The sunlight glistened brightly off the water, a molten river of silvers and blues, catching and reflecting the sun’s strong rays. Jack O’Neill shaded his eyes with his hand as he gazed out across the river toward the forested valley beyond.

He’d developed a routine of sorts over the past several days. After eating what passed as breakfast in his quarters, he would amble through the streets and alleys of Meath, exploring every nook and cranny until the sun finally set, causing him to retreat back indoors, back to the suite of rooms that had become his prison. They were a great deal nicer than the dungeons he had occupied earlier, but a cage was still a cage—no matter how well appointed.

It was nearly time for him to go back to the castle for the night. The sun was setting over the land—its last dying rays reflecting off the water’s surface providing a beautiful panorama. The river cascaded gently down the side of the mountain, pooling in a large lake in the valley several miles away. Each night, he had found his way to this very spot, watching as the light slowly faded and the land was plunged into the darkness of the night.

The darkness progressed slowly, first overtaking the village and then spreading out to engulf the river and the forest beyond.

The land was beautiful, untouched, and peaceful, but yet, even as he gazed out across the resplendent land, inside he was dying, each day another piece of him surrendering to the darkness that lay within just as the light from the sun died each night.

Soon, there would be nothing left of the man who had been known as Jack O’Neill. The device he wore made sure of that. He wasn’t even permitted the companionship of his memories. Hope had long since vanished, crushed to nothingness along with the snap-hiss of the closing wormhole five days before. How much longer he could go on like this, he did not know.

He was empty inside.

Sitting on the back edge of a large wooden wagon, Jack was about as far from the castle as he could go. At this distance, approximately ten feet from the village wall, he could stand the pain buzzing just beneath the surface of his mind—just for the few minutes of pleasure he found from gazing out on the foliage below.

He’d discovered his limits in the first few hours. He had tested the waters as it were—walking brazenly to the village walls, only to find the pain growing inside until he could no longer stand it, forcing him to retreat back into the village, closer to the castle at its center.

The villagers were tolerant of him—restrained, but no longer overtly threatening. They still looked on him with disgust in their eyes, however. Jack tried to shy away from close contact with anyone, deciding to become a loner as much as possible. It was easier that way. If he didn’t see family and friends gathering together, laughing over their meals, it was easier for him to stop remembering—to stop remembering the good times he had had with his team and his family. If he didn’t see their happiness and contentment, he could distance himself from the life he was forced to live.

Every time Jack saw a child, however, he was reminded of his son. Jack was reminded of the promise that he had made while holding the body of his dying child in his arms. And still now, every time he saw a child, Jack apologized in his heart and mind, asking forgiveness from his son for his failures in life and for his ultimate sin—failing his son when he needed a father. Ever since then, Jack had promised Charlie that he would do the right thing, but never had those words—that promise—been fulfilled. Instead, Jack brought death and destruction with him. It followed him from planet to planet, cursing everything he touched until finally, now, it rested fully on him.

He wasn’t going home.

Home wasