The day dawned dark and gloomy as the team from the SGC made its way downstairs for a late breakfast before they departed. Kelan had poked his head into the room earlier, informing them that breakfast with Lord Kentigern would be served later that hour. Thankfully, he had also brought two pitchers of the warm morning beverage the people of Meath enjoyed. Erskine was a cross between coffee and tea but with a sweeter aftertaste and they had all taken an instant liking to it. Yesterday morning, Sam had asked Nerys if it would be possible to bring some of it home and Nerys had assured Sam that she would secure a bag of the Erskine—along with directions for brewing—for Sam before they departed the following day.

Overnight, a storm front had moved in providing a soaking rain to the area, drenching everything in its path. From the castle windows, the gray sky assaulted their senses and a cold wind whipped the trees into a frenzy. It would not be a pleasant hike back to the Stargate.

Daniel peered out through a window on the upper level, watching the muted activity in the square below. Normally bustling with activity this late in the morning, today a lone man trudged across the empty expanse in the cold rain, driving a small herd of cattle before him toward the stables.

Much to Daniel’s surprise, dinner and the final treaty signing with Lord Kentigern had gone well—despite the pre-dinner entertainment. And after several glasses of ale and wine the night before to toast their new alliance, they had all stumbled back to their quarters in the early hours of the morning, succumbing to the sleep of the dead.

Some woke up with one hell of a hangover. For Daniel, he was thankful that this time it wasn’t him. Been there, done that, got the T-shirt.

"Daniel, are you coming?" Sam called, from the top of the main staircase, the candelabra hanging from the ceiling causing flickering shadows across her face. Paul and Stan glared at her from under darkened eyebrows.

"Yeah," Daniel replied absently, taking one last look at the lone man and his cattle. It was a simple, uncomplicated existence that Daniel sometimes envied. No worries about the Goa’uld or about treaties or secret projects, just living. Daniel sighed deeply, before moving beside his friend.

Sam looked Daniel over carefully, concern evident in her blue eyes. She placed her hand lightly on his arm, a gesture of fondness. "You okay, Daniel?"

He flashed her a small smile. "Yeah, I’m fine. Just thinking. You know, I do that from time to time."

"I know," she said, smiling compassionately. "We’re just about finished here and then we can go home. Are you ready to go?"

Daniel nodded, starting down the wide curving wooden stairs. "Yeah. I thought I’d give Lord Kentigern…and his wife…their gifts as we were leaving, since I forgot about them the first night. It’ll be a nice 'thank you for letting us stay in your house’ gift. What do you think?" Daniel turned to look at Sam, his eyebrow raised slightly in question.

"I think that would be fine. What do you think Paul? Stan?" Sam asked, speaking loud enough for her voice to carry to the two figures several steps in front of them.

Stan winced visibly. Paul answered for the both of them. "Sounds great, Sam."

Daniel exchanged an amused smile with Sam. Apparently, someone—or two someones in this instance—knew how to party. Last night, Sam and Daniel had just been glad to see that their host was too far-gone himself to notice the impropriety of the two diplomats. Sam and Daniel had also reached a mutual agreement: there was no need to mention their last little incident with the local liquor.

"Good morning to you all," Lord Kentigern exclaimed, rising from his place at the head of a long table in the middle of the Great Hall in greeting. Kentigern’s loud salutation echoed through the cavernous room and was greeted by muted cursing from Stan and Paul.

Daniel was grateful that their murmuring didn’t travel to Lord Kentigern’s ears. Lesson one in dealing with the natives: It’s never good to upset the host.

"I hope you have all had a pleasant rest and are rejuvenated for another day with us," Kentigern said.

Daniel sent a sidelong look over to Sam who was making herself comfortable across from Lord Kentigern. Several servants hovered behind her, prepared to place the morning meal before her.

"Lord Kentigern, good morning to you as well," Sam said pleasantly, an overflowing plate appearing before her. "Unfortunately, due to the weather, I think it might be best if we leave a little earlier. The storm does not look like it will subside anytime soon and we must return home in a few hours' time."

Although Lord Kentigern’s exuberant expression fell a little at Sam’s words, his tone was full of understanding. "I know I cannot change a lady’s mind once it has been made up, but I was hoping to convince you to stay until Lady Morgana returned. I know she wished to say her farewells to you in person."

"Lady Morgana hasn’t returned?" Daniel asked, his fork poised above his plate, the rough porridge dripping from the prongs into the bowl. It seemed like they didn’t do the spoon thing, which made eating a little messy.

"No. None of the search parties have returned. I do not expect them until they have succeeded in their quest. Such is their way," Kentigern said simply, drinking deeply from his goblet. His plate was already clean. Apparently, they hadn’t arrived in as timely a manner as he liked.

"May I ask…who are they looking for?" Daniel’s head was titled slightly, his eyes demanding an answer. He was sure that Sam, or someone else, was probably shooting him silent messages to get him to shut up, but he had a gut feeling. He just had to know.

