let it pass.
"I know," he said, smiling. "So, what were you working on before you came down here to watch me sleep?"
"I was reading some of the preliminary test results from some of the plants we brought back. The botanists have been having a field day. They think there are some interesting properties they might be able to use here—even one that might help prevent Alzheimer's, especially the latter stages. Even this early on it looks promising."
"That sounds great, Sam. Really great." His words were encouraging, but his tone was thoughtful. He paused, studying his hands intently. "Sam, are you worried?"
"Worried?"
"Are you worried that they might be right?"
She looked him directly in the eyes, holding his gaze. "I'm deathly afraid that they might be right."
XXX
The next day and a half passed uneventfully for SG1. Jackson and Carter immersed themselves in their research: Jackson studying various texts he had found about the Celts while Carter split her time between her rock samples and studying the ribbon device. The bones themselves were being dated to give them an estimate of time—when the Gou'ald had been driven from Meath and the Ildanach.
They were interrupted several times when Dr. Fraiser requested their presence in the infirmary for more tests, drawing additional blood samples each time. By the last one, Jackson was referring to her as the Countess Dracula. She laughed with him, but knew how concerned he was. He tried to hide it, but she knew he was worried. His eyes were haunted—and this time not from the bones and inscriptions he studied.
By the time General Hammond called the next briefing, both Carter and Daniel thought they had gathered enough evidence to convince anyone—even the Joint Chiefs if need be—of the importance of continuing relations with Lord Kentigern and the people of Meath.
Daniel, though, was pushing for immediate action, which General Hammond was not fully convinced was necessary.
"But General," Jackson argued, passionate in his convictions, "this is the opportunity of a lifetime. You heard what Sam said. There's no threat from the Goa'uld. The bones found with the ribbon device are hundreds of years old, perhaps thousands. If this civilization was able to defeat the Goa'uld that long ago and they are still free of Goa'uld control to this day, we need to discover what they know. If we wait, they may not think we are serious about exploring diplomatic relations with them."
"But Dr. Jackson, you said in your report that Lord Kentigern was having enough trouble with local disputes between neighboring villages. How do you expect him to be in any position to negotiate trade treaties with us when he can't protect his own borders?" Hammond argued, providing a valid counterpoint.
"Counties actually, General. They seem to have taken the names of several of the ancient Celtic counties—Meath was part of the Brega Kingdom during the 9th century. It seems like Meath is at odds with Glyn Cuch which literally means frown valley." A grimace passed over Jackson's face, but he shook it off. Taking a breath, he continued. "I don't know why that's so important, but anyway...compared to some of the skirmishes they've had over the years, this one is minor, more annoying than anything. As for Meath, although it is a few hours hike from the Stargate, it is the controlling county. The Stargate is within the borders of Meath and those borders are regularly patrolled."
"So what do you recommend, Dr. Jackson?" Hammond asked knowing exactly what the answer would be.
"I want to go back and start the diplomatic process, perhaps bringing something with us as proof of our good intentions. All they have is our word that we will return and that we are trustworthy. I'd like to do something to strengthen their trust in us. It will probably aid in negotiations further on down the road."
"What do you plan on giving them, Dr. Jackson?"
Jackson paused, frowning slightly. His hands moved nervously, twirling and playing with the pen in his hand—much like a certain missing Colonel. "See, that's where the problem comes in. I don't know. I can't seem to find anything about this type of negotiation anywhere in any of the ancient textbooks I have. The Celtic people didn't exactly leave a written record of all their day-to-day activities. They had an oral tradition and there's not much left except what you find in myths and legends." He paused, hesitating to offer the only suggestion that came to mind. "They might appreciate the addition of a bride, but I don't see that as something we can really provide."
Hammond was not amused. "No, Dr. Jackson. Anything else?"
Carter piped up, getting Jackson out of the so-called hot seat. "Perhaps a token of some type for the Lord and Lady? New clothing or some kind of jewelry? They are a relatively self sufficient people."
"Very well. When the time comes, we will send a diplomatic team through to set up a time to return to speak with Lord Kentigern. Dr. Jackson, if you can find something by then, you can send it through with the team." General Hammond began to rise, but Jackson's voice stopped him mid-stand.
"When the time comes? General, we need to do this now, not later, and I think SG1 should go. We've been there before and we know the people. They'll be more comfortable with us."
Hammond's voice was firm. "Absolutely not. You are in no shape to go topside, let alone half-way across the galaxy."
"But General, sir. I have to go. At least send me along with another team. At least then there will be a friendly face. We don't have to be long, a few hours at most. Egan said they were patrolling the area regularly now that the gate was uncovered. Please, General...it's just something I have to do."
"Dr. Jackson, under no circumstances are you going through the Stargate. Do you understand me?" Hammond said strongly. He was frustrated and tired and letting it show in his voice.
When he got a meek nod from Jackson, he continued. "First thing tomorrow morning, I am sending SG5 through to evaluate what's going on over there. Colonel Yearwood has his orders. His mission will be a simple recon. If possible, he will also try to locate and retrieve Colonel O'Neill. Diplomatic relations will have to wait until we can confirm what's going on over there. We're not about ready to open up diplomatic relations with someone who might be holding one of my officers hostage. Is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," said Carter, looking intently at Jackson. He got the message and kept his mouth shut.
"Very well. Once we get the reports from SG5 tomorrow, we will decide what else we need to do. Dismissed."
XXX
When 0700 rolled around the next morning, General Hammond found Jackson, Carter, and Teal'c loitering in the control room. He wasn't surprised, but he just didn't need them underfoot.
"SG1 what are you doing down here this morning?" he asked his tone strong, plainly stressing his displeasure at their presence.
"Just here for the show, General," Jackson said, sounding suspiciously like SG1's missing CO. If only they realized how much they were sounding and acting like O'Neill...Hammond sighed. He knew that Jackson had an ulterior motive and, sure enough, Jackson spoke up again, after a beat or two of silence. "General, you should be sending a diplomatic team through. We should go through and contact them."
"Dr. Jackson, I thought we settled this last night." He wasn't in the mood for Jackson's unreserved determination this morning. Because his second in command was missing, he had a mound of paperwork on his desk and he wasn't looking forward to it. It was amazing. No matter how much Colonel O'Neill groused about doing paperwork, he was very efficient—too efficient it seemed. Whoever knew the endless supply of paper it required to just keep the lights on and the base running. Besides, he was worried—very worried—and he didn't want to admit it. "Under no circumstances is SG1 permitted to leave the base—either through the front door or through the gate. If you insist on continuing this conversation, I will have you in the lockup fast enough to make your head spin. Am I understood?"
"But General..."
"Yes, General, Daniel understands." Carter said, cutting him off. From the tone of her voice, Hammond was sure she had already had this conversation—or something close to it—before. Knowing Carter, she had tried to convince Dr. Jackson of the futility of arguing earlier this morning, but it hadn't worked so she'd agreed to tag along for moral support.
"Very well." He eyed Jackson again before leaning to toggle the microphone to the on position. "SG5, are you ready to depart?"
"Yes, sir. SG5 is prepared," said Colonel Yearwood, the 6'2" sandy-haired team leader of SG5, as his team assembled in the embarkation room.
"Sergeant, dial it up," Hammond ordered.
"Aye, sir." Soon enough, the sound of the gate spinning and the chevrons locking in place filled the cavernous room. "Chevron one, engaged...chevron two, engaged..."
No matter how many times he heard the sound of the inner track of the gate spinning, Hammond knew he would never get tired of it. It was the sound of freedom, of exploration, of unending possibilities. Granted, it also was a doorway through which whoever and whatever could come through—and usually did—but the good far outweighed the bad. He was convinced of it. He looked down at Colonel Yearwood and SG5. They were good men. They'd be able to find something, He was sure of it.
"Chevron seven, locked." The wormhole whooshed out before settling back down. Its blue and white light reflected strangely off the concrete and the metal, causing bizarre light and shadows to play across everyone's face. SG5 moved out quickly, Colonel Yearwood pausing just before entering the event horizon. He turned and offered SG1 and General Hammond a salute. "We'll find him, sir, and we'll bring him home."
"Thank you, Colonel." Hammond toggled the microphone off as Yearwood stepped through. A beat later, the gate shut down, leaving the control room under the harsh glare of the artificial lighting.
Hammond broke the uncomfortable silence that descended.
"Okay people, let's get back to work."
A series of "Yes, sirs" followed him back up the stairs to his office and the mound of paperwork demanding his immediate attention.
XXX
Colonel Yearwood stepped through the gate and noticed that his team had taken up defensive positions on either side of the DHD, surveying the area, watching for any sign of life. They were a good team. Granted, they didn't have the track record that SG1 had, but generally they also managed to stay out of trouble. It always amazed him how often he would hear stories of how SG1 had engaged the Goa'uld or managed to piss off the natives on a planet far, far away. They had a knack for things like that. He glanced around, checking the immediate vicinity of the gate. It looked clear to him. The day was bright and sunny; visibility was high, permitting an unobstructed view of the valley below.
"Major Bigelow, what's our status?"
"Nothing in the immediate vicinity, sir," the stocky brunette said, glancing back at him. "What are your orders?"
"Let's make our way to Meath and see what's going on." Yearwood stepped forward and with a wave of his hand, indicated the rest of his team—Captains Duncan Stewart and James Thomson—could relax. It was a gorgeous sunny day that reminded Yearwood of early autumn in the Northeast US. Not too hot, but comfortably warm. Unfortunately, they weren't here for the weather and the scenery. It was time to work. "So Bigelow, which way to the village?"
"According to Major Carter's report, there should be a path that leads to the village near the ruins." He walked cautiously over the rock-filled area, careful not to trip over anything. Yearwood and the rest of the team followed closely behind. A few moments later a path—or some loose definition of a path—was seen leading off into the forest.