Kentigern looked a little bit uncomfortable, fingering his goblet absently, and Paul jumped in immediately. "Lord Kentigern, please excuse my colleague. Sometimes—"

"No, it is fine," Kentigern said, raising his hand to silence Paul’s objection. "Daniel Jackson has the right to ask." Kentigern’s eyes locked with each of the SGC team in turn, ending with Daniel before he spoke again, as if he was coming to a decision. "You wish to know, do you?"

Daniel thought for a moment before answering, but the answer was the same. "Yes, I am curious to discover what one man could do to such a mighty Lord as yourself to arouse such a response from your wife and your warriors."

"Do you remember the first time you graced my presence?"

"Of course," Daniel said, nodding.

"On that day we were also entertaining a representative from Glyn Cuch, one of the neighboring villages."

"Yes, I remember you speaking to him at the feast that night," Sam said, nodding her head, encouraging Kentigern to continue.

"Yes, he is the one of which we speak," Kentigern affirmed, pausing only to take a long drink of his goblet of Erskine. "We discovered not too long thereafter that his motives were not as honorable as we were led to believe. Instead of bringing peace to our two villages, he was trying to wage war. He had been sent as a spy to discover our secrets, in order to overturn our village and leave it in ruins. We do not take kindly to such men."

"But, didn’t he come to our treaty negotiations? I thought I saw him enter with Lady Morgana the first night we arrived," Paul asked, leaning forward on his elbows. To Daniel, Paul’s eyes were clear, his hangover long forgotten. Daniel was glad that he wasn’t the only one who remembered seeing the tall stranger. Daniel, though, was sure no one had actually talked to the man. That little detail he hadn’t shared with anyone and he wasn’t sure he was going to. Something in his gut told him that that was something better left unsaid—at least here.

"You are correct, Paul Davis," Kentigern said, inclining his head in Paul’s direction. "He has been our guest ever since the first time you laid eyes on him. Since then, we hoped that he had come to an understanding of our ways. He appeared to have…come to his senses. Lady Morgana was very proud since his reeducation was much her project."

"Reeducation? What does that mean?" Daniel asked, fear swirling in the pit of his stomach. Whatever it could mean, the implications were not good—especially if it was Lady Morgana’s project.

"Very simply, he was educated in our ways and what was to be expected of him. We chose not to kill him immediately. His death would be a waste of a valuable resource. He needed to be convinced that it was in the best interests of everyone—especially himself—to help our people grow stronger."

"What did she do to him?" Daniel asked, aghast, as his breakfast threatened to reappear in a most embarrassing manner. "Was it torture? Mind control? What did she do to him?" Daniel’s tone was unwavering. Disgust dripped from his tongue. He knew he should have tempered his comments, but in this instance, he didn’t know how. So much about not angering the host, Daniel thought, absently realizing that he didn’t care.

"I do not know," Kentigern said simply, shrugging his shoulders in a dismissive manner. His tone turned condescending, his eyes as hard as steel. "I do not concern myself with what our high priestess does. She answers to a much higher authority, our God Lugh. I do not have the right to command her in the execution of her duties, just as she does not command me in civil matters." Kentigern pushed back his chair and stood, gesturing for a servant to bring his cloak. "Please, excuse me. I must check on the status of the search parties. I will return shortly to bid you my final farewell before you depart. Good day to you."

Kentigern strode from the Great Hall and the door closed behind him, leaving the room in a strange silence. The echo of the closing door sounded peculiar, bouncing weirdly off the stone walls and tapestries.

Daniel eyed the rest of his team warily, wondering if they had come to the same conclusions that he had. From the looks on their faces, they were all in agreement: they had made a deal with the devil. These people were savages, barbarians even, and not to be crossed even in the smallest of matters.

But, right now, all Daniel could think of was the encounter he had had the day before in one of the darkened rooms. He could still hear the sound of the stranger’s voice, rough and barely above a whisper, crackling like dry autumn leaves, asking, pleading, and begging for Daniel’s help. The desperation in the man’s eyes was haunting him—especially now. Especially now that he knew just from what that man had been running.

Daniel finally broke the stillness that had grown deeper between them as each team member was lost in their own thoughts. "I only have one question. What will they do to him once they find him?"

"I don’t know, Daniel. I just know that I wouldn’t want to be him," Paul said, all thoughts of breakfast gone, his plate pushed to the middle of the table to join the other three already there.

Stan cradled his head in his hands, his elbows on the table. "Was this a good idea?" Stan asked, his voice muffled. "Was this treaty such a good idea?"

"I hope so. I hope so," Daniel muttered, his eyes locked on Sam’s.

A few beats of silence passed before Sam finally spoke up. "I think it’s time to go. Let’s get our things and go home."

The sound of their scraping chairs echoed through the room as they each pushed back away from the table. Servants descended on the room in rivers, clearing the now empty table as the SGC team quietly filed out of the room without even a backward glance.

Egan was waiting for them in the foyer when they walked downstairs an hour later, their packs in hand. Without a word, he bowed deeply, gesturing for them to enter the Great Hall through the open doors on the right of the foyer.

The room had been changed once more, appearing as it first had when they arrived. Lord Kentigern sat regally on the dais, the chair beside him strangely vacant. They left their bags just outside the door before approaching Kentigern.

The walk up the grand carpet seemed to take forever—especially with Kentigern’s cool gaze watching their every move.

Sam bowed deeply to Kentigern once she got within the appropriate distance, and the rest of her team quickly followed suit. Kentigern acknowledged them with a curt nod, his face expressionless. Sam feared for the worst.

"Lord Kentigern, thank you again for your kindness," Sam began but Kentigern cut her off with the wave of her hand.

"Major Carter, it is I who should be thanking you," Kentigern said.

Sam sent Daniel a quick look of surprise before she spoke. "I’m not sure I understand."

"We have not been the best of hosts to you, but you all have been most understanding and kind. In your place, I do not know if I would be as patient. You approached us looking for an ally and, instead, we have made you feel uncomfortable. For this, I must apologize on behalf of the people of Meath." Kentigern bowed his head toward Sam, who immediately accepted his apology and launched into the speech Daniel had helped her prepare, coaching her on what to say with the help of Kovachek.

"You need not apologize. But, on behalf of Earth and the SGC, we look forward to a most beneficial friendship between our two peoples. And in the name of friendship and our alliance," Sam said, gesturing Daniel to step forward. "We’d like to present these small tokens to you and your wife."

Daniel carefully placed the two boxes in Kentigern’s hands, before pacing back to stand beside Sam. So far, so good, Sam thought, watching as a variety of emotions flickered across Kentigern’s face—all of them positive.

Kentigern carefully opened each box and reverently removed the items, his face bright with joy.

"Thank you. I am regretful that Lady Morgana could not be here to receive this exquisite broach from you herself. I know she will be disappointed she did not have the opportunity to thank you in person. Please take my sincere thanks on behalf of both of us." Kentigern carefully laid the opened boxes on the chair beside him, before he stepped down the stairs to embrace Sam and Daniel warmly. Stan and Paul stepped forward and received enthusiastic handshakes from Kentigern as well.

"I look forward to our meeting once again. You are always welcome in Meath. Travel well and be safe," Kentigern said, smiling pleasantly.

"Thank you, Lord Kentigern, for the hospitality of your home and your good wishes," Daniel said with a strained smile. Paul and Stan echoed similar sentiments before they finally turned to leave, walking into the foyer as the doors to the Great Hall closed with a quiet thud.

A few minutes later and they were geared up, rain parkas and all. This time, no one would be accompanying them back to the Stargate. The weather had grown worse, the wind picking up to whip the rain, driving it sideways at times.

Although Nerys tried to convince them, Sam insisted that a guide was unnecessary. They could find their way back, and besides, the village needed those few men who had remained behind. Meath was empty enough as it was. There was no need to send more people out into this weather.

The hike back to the Stargate was uneventful with each member of the team finding solace in his or her own thoughts. For Sam, the rain and the wind was the perfect ending to a mission that had gone horribly wrong. While they had accomplished their goal, the treaty signing, she had mixed feelings. The deeper they dug, the more skeletons they uncovered. The people of Meath were more than they appeared to be—that much was certain. But just how far would they go in their own defense? And, how had they defeated the Goa'uld? No one had said. No one had uttered a single word on the subject.

Sam chanced a look at Daniel and found him studying her, his eyebrows drawn together. He flashed her a quick smile that she returned in kind, before turning back to the path before him, watching his footing on the slippery track.

This had been a hard mission for Daniel most of all, she thought, glancing ahead at Stan Kovachek and Paul Davis. Daniel always looked for the best in people and there were times when the bad seemed to outweigh the good—just like now. She wished that there were something she could do or say that would make everything right. She wished she could just erase the last two days from his mind—from her mind. Maybe, then, they’d be able to get some peace.

He was being carried.

It was a strange sensation to wake up upside down, hanging over someone’s shoulder, his arms fully extended, and his legs held firmly somewhere above him. He imagined his face must be beet-red, the blood rushing to his hands and face in his awkward position. Jack tried lifting his head to see where he was and where he was going, but he couldn’t see much except raindrops and a dizzying view of the scenery as it bounced around. His movement only alerted his captors to the fact that he was awake—and someone was paying attention. The call went out quickly.

"Lady Morgana, he awakens."

"Good. Put him down." Lady Morgana’s voice came drifting over the air, muffled by the rain that soaked everything in its path.

Moments later, he was dropped onto his side on the soggy ground, barely able to cushion his fall. Lovely, he thought with a grimace, rolling onto his back and flinging mud from his fingertips before trying to wipe the mud from his face.

Of course they had to drop me in the mud. At least the rain will help to wash some of it away, he thought. He used the brief moment to look around, but all he could see were feet, legs, and up above, tree limbs. Not much of a view.