Bigelow turned back to him. "Colonel, this looks like the start of the path Major Carter spoke about."
Yearwood was keeping his eyes on the area around them. He thought there would be more here. Usually the communities sprang up around the gate, but here, all that was left near the gate were piles of rocks and rubble. "I thought Dr. Jackson said that there were guards patrolling the area. I have yet to see anyone."
"Maybe they're patrolling somewhere else," Bigelow suggested without humor. Yearwood could tell that Bigelow was nervous. He couldn't blame him, really. When SG1 lost its CO, it had come as a shock to everyone on base. And now, he thought, here we are, trying to figure out what happened. He had a bad feeling about this but he kept it to himself. Best not too worry anyone...yet.
Nearly an hour into their journey, Yearwood decided to pause for a break near a small clearing several steps from a small brook. "Let's take five everyone, we still have a hike ahead of us." He was getting ready to settle himself down against a tree, when Bigelow spotted someone coming along the path.
"Sir, we have company," he said pointing.
Yearwood turned quickly, his eyes following along the line Bigelow indicated. He picked out faint movement farther up the path and was surprised that anyone could have seen it. "Good catch. Everyone, keep your heads about you." Yearwood stood, hefting his P90, carefully leveling it at the approaching figure. Soon enough three figures approached, dressed in long cloaks. They walked directly to where SG5 was standing as if they knew exactly where they would be.
One tall, well-built man stepped forward, bowing low and introduced himself. "Strangers, please be welcome. I am called Egan and these are my companions, Hywel and Calder." He indicated each in turn. "Have you come through the stone circle?"
"Egan, it is a pleasure to meet you. Daniel Jackson has spoken of you," Yearwood said, cautiously. He still gripped his weapon, but felt a little more comfortable meeting someone SG1 had had contact with. At least something they remembered was true.
"You are friends of Daniel Jackson? Is he among you?" Egan asked, looking around as if Daniel Jackson would appear out of thin air.
"Yes, we are friends of Dr. Jackson's, but he is not with us today. He had other duties. We came looking for someone else." Yearwood paused, trying to figure out the best way to approach the question. He wasn't one for subtlety, so he just dived in, feet first, so to speak. "Egan, do you remember Colonel O'Neill? He was with Daniel Jackson when they arrived a few days ago."
"Yes, of course. My Lord Kentigern spoke with him at length during our feast. Why is it you look for him here?"
Yearwood was confused. "You mean he left with the others, with Dr. Jackson and Major Carter?"
Egan paused for a moment, considering his answer. "Perhaps it would be best for you to speak with Lord Kentigern and Lady Morgana. They will be able to answer your questions. Would you care to follow us back to the village? I will send Calder on ahead to make sure we are prepared for your arrival." He gestured to Calder and, seconds later, he was off running back down the path the way he had come. "Do not worry, this path is safe and he is young. The run will do him good. My Lords, please follow us."
Without the opportunity to protest, SG5 found itself obediently following Egan to the village like lemmings. As long as there wasn't a cliff, Yearwood thought, they should be fine.
"Egan," Yearwood started, "we cannot stay long. We are just trying to find Colonel O'Neill."
"I understand, my Lord, but I am sorry. You must speak with Lord Kentigern. I cannot help you." Egan looked distressed, while his companion kept silent and impassive.
"Very well," Yearwood said, adjusting his pack slightly on his back. It looked like they didn't have much choice in the matter. Minutes later, the clearing was still once again, as if no one had been there.
XXX
Jack O'Neill woke suddenly, freezing cold water splashing on his face. He nearly strangled himself, jerking his head up and away from the offending liquid. A moment later, self-preservation set in and he tried to collect the remaining droplets of water on his face in his mouth with his tongue. The small taste of water only served to worsen his thirst.
Opening his eyes, he was greeted by the grinning countenance of Lady Morgana. Turlough still held the bucket in his hand.
"Well, my pet is awake," she said, nearly purring. Someone had a good night's sleep, he thought sarcastically, shifting on his aching knees, trying to get into a more comfortable position. His fitful sleep throughout the night had proven to be anything but restful. He'd be grateful to sleep in the dirt at this point—anything to get the weight off his knees.
"Yeah, and what's it to you?" Cold showers didn't tend to make him a happy camper in the morning. Besides, he wasn't much of a morning person—especially without his coffee.
She glared at him, her eyes narrowing, a frown finding its way to her face. "Apparently, my pet has not learned anything. Perhaps a lesson is needed." She clapped her hands and Turlough's buddy from last night entered with a tray of food and water in his hands. O'Neill tried not to show the longing on his face, but he knew that she perceived exactly what was going through his mind. His hands clenched at his side as he tried to restrain himself from lunging at the tray, knowing that he wouldn't get far, especially since he was still collared and chained to the wall.