After a moment, he was roughly pulled up into a seated position, his legs splayed out before him. "Hey, what do you think you’re doing?" Jack said, indignantly, trying to shrug off the hand on his arm, but it wasn’t letting go. Sending a perturbed look at the hulking man at his side, he turned his attention to the figure that had stepped up before him, not surprised that it was Lady Morgana herself. "Oh, for crying out loud. When are you just going to go away?"

Instead of answering him, she turned her attention to the man at Jack’s side. "Eavan, I want him on his feet."

"Yes, my Lady," Eavan said, immediately pulling Jack roughly upright.

Jack groaned as gravity reasserted itself on his limbs and his head spun a little. It was the little things that always made the difference, he thought, trying to focus his attention on the approaching figure. Gravity.

Pins and needles in his arms.

Equilibrium—or his lack thereof.

Double images.

Morgana closed the gap between them, stopping just short of stepping on Jack’s toes. Her green eyes drilled into his, demanding him to focus, demanding him to answer. "Just what do you think you were doing running away from me?"

Jack tried to break her gaze, but couldn’t. Instead, he offered as flippant an answer as he could think of under the circumstances. "Didn’t care for the room service. Sorry," he said with an insincere smile.

Her solid slap across his face rocked him back on his heels. The hands gripping his upper arm helped keep him on his feet. But, a slow rage began to boil just beneath the surface. He could feel it starting from the soles of his feet, rising to the top of his head. If he could get his hands around her pretty little neck, he could snap it in a second, he thought, measuring the distance with his eyes. He knew hundreds of ways to kill using his hands. He didn’t even have to come up with something creative. Dead was dead in anyone’s book.

As soon as the thought popped into his mind, however, a white-hot fire ran through his mind and he found himself on his knees gasping for breath a moment later.

What the hell was that?

He was yanked to his feet once again.

"That was just one demonstration. Are you ready for another?" Morgana asked simply, her expression cold and calculating. Even though the cold rain poured down, matting her red hair to her skull and along the side of her face, she didn’t pay attention to it. Her long taupe dress covered by a dark blue cloak clung to her body, hugging each of her curves. It was soaked through—as was everyone else—but she didn’t care. To her, it could have been a mild sunny day instead of the Noreaster-like weather they were experiencing.

"What?" Jack asked, trying to pull his thoughts together. He was still unsteady on his feet and was thankful that someone was holding him up—actually two someones—otherwise he’d have ended up back on the ground in an ungainly pile. Standing was better.

"How did you like to see your team sitting beside me?" Morgana asked, a cruel smile on her lips, her tone mocking. Vaguely, Jack realized that she was enjoying herself. That never boded well.

"What? My team? What do you mean?" Jack said, as memories of the last few days filtered into his muddled brain. Images of their faces swam before him—Daniel…Carter…

This time he screamed when the pain ripped through his mind.

When he came back to his senses, he was on his knees once again, rocking back and forth, his hands holding his head. He was muttering under his breath. "Make it stop, make it stop."

"The only way it will end is if you stop thinking about it," Morgana said quietly, whispering in his ear, the voice of reason in a storm of pain and anguish.

"What did you do to me?" Jack asked, pulling his mind away from thoughts of his team and his home, finally finding the strength to concentrate on the here and now, his living nightmare.

"It’s a present from the Goa'uld," Morgana said leaning back so he could focus on her face. "This device attaches to the victim’s brain, sending out fibers and tendrils, fusing itself into the brain tissue. It has control over the pain and pleasure centers of your brain and can differentiate between thoughts. It can tell when you’re lying and when you’re telling the truth. Of course, I’ve modified it slightly," Morgana said, a chilling smile on her lips.

"How?" Jack asked, misery dripping from every word. He had to know. Might as well get the whole ball of wax now. Why wait for the surprises later?

Morgana lifted her right hand to display a single bracelet tight against her slim wet wrist. "With this, I can read your thoughts, even at a distance. And, if I don’t like what I see…" she said with an evil smile, raising her other hand to press a single button on the side of the bracelet.

A wave of pain washed over Jack and he struggled to remain conscious. A few seconds later it vanished, as if it had never existed. Jack took a shuddering breath as realization dawned.

He was never going home.

With her boots clanking on the metal ramp, Sam Carter led her team home safely and flashed her commanding officer as confident a smile as she could muster—under the circumstances.

"SG1, welcome home. I hope your mission was a success," General Hammond’s voice echoed off the concrete and metal surfaces of the SGC gateroom.

"Yes, sir," Sam said, handing her dripping wet P90 and sidearm to the waiting Lieutenant who looked at the filthy weapons in disgust. She didn’t care. They were home and she could breathe a sigh of relief. As soon as Kovachek stepped through, the gate shut down, plunging the room into the glaring brightness of the artificial overhead lighting.

"Good. Get checked out. Your mission debriefing is in two hours."

"Yes, sir," Sam said, stepping down from the ramp and heading for the infirmary, the rest of the team close behind. After walking for two hours in the cold driving rain, the only thing she really wanted to do was jump into a nice hot shower, but the post-mission medical checks always took priority.