"Place it on the floor," she said, indicating a spot on the ground, just out of his reach. O'Neill's eyes never left the tray as it was placed in the designated spot. He licked his lips hungrily, his stomach already churning. "Perhaps later today, he will have earned the privilege of having something to eat and drink."
He looked up at her suddenly, all but tearing his eyes away from the sight of food before him, a questioning look on his face. Earned? How was he supposed to earn that, he wondered?
"Now, my pet, what can you tell me about the great stone circle?" Morgana asked.
What? Even though he didn't say anything, his face reflected his unsaid thought.
"What is the address of your home world?"
He shook his head firmly, shrugging his shoulders, his eyes never leaving the tray. "I don't know." It was a bald faced lie, but he had to start somewhere. He shifted his weight again, trying to ease the pain in one of his knees. He was getting too old for this.
"Very well, my pet. Shall we go for a walk?" She indicated for Turlough to release the chain from the wall. He did so, pulling O'Neill roughly to his feet. His knees protested violently, nearly causing him to fall flat on his face. The pain in his ribs made him groan. He had almost forgotten about them. God, they hurt, but then, what part of him didn't hurt? He considered the question for a moment, realizing that his hair didn't hurt. That was a good sign.
Turlough's rough handling brought him back to his senses quickly, as Turlough bound his hands tightly in front of him with a length of leather. Turlough's buddy was also returning to the room with another length of chain in his hand, attached to a metal cuff. O'Neill hadn't even noticed him leaving in the first place. He shook his head, trying to clear it. His gaze, however, wandered back down to the tray of food near his feet. If he could only lean down...
Of course, he had no such luck. Lady Morgana took the chain from the guard's hand and attached the length to the chain that hung from his collar. The cuff she attached to her own wrist. He was now leashed to her. A rising fury swelled, but he bit it back. It seemed like he was getting out of this dark and dreary castle. Outside, he would stand a better chance of escape.
"Now, my pet, let us go for a walk and I shall show you my kingdom." She pulled the chain savagely, causing O'Neill to stumble. His sock clad feet caught up with him, and although his knees were protesting violently, he followed with Turlough on his heels. With him along for the ride, escape seemed even farther from a possibility.
They walked upstairs and through the narrow corridor leading to the main hallways of the castle. He tried to remember each and every turn. He could never tell when it might come in handy. They stopped briefly before they stepped out of doors, Lady Morgana collecting a midnight blue cloak from Nerys.
O'Neill tried to catch Nerys's eye and, when he did, was surprised to see the hatred there. This woman, who only days before had served him and treated him with respect, now loathed the very sight of him. And what a sight you are, O'Neill's mind countered. You haven't bathed or shaved in days and now a woman with delusions of grandeur is dragging you around like an animal.
As they toured the village, her kingdom, with Turlough watching him like a hawk, he discovered Nerys was not the only one who now treated him with contempt. Children savagely kicked him before their parents could pull them away. Others spat at him as they passed. At one point, a rotting vegetable hit him on the side of his face, sliding down his arm to drop on the ground. He wiped the foul smelling juice from his face the best he could with his bound hands.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his hushed voice harsh.
"Because I can."
"But why...?" he asked, at a loss of words. His rage boiled, just below the surface. How did you explain this?
"They know all about your refusal to aid us. As the days progress, it will just get worse. They would rather see you dead. As I said last night, it is only though my mercy that you live."
"Then kill me. It's better than this," he growled.
"That is the point. Killing you is too easy. You need to feel our pain, our displeasure."
A young adolescent ran quickly through the crowds toward them. O'Neill guessed he was probably around fourteen years old. The young messenger bowed to Lady Morgana and spoke when she indicated it was appropriate.
"My Lady Morgana, another group of strangers has come through the stone circle and they approach the village along with Egan and Hywel. They are dressed like the strangers who came before."
Although the messenger's eyes were properly downcast while speaking to Lady Morgana, O'Neill saw the boy's eyes slide over to him, taking him in. An expression of disgust briefly passed over his face, but was quickly replaced by his otherwise bland exterior. Only O'Neill, who was staring at him, even noticed.
A delegation of strangers? Perhaps it was the SGC. Perhaps they were sending a rescue party for him. A flame of hope ignited within him. Maybe this nightmare would end. But why had Hammond waited so long to send someone for him? Wasn't it plainly obvious he wasn't there when SG1 returned? But what if he had returned? What if a clone or a robot or something had returned with them? Then, the base and his team were in danger. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear it.
He was confused and half out of his mind with hunger and thirst. He was lightheaded and he knew he wasn't thinking straight. He was starting to fade in and out, missing bits and pieces. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he was starting to weaken. If this kept up, he didn't know how much longer he could last.
"Very well, Calder. Inform Lord Kentigern. We will speak with these strangers in the Great Hall. Inform him that I will attend him shortly."
Calder bowed and sped away toward the castle. Lady Morgana turned to O'Neill and saw him in obvious discomfort.
"We are not yet finished today. We still have to meet with these strangers and see what they have to say. Shall we?" She smiled savagely, pulling O'Neill cruelly behind her, the metal collar digging into his neck, rubbing against his already raw skin. "Perhaps when we are finished, and as long as my pet behaves, he will be permitted to eat this day."
At the mention of the very possibility of food, his head jerked up, his eyes widening—maybe food was in his future. She saw his reaction, but just pulled him along. He could do little but stumble along behind, trying valiantly to keep up.
The abuse on the way back was worse than before. This time, some parents became emboldened, even sending their children to throw things at him. At one point, he thought he felt a rock strike him. He glanced around, his rage ready to boil over looking for the culprit, but it could have been anyone. They all stood watching him, hatred burning in their eyes and etched into the lines of their faces.
Apparently, she had decided to take the long way around because O'Neill did not think it took this long to get back to the castle. It seemed like she was doing this just to piss him off. Well, if that was the case, it was working.
When they arrived at the castle, O'Neill figured he would be brought downstairs immediately, but his assumption was wrong. Nerys waited at the door for Lady Morgana.
"My Lady," she said curtseying, "the strangers have only just arrived."
"Good. Please bring them some refreshments and make sure you mix a good amount of the Mahtab in. I don't want to have any problems later."
Nerys bowed her head. "Yes, my lady." She moved quickly to the rear of the castle, toward what O'Neill surmised were the kitchens, disappearing into the darkness. Morgana pulled O'Neill along, walking deeper into the castle. Turlough followed behind at a discreet distance. They moved quickly through the empty hallways, O'Neill losing his sense of direction more and more with each step they took.
She paused near a half-open door, listening intently. O'Neill could not make out anything, but he heard the low mumbling of voices. Someone was speaking. He took the opportunity to lean back against the wall, in an attempt to distribute some of his weight.
Nerys approached quietly a moment later, waiting patiently for Morgana to acknowledge her presence. Morgana gazed coolly at her, indicating her to report.
"My Lady, the refreshments have been placed in the Great Hall and your guests are partaking of them. Lord Kentigern is waiting for you to arrive before he begins." She bowed low, stepping back. She then hurried back to the depths of the castle.
"Turlough, please tell Lord Kentigern to begin." Her eyes found O'Neill's. "We will be along shortly."
"Yes, my Lady," she said, speaking softly. She moved quietly through the door and was gone.
Morgana looked him over carefully, her eyes piercing. What a sight I must be, he thought, returning her gaze. He was leaning heavily on the wall, barely upright. He was filthy and looked downright repulsive. If he could have looked in a mirror he would have been shocked at the reflection that stared back at him. Dark circles under his eyes did nothing but emphasize his gaunt and pale features. She smiled at him knowingly. It was then that he realized she knew exactly what she was doing. She knew just how much this ordeal was taking from him both physically and mentally.
"My pet, can I trust you to behave yourself?"
He nodded slowly, carefully, trying not to jostle his head too much. He was dizzy and having a hard enough time staying on his feet. He knew the very act of nodding put him one step closer to where she wanted him, but he couldn't help it. He wasn't up for a fight—at least now.
"Good. You shall see just how powerful we are for a 'primitive' people. Come, my pet, and observe." She dragged him forward, almost causing him to lose his footing. They entered the Great Hall through the door and O'Neill realized he was standing at the back of the small dais—the same dais he had shared only days before with Lord Kentigern.
A small party of four men stood before Lord Kentigern, eating and drinking, waiting patiently for Lady Morgana to arrive. They had already polished off a tray of food and two pitchers of some type of beverage. It took a moment, but O'Neill finally recognized them as SG5, led by Colonel Nathan Yearwood.
As they stepped to the front of the dais where Lord Kentigern sat, SG5 turned, seeing the approach of Lady Morgana. Colonel Yearwood began to bow in respect, but his eyes caught sight of O'Neill trailing behind Morgana.
O'Neill could almost picture what Yearwood saw before him: a filthy man in rags, chained to Lady Morgana by a leash, his wrists bound tightly together before him. It was probably the dog tags that gave it away, he realized. Recognition took a moment, but once Yearwood realized who stood behind her, he straightened up quickly, anger stiffening every muscle. The rest of SG5 tried not to show their shocked expressions, but to O'Neill they were plainly obvious. They had not expected to find him here—especially in his current condition.
"What is the meaning of this?" Yearwood asked pointing at O'Neill, barely holding his temper. His hands trembled with anger. The rest of SG5 were gripping their P90s tightly, threatening to aim them at the two regal figures before them.
Lady Morgana had the audacity to look confused by the question. Cold determination and a steely gaze looked down at Yearwood. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner. Do they not teach you manners where you come from?" She yanked again at the chain securing O'Neill to her wrist, pulling him forward into the light. She looked at O'Neill sternly. "Kneel."
No matter how tired he was and how much he knew he needed to sit down, he couldn't do it. His pride wouldn't allow him. He fought back the only way he could. "No," he said quietly, pushing the word out through his cotton-dry mouth.