"Sam," Daniel said when they reached the elevator. Daniel was painfully shifting the load on his back, but only managed to wince more. Sam tried to bite back a smile. She didn’t even remember Daniel cracking open one of those books that he carried in his pack. "I’m just going to drop my pack in my office before we go see Janet. I don’t want to carry this any longer than I have to. Actually, I’m not sure if I can carry it much more."

"Major Carter, I’d also like to stop in my office," Kovachek said. "I’d rather have these papers in my office. I don’t want to risk losing them."

"Sure, but be quick. I’m going to stop by my lab as well. Paul, you are welcome to follow along with any one of us," Sam said turning to face Davis.

"I think I’ll head right to the infirmary, Sam, if that’s okay with you. I have to report in to the President and the Joint Chiefs, the sooner the better," Davis said, as the elevator doors opened before them.

"That’s fine, but I expect to see you at the team debriefing," Sam said.

"I plan on being there."

"Okay. We’ll meet in the briefing room in a little less than two hours," Sam said, as the elevator stopped at Level 21 to deposit Davis. "This should be an interesting debrief."

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur for Jack O’Neill. Every now and then, he’d find himself on his knees, gasping, as the pain took his breath away. It was mind boggling the number of times he thought about home, his team, and trying to escape—and how he was going to kill Morgana. But every time he did, all he was rewarded with was pain and agony.

By the time they got back to the castle, he was soaked to the bone from the pouring rain and exhausted—mentally and physically. He was surprised, though, when Morgana led him up the stairs into a different section of the castle, away from the stairs that led to the dungeon that had been his home. Instead, he found himself standing in a small suite of rooms—a bedroom, sitting room, and bath—looking down over the castle’s entrance and the bustling town square.

Glancing at Morgana in surprise, he discovered that he had nothing to say.

"There is no need for you to be uncomfortable for the rest of your stay with us," Morgana said, answering his unspoken question.
He looked at her for several moments before finally dropping his head, a gesture of defeat. "Thanks."

"My rooms are next door," she said, indicating a door to the right of the fireplace with her hand. "If you require anything, you may ask me or call for a servant using the cord next to the door. There are new clothes hanging in the closet of your bedroom. Make use of them." She glided around the room, checking the quarters, absently running her hand along the wall. "The device in your mind allows you a certain freedom. You are permitted to walk the grounds and the village, but you cannot leave the walls of the city. Any thoughts of escape or destruction of any property will be punished immediately."

Morgana stepped back to the door leading to the hallway, but paused before she stepped through. "There really is no need for you to suffer any longer. Why dwell on the past when your future holds so much more promise?"

With a swish of fabric, she was gone, the door closing behind her, leaving Jack alone.

He dropped bonelessly into an armchair, letting the fabric and cushions envelop his cold, trembling body. He tried to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept going back to his home, his family, and his team. Time and time again, he found himself coming to his senses several minutes later, gasping for breath, and holding his head, waiting for the pain to subside.

It wasn’t as if he could turn off his thoughts like a faucet. He couldn’t help it. They were part of him—just as much a part of him as this device now was.

Exhausted, his eyes fluttered closed and he fell into a dreamless sleep, his tormented body and soul finally finding a measure of peace in his slumber.

General Hammond glanced up at the slight tapping on his doorframe. Major Paul Davis stood hesitantly in the doorway, his hand raised to knock again.

"Major," Hammond said, closing his laptop and gesturing for the Major to take a seat. "I’m glad you were able to stop here before you left the mountain. I know they are anxious in Washington to hear your report in person."

Davis smiled weakly, the exhaustion finally settling in. "I didn’t want to leave before speaking with you, General," Davis said. "I made some discreet inquires with a number of the staff and the people of Meath, but I was unable to gain any information about Colonel O’Neill. I’m sorry, Sir. I wish I had better news for you."

Hammond sighed, realizing that this had been his last hope. "I know you tried your best, Major."

"Sir," Davis began, hesitating a little before continuing. "I hate to sound negative, but in all likelihood, Colonel O’Neill is probably dead. Anything could have happened—even an unfortunate accident. We both know the Colonel and if he were alive, I know there would have been some sign, something to indicate that he was there."

"I know, Major," Hammond said, his mouth set in a firm line. "Thank you for taking the time and effort to investigate this matter. I, too, wish it had resulted in a better outcome. I know you have a plane to catch, so I won’t keep you any longer. Have a safe flight back to Washington."

Davis rose from his chair, adjusting the jacket of his uniform. "Thank you, Sir."

Davis offered Hammond a brisk salute before turning on his heel and striding out the door leaving Hammond with his troubled thoughts. Hammond sighed deeply, wiping a hand across his weary face. A beat later he rose to his feet. There was work to be done and he had a briefing to attend.

Sam Carter stepped briskly into the briefing room on level 28 to find Daniel dry, dressed in blue, and slumped at the table, his hands cradling a steaming mug of coffee. She glanced at him briefly and, when he didn’t move to acknowledge her presence, she dropped her notes and folders on the table, making a loud slapping sound.

Daniel didn’t even bat an eye.

Sam moved efficiently to the sideboard, pouring herself a cup of coffee and keeping an ever-watchful eye on her teammate and her friend. He was worrying her.

"Daniel?" Sam asked, stepping back up to the table, her voice full of concern. Placing her cup down on the table next to her notes, she walked around the briefing room table to lay her hand on his shoulder, squatting down so she was at his eye-level. "Daniel, are you okay?"

A few moments later, Daniel finally turned his head, his eyes slowly focusing in on her face, finally recognizing her presence. "Oh, hi Sam," he said without enthusiasm.

"Daniel, what’s wrong?" She wasn’t one to give up easily. Some called her tenacious and determined; others called her just plain pigheaded stubborn. Either way, it made no difference. Some things she just couldn’t leave alone.

"Nothing, Sam. Why do you ask?"

Sam didn’t think it possible, but Daniel looked even worse dry and warm than he had two hours ago dripping wet, his hair plastered to his head. There were dark circles under his eyes and waves of anguish and guilt—why guilt, she wondered—rolled off him. There was something he wasn’t telling and with General Hammond due at any moment, this wasn’t the time or the place to get into it.

"You just don’t seem yourself, that’s all," Sam said simply, finding her feet as Teal’c and General Hammond walked in from separate doors.

"I’m glad to see you all here, SG1," Hammond said, sitting down in his customary place at the head of the briefing room table, while Teal’c seated himself beside Sam. "We can get started."

"Sir, if I may I ask," Sam said, glancing around the room. "Where are Major Kovachek and Major Davis?"

"Major Kovachek will be along shortly. Doctor Fraiser delayed him. I spoke with Major Davis briefly before he left for Washington. He will not be joining us," Hammond answered briskly, getting down to business. "SG1, what can you tell me about your mission? It was apparently a success, but you seem more subdued than usual."

Sam chanced a glance at Daniel, who was busy studying his fingernails. Without Kovachek and Davis, she was the nominated spokesperson for the group—albeit by default. She cleared her throat as she tried to organize her thoughts. "Well, sir," she began, only to be interrupted when Kovachek walked in the door.

Hallelujah. Saved by the entering Major.

"Sorry, General Hammond, Major, Doctor, Teal’c," Kovachek said, indicating everyone with a nod of his head as he slid in the seat next to Daniel, who barely acknowledged his arrival.

"I’m glad you could join us, Major Kovachek. I trust everything is well," Hammond said.

"Yes, sir. Dr. Fraiser just wanted to run an extra check on my blood work. I think Major Davis got similar treatment."

"Very well. We were just beginning. Major Kovachek, perhaps you’d like to start?"

"Sure," Kovachek agreed, and without even a second thought, launched directly into his report. "The mission to P5X-171 was very much of a success. Lord Kentigern was very welcoming and accommodating with our requests for mining rights, the establishment of a research station and a secondary SGC base, and a general cultural exchange, among other things. Primarily, he was looking for gate information—addresses to friendly worlds for trade, a general Stargate education for his people, and other items including medicines and technology."

Kovachek glanced up from his notes, meeting Hammond’s level gaze across the table. "Overall, sir, I think we managed to get more than what we asked for. I’d say we made out like a bandit," he said, shrugging his shoulders and looking around the table apparently for support from Carter and Daniel. Teal’c was pensive, his hands steepled before him.

"Major Carter, what are your observations?" Hammond said once a silence fell over the group.

"Well, sir," Sam said, trying to order her thoughts, trying to keep her feelings out of it. "Although the people of Meath are less technically advanced than we are, they have a lot they can offer us in terms of organic medicines and…as…a cultural…model. But, I’m sure Dr. Jackson could tell you more about that aspect of our mission," Sam said, her eyes firmly fixed on Daniel’s uninterested form. His only movement: the constant spinning of a solitary pen.

When Sam’s broad hint for Daniel to join the briefing didn’t cut through his silent musings, General Hammond cleared his throat before he spoke in his most authoritative voice. "Doctor Jackson."

Daniel’s head shot up immediately, his eyes wide in surprise. "Yes, sir?" He asked meekly. The pen continued to spin between his long, nimble fingers.

"I’m glad you could join the briefing. Major Carter was speaking about their culture. Would you be kind enough to elaborate a little more on the subject?" Hammond’s tone was unmoving, his eyes firm and penetrating.

Daniel shifted minutely in his chair, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "Ah, the ah…people of Meath represent one of the best preserved…ah…the best preserved representations of Celtic Europe. A team of anthropologists would benefit from a long-term study of the inhabitants."

"That’s it?" Hammond sounded amazed at Daniel’s utter lack of verbosity. Normally, Sam knew that they had a hard time shutting him up when it came to discussing the various cultures and peoples they found. This time, he was less than enthusiastic—and it showed.

Daniel nodded. "Yes, I think so. Once I get the chance to go through my digital recordings, I may have a little more to add." The pen in his hands twirled around in an intricate dance.