One more pull on the chain and O'Neill quickly found himself on his knees. He tried to get up, but didn't have the energy. He was barely holding on as it was. Black dots danced before his eyes.
Through his bleary vision, he could tell that Colonel Yearwood was furious. He could see the rage boiling just under the surface, threatening to overtake him. He knew what Yearwood was thinking. It would have been his thoughts if the situation were reversed. A few well-placed shots and they could get out of there. Yearwood would be concerned about him, though, wondering if he would be able to make it back to the Stargate. It was quite a hike, he knew, even in good health and, right now, he was sure he looked like death warmed over. Even kneeling, he was having a hard time staying upright.
A quick glance around the room showed that big men and lots of metal surrounded them. Those big men looked menacing. Getting out of there in one piece might prove to be a challenge if they had to fight their way out. Discretion might be the better option.
Yearwood gritted his teeth, holding his temper the best he could. "They teach me manners, but they also teach me not to treat men like animals. How dare you treat him this way. Do you know who he is?"
"Of course. He is my pet, my project. How else should I treat him? If it were not for my mercy, he would be dead already. I give him his life and he is grateful for it every day he is alive."
Behind Yearwood, O'Neill heard Bigelow's muttered remark. "Dead would be better." He couldn't agree more.
Yearwood took a threatening step closer to the dais. Enough was enough. Before he could issue an order, Morgana's hand flew up and those menacing men, their long swords drawn, surrounded SG5.
"Hey! Wait a minute! What do you think you're doing?" Yearwood protested as someone ripped the weapon from his hands.
"We will not have you interfering with us," said Morgana. She gestured and each member of SG5 was held securely, their arms behind their back. O'Neill could do nothing but watch. He tried to protest, feebly lifting his hands to stop Morgana. She easily backhanded him across the face and darkness swam around him. He landed heavily on his side, his bruised ribs protesting strenuously.
Through a haze of pain, he watched Morgana remove the cuff from her wrist and place it on Turlough's wrist. He was stuck, tied to an immovable object. O'Neill couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a look of pity and remorse cross Turlough's face. Since it was gone so quickly and since the world around him was spinning painfully, he couldn't be sure.
Morgana approached Yearwood as he struggled, trying to free himself from the vice-like grip in which he was held. Morgana lightly placed her hand on his forehead and started speaking. O'Neill tried to concentrate, but couldn't make out the words, but he was sure that if Daniel were there he'd be able to figure it out. Daniel was good at ancient alien words. O'Neill had no idea what she was saying, but from the tone, he knew it couldn't be good. Moments later, Yearwood slumped against the guard holding him, his eyes closed, as if he were asleep.
Morgana moved down the line; each member of SG5 putting up a fight, but finding it impossible to escape her hand and her ice-like gaze.
When Morgana finished with Major Bigelow, she stepped back, swaying slightly, her hand on her head. Lord Kentigern stepped forward quickly, grabbing her elbow and guiding her to his chair.
She graciously accepted his assistance, slumping back heavily in the chair. Lines of exhaustion were etched on her face.
Kentigern indicated for one of the older men to step forward. "Yorath, return these strangers to the clearing where Egan met them. They will not remember anything that has occurred this day and they will not be back to disturb us. Let us rejoice tonight when they are returned through the great stone circle."
Yorath bowed and indicated for the four men holding SG5 to accompany him. Seconds later, O'Neill watched as SG5 was carried out, any hope for a rescue leaving with them.
O'Neill let his head drop to the floor, his eyes closed tightly, as a moan found its way out of his throat. His worst nightmare had come true. He had been abandoned. They wouldn't be back for him. No one knew he was here. He was alone.
XXX
SG5 woke from their brief nap in the clearing. After traipsing what seemed like halfway across the planet, Yearwood had called a halt at the clearing. It was time for lunch and then back to the gate. There was nothing to see here: no natives, no village, no animals, nothing. With nothing threatening them, Yearwood felt it was safe enough for them to relax. The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. They enjoyed the weather and scenery. What else were they to do on a planet where there was no sentient life? Might as well enjoy it while they could.
When 1600 rolled around, Yearwood headed back to the gate and at precisely 1700, they dialed home.
Stepping through the event horizon and onto the ramp at the SGC, Yearwood looked up at General Hammond's hopeful expression. Unfortunately, the news wasn't good. SG1 appeared suddenly in the gateroom, expecting something, but not this.
"Colonel, what happened? Where's Colonel O'Neill?" Hammond asked hopeful.
"Sir, there's no sign of life on the planet at all. We spent the entire day exploring and we didn't meet a single person. I'm sorry, sir, but there's no one there. There's nothing. It's just an uninhabited planet."
Hammond looked crestfallen. He tried not to let it show, but the defeat was in his voice and his posture. "Very well, SG5. We'll debrief in one hour. Get yourselves down to the infirmary to get checked over."
"But...but...we were there!" Jackson exclaimed, running his hands through his short hair. "We met the people. We spoke with them. We even stayed with them. How can you say that they don't exist? Are you blind?"
Yearwood looked at Jackson, his eyes full of pity. SG1 had finally become unglued. They were seeing things, hallucinating. Maybe the stress had finally gotten to them. "Jackson, there's nothing there. Anything you say you saw must have been your imagination."
XXX
By the time they returned him to the dark reaches of the castle, O'Neill was exhausted. He couldn't understand exactly what had happened, but he knew it wasn't good. At least now he knew what had happened to his team, though. She had made them forget. Whether it was permanent, he did not know, but it explained a great deal.
He stumbled along, barely keeping up with Lady Morgana. He couldn't believe that she was up and about only minutes later, nearly recovered after what she had done. Several times, O'Neill found himself dragged along, the chain stretched taut. When they got back to the cell, she instructed Turlough to leave the extra chain on and secure it to the wall. At least he would be able to lie down, O'Neill thought gratefully, sinking to the floor, trying to stop his head from spinning.
Turlough released his hands from the leather bindings as well and O'Neill rubbed his red raw wrists. He remembered the tray of food they had left behind, but when he reached for it, Lady Morgana quickly stepped in and struck him, tipping him over onto his back. He lay there sprawled out, shock registering on his face: his eyes wide in surprise. Food was part of the deal. He had walked around getting stuff thrown at him and now he got to eat. He had sat there in the Great Hall and watched her steal memories from his friends and colleagues. He was sure that was the deal.
"My pet, you did not earn a meal today. You must learn to be more obedient. Turlough, place the tray just out of his reach. He will be able to look at what his attitude took from him." When Turlough did as he was instructed, O'Neill whimpered. It was so close, but he knew, no matter how far he stretched, he would never reach it.
Lady Morgana heard his soft moan and bent down to stroke his head, forcing him to look at her. "Perhaps, my pet, if you can behave yourself this night, you can get something in the morning. Can you do that for me?"
O'Neill glared at her, part of him yelling not to give in, it was just food, but it was almost as if his head was separate from his body as he nodded slightly, accepting her terms for the hope of a morsel of food.
Lady Morgana smiled. He knew that she had won this battle. She helped him sit up and gestured for Turlough to bring the water goblet. She helped him sip some of the water, but took it away quickly. "You get the rest tomorrow if you behave. Right?"
Again he nodded, his eyes only seeing the goblet before him. She replaced the goblet on the tray and left the room with Turlough. O'Neill was sure there was someone just outside the door, but he couldn't see who it was and he didn't care. For the next hour or so, he tried desperately to reach the tray, but nothing he did got him even an inch closer.
Trying not to moan, he slumped down, curling up on his side in a fetal position—still facing the tray of food. Despite the torture of keeping it in view, he couldn't tear his eyes away from it. He would never admit it to himself but that night his whimpers followed him—a Colonel in the US Air Force—down into a restless sleep.
XXX
A gentle caress through his hair and down the side of his face brought O'Neill back to his senses. He unconsciously snuggled his cheek against the soft, gentle hand. He could almost forget where he was—almost. A moment later, the pain of his injuries made themselves known and he jerked his head away and opened his eyes wide. What was he doing? His sudden movement caused a blossom of pain throughout his body. He closed his eyes tightly, moaning, and instinctively curled up again. As be bent, cradling his bruised ribs, he realized what was happening. He couldn't show his pain, his weakness, to these people. He tried to straighten up a little bit. Once he got the pain under control, he opened his eyes again, gazing levelly at Morgana. He was in control, at least of his emotions, for the moment. Morgana was sitting back on her heels, watching his every move, his every twitch.
He slowly raised himself up to a sitting position, trying not to groan. The room spun a few times and black dots flashed before his eyes, but sheer determination kept him conscious.
"Well, my pet, how do you feel after a long night's sleep?"
He tried to lick his lips, but his mouth was dry. "Peachy. Thanks for asking." O'Neill tried to smile pleasantly, but he knew Morgana wasn't convinced.
"You still continue to lie to me, my pet. Why is that?"
O'Neill shrugged wordlessly. Why answer when he could save that energy for later, for something else?
"Very well. Shall we continue where we left off yesterday?" When O'Neill didn't object, instead choosing to stare intently at a spot just above her eyes, in the middle of her forehead, she continued. "How do you use the great stone circle to travel to other planets?"
When O'Neill's steady gaze did not waver, she leaned in closer, making him look directly into her eyes.
"Colonel, I asked you a question. If you do not answer, I will have to punish you, and you know I don't want to do that."
He narrowed his eyes. "In a pig's eye," he muttered just under his breath. Morgana, though, heard it loud and clear, just as he had intended.
She leaned back, sighing slightly and gestured for Turlough and his friend to step into the cell. O'Neill still didn't have a name to go with the second attendant. Maybe Bubba, he thought chuckling to himself. He looked like a Bubba. A big guy, wide all over and a little slow. It would work.