"Doctor Jackson did something happen while you were there to so drastically change your outlook on Lord Kentigern? I seemed to remember that it was you who pushed to have this treaty arranged—despite my unwillingness for such an arrangement."

The pen stopped. Daniel looked up, his eyes meeting Sam’s. She shrugged slightly, her expression guarded.

"You could say that," Daniel finally said, sighing deeply.

Hammond looked from face to face, trying to get the answer, his face full of questions. His voice, though, was firm and demanding. "What happened, people?"

"They weren’t what we thought they were," Daniel said after a few moments of silence.

"Is that it? They didn’t measure up to your expectations?" Hammond was not a happy camper. Sam could tell, seeing the signs of his displeasure in his slowly reddening face. If someone didn’t give him a straight answer—and soon—they were in for a spectacular display—the likes of which no one had witnessed in quite some time.

"Sir," Sam said, drawing Hammond’s attention to her. "It’s more than that. It seems we might have been misled…a little…during our initial encounter."

"And how might that have been?"

"We finally saw them for the savages they really are," Daniel said, the words dripping with contempt.

"Doctor Jackson, would you care to explain that comment?" The General was not a happy man.

"If you don’t meet up to their…their ideals…or…or rules they’ll reeducate you," Daniel said, leaning forward, his glasses swinging from his fingers, passion behind his words. "Or, or if that wasn’t bad enough, God forbid you if you forget to do something. They might just slit your throat."

Hammond’s eyes narrowed, his face becoming stone-like. "Major, is that true?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Yes, sir. It seems that they have some very extreme measures for dealing with what we would consider small mistakes. And when it comes to enemies of the state, they, apparently, have some very definite…ways of getting their cooperation."

"You saw this?" Hammond was shocked and the outrage showed on his face and in his voice.

"Partially," Sam said with a small bend of her head in Daniel’s direction. "Lady Morgana corrected one of her servants in the Great Hall, slitting his throat in front of us and several of the house stewards," Sam admitted. "As for the rest, we are just surmising what they do. We didn’t actually see anything…"

"But you didn’t have to?" Hammond concluded, his face turning grim at Sam’s affirmative nod. He drew a deep breath before he spoke again. "What is your recommendation regarding this treaty? Do we abide by it or do I take this planet out of our dialing program?"

"What about Colonel O’Neill?"

Hammond’s head snapped around to face Daniel. "What about him?"

"You can’t just write the planet off like it never existed," Daniel said, his body and voice strangely resigned to the inevitable conclusion. "We can’t just forget about Colonel O’Neill."

"Isn’t that what we have already done?" Teal’c asked, his quiet voice cutting through the emotionally charged atmosphere in the briefing room.

"Major Kovachek, what were you able to find out?" Hammond asked, his voice low.

"I did place some discreet inquiries regarding Colonel O’Neill," Kovachek admitted, much to Sam’s surprise. No one had mentioned to her that he had an additional agenda for the mission. "No one seemed to remember anyone fitting his description ever entering the village. Major Davis, I believe, had similar results from his inquiries. Maybe SG1 had an encounter with some of the inhabitants of Glyn Cuch before they even reached Meath. Maybe they had something to do with Colonel O’Neill’s disappearance and SG1’s memory lapse," Kovachek shrugged, offering a possible solution.

"No. Definitely not. We’d remember meeting someone else." Daniel was adamant, his eyes flashing angrily.

"And how could you be so sure, Daniel?" Kovachek shot back. "The entire control room watched the four of you leave, but only three of you returned. Something happened over there. Something or someone made you forget."

Daniel dropped into the chair at his office desk two hours later, exhausted from the briefing. General Hammond had made them go over every step of their mission to Meath. It had been worse than spending all day at the dentist’s office. The General also wanted them to remain on the base for the next 48 hours before he’d let them go home. He wanted to give Doctor Fraiser the time she needed to get all the tests back on their blood work.

It was still relatively early in the evening, seven something Daniel noted, but he discovered that he didn’t have much of an appetite. Actually, thinking about it now, he hadn’t had much of an appetite since breakfast. Go figure, he thought, a grimace crossing his face as the memories of the morning’s meal surfaced.

He closed his eyes, breathing in deeply, trying to relax. The musty smell of his old books filled his nostrils, grounding him in the here and now. He felt safe here. He was home. All he was missing was a cup of coffee with the smell wafting up to caresses his senses, but he wasn’t even in the mood for that.

Daniel pulled the glasses off his nose, rubbing at his closed eyes, pressing the heel of his hand on the bridge of his nose, trying to dull the pain that was threatening to lodge itself in his sinuses.

His backpack was on his lab table, its contents spilling onto the hard surface. He’d have to put the books back sooner or later, he thought, looking accusingly at the volumes poking out from the material of the bag.

A few moments later, he got up from his chair, a decision finally made. He’d start by organizing his pack and then he’d move on to the recordings he’d made. It was never too early to start his formal written report for General Hammond. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go.