When Bubba came into view, O'Neill knew he was in trouble. Bubba held a scourge in his hand, lengths of leather with pieces of bone tied into the ends and it looked like he knew how to use it.
Oh for cryin' out loud, that's what I call primitive. O'Neill exclaimed silently, the more detached part of his brain amused by the irony of using such a method to convince him of their advanced status.
O'Neill tried to grab Morgana to get some type of protection; something between him and what he knew was coming, but she stepped expertly out of his way, allowing Turlough to swoop in and get a firm grip on him. O'Neill was roughly dragged to his feet and held securely while Morgana quickly bound his wrists together tightly, expertly. No amount of struggling was getting him out of Turlough's vice-like grip. His bound wrists were then secured above his head to a metal ring on the ceiling, adjacent to the back wall. His face and ribs rubbed against the wall, aggravating his injuries. He knew this was not going to be pretty. This was not his idea of a good morning wake up call.
Morgana stepped close and drew his black shirt up, running her hands lightly over his back, like a lover's caress. She leaned in close, her hands still moving gently across his skin. She spoke softly, whispering in his ear. "We do not have to go through with this if you would only answer a few of my questions."
He gritted his teeth. "Not on your life."
"Perhaps another night, my pet." Morgana sounded disappointed. She stepped away quickly, motioning for Bubba to get started.
Whatever Bubba's day job was must have prepared him for this because he got it right the first time out. The pain lanced through Jack as the bits of bone pierced his back, leaving lines of blood behind. He held his breath, trying to hold the pain in, trying to keep control. His ribs strained against the stone wall, lighting another fire along his side.
How many times the scourge pelted his back, he did not know. After the tenth stroke, he lost count. Yelps and barely controlled screams flew from his mouth unintentionally. Every once and a while, Bubba would hit an unusually tender spot and a full-blooded scream would emerge from the depths of his body. During it all, he could hear Morgana asking questions, urging him to answer so the pain would end. He could feel the blood running down his back, his hot blood, running down to his waist, being absorbed by the waist band of his pants, dripping down his legs. His wrists were rubbed raw. It was sheer agony, but he couldn't let her know. He wouldn't give in. He couldn't give in.
But he was tiring.
After a moment or two, he realized he was sagging against the wall, breathing heavily, and no more strokes fell. Without the support of his wrists above his head, he knew he wouldn't be able to stand. His knees didn't want to straighten, to support his body weight. He took a chance and glanced back, trying to see what was happening. His eyes, though, didn't want to focus. Drops of sweat trickled into them and pain glazed them over, making it hard to see clearly.
Lady Morgana was gesturing about something or other, that much Jack could tell, but anything more than that was lost to him. Moments later, however, Turlough stepped close and pulled Jack's shirt down over his wounded back streaming with blood. He then released his wrists from the metal ring where they were secured and gently lowered Jack to the floor, mindful of his new injuries. Fresh waves of pain from strained muscles, excruciating lacerations covering his back, and bruised and battered ribs welled up, threatening to push him over the edge into darkness, but he held onto the pain. It proved he was alive. It proved he had held on, that he hadn't given in, that he hadn't broken.
Morgana stepped close, gently rolling him onto his stomach. He groaned as his bruised ribs came in contact with the cold, rough ground but he was in no shape to protest.
"My pet, what have you made me do?" she whispered, her hand running through his hair. She lifted his shirt, gazing at the wounds still oozing blood. They were many but only a few were deep.
"Turlough, retrieve the small healing device and please bring me water and a cloth." Her hands found the leather strips binding his wrists together. While she waited for Turlough to return, she untied his wrists, allowing him to lie a little more comfortably on the dirt floor.
"Why?" he whispered harshly, barely getting the words out. He had to know. It was hard to breathe with the pain in his chest.
"Shush, my pet, rest," she said, stroking his brow. "Tomorrow is another day. Maybe tomorrow you shall please me once again. Until then, you can rest."
He didn't argue. He didn't have the strength. But why was she doing this now? Had he given her what she wanted? Had the words he was trying to hold back somehow emerged? What had he screamed? Had he cried out? Had he howled out answers to her questions? What had he said? He could not remember. All he remembered was the pain: the pain of bone, digging into his back, pulling away pieces of flesh with every pass of the scourge. Pain had become his friend, his constant companion.
A cool wet cloth pressed against his back brought him to his senses. Morgana was carefully sponging and cleaning his back, taking great care not to hurt him. He tried to pull away, but had no energy to move from her light grip.
Soon, warmth replaced the dampness. It penetrated deep, healing as it went. The pain was lessening, but he tried to hold onto it with all his strength. It was all he had left that was his and she was taking even that away from him.
"No," he cried, shuttering as the pain left his body. "No."
"Shush, my pet. Rest," she whispered.
The blackness that was threatening slowly came to take him away—away from the torture, the pain, and her kindness. What had he done?