He resigned himself to the task, digging into his pack. What his hand encountered first was not his volume on the history of the Celts, but instead, a small leather bag tied tightly closed with a cord.

This wasn’t here before, Daniel thought, turning the item over and over in his hands, the supple leather warming with the heat of his hands.

Curiosity got the better of him and he loosened the cord securing the bag closed, letting another smaller pouch and a folded piece of paper drop into his hand. Placing the two leather pouches on his lab table, he opened the letter with trembling hands.

He read it twice, the words filling his mind with dread. Without taking his eyes from the page open before him, he moved to the phone on his desk, the fingers of his right hand dialing a familiar number, the handset cradled in the crook of his neck.

"Sam?" he said once the call was answered. "I think you should come up here. No, I’ll tell you when you get here."

Daniel dropped the phone back in the cradle, his fatigue forgotten.

Their first clue to this ever-deepening mystery had finally emerged—from a surprising source.

"And you got this where?" Doctor Janet Fraiser asked, her voice full of skepticism as she fingered the small leather pouch Sam had deposited in her hand.

"Daniel found it in his pack when he was going through it," Sam answered, dropping down to sit in one of Janet’s office chairs. Sam and Daniel had gone directly to her office after they had had time to digest Daniel’s finding.

"And what do you think this is?" Janet asked.

"We think it might have something to do with the memory lapses we suffered when we first got back from P5X-171," Daniel said, his eyes filled with excitement. "According to the note, the substance in the pouch is usually steeped in water and served to the unsuspecting victims as a tea, but a more concentrated form could also be inhaled as a gas. I guess kind of along the lines of chloroform. It is supposed to make the victim open to suggestions."

"Are you saying that this is some kind of hypnotic drug?" Disbelief filled Janet’s voice, her eyes wide. Janet had seen a lot over the years and it was hard to surprise her anymore. They, apparently, had.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"And you got all this from a note that was left in your bag?"

"Yes," Daniel said.

"And who was this note from?"

"Well, Daniel thinks it’s from Egan," Sam admitted, looking at Daniel for confirmation. He nodded firmly.

"You think?" Janet was not impressed.

"Janet, can you just test it and see if it will do what they said it will?" Sam asked, exasperated by her friend’s reticence.

"Very well," Janet said, rising from her desk. "I’ll send it down to the lab and see what they can come up with. I probably won’t get anything until tomorrow sometime. Most of the lab technicians have gone home for the evening. They’ve been working round the clock on some of the other stuff you and SG5 brought back."

Janet stopped by the door to her office, turning to face them, her expression softening. "If there’s anything, I’ll be sure to let you know immediately. Now, why don’t you go and get some sleep. You’ll think better in the morning after a few hours’ rest."

Sam and Daniel looked at each other, coming to the same conclusion. "We’re really not tired," Sam said answering for the both of them.

"I don’t care if you’re not tired," Janet said, her voice firm, her eyes narrowing at Sam. "Do I have to make it an order?"

"No, you don’t," Sam said with a sigh, reluctantly giving into Janet’s command.

"Good."

As Janet walked away, Sam mumbled under her breath, a half-amused smile on her face, her tone teasing. "Neapoleonic power monger."

After he walked Sam to her on-base quarters, Daniel found himself too wired to sleep.

The note in his pack had hinted that something had been done to them the first time they were on P5X-171—the very first night they were there. It didn’t elaborate, but Daniel had got the general drift. Someone, using the ingredients available and some powerful mental suggestions, had managed to do something to SG1. Apparently, that something involved their mystery fourth team member—one Colonel O’Neill—and their inability to remember anything about him.

At first, Daniel thought that was preposterous, but then he recalled two things: they were dealing with weird, alien ingredients and a totally alien race. Who knew what they were capable of doing.

Daniel meandered through the base, his thoughts as restless as his spirit. Eventually, he ended up at the door to his office, a little unclear about how he’d got there. He paused for a moment before entering.

He moved efficiently around the room, turning on a small lamp. He rolled his television table over toward his office couch and retrieved his digital recorder from his pack before he settled down, attaching the wires to the appropriate connection ports. A few minutes later, he found himself staring at the gate on P5X-171, watching carefully as they started their hike to the village several days ago.

He frowned, leaning forward to adjust some of the settings. Once he got down to watching it—really watching it—he didn’t want any interference. It had to be perfect.

He scrolled ahead quickly, the images on the screen moving comically in fast-forward. Whatever he wanted to see was in Meath, not along the way.

Eventually, they reached Meath and Daniel slowed down the recording to normal speed, sitting close to the screen, stopping it, rewinding it—examining every inch of his recording.

Daniel went through it three times that night, making notations in his field journal as he watched the tape, taking note of everything he saw along the way.

Eventually, Daniel shut the television off and turned off the lights, settling down on his couch, his body stiff and sore from tension and his intense concentration.

As his breath evened out in slumber, he sighed softly, sleep finally overtaking him.

This night, though, he dreamed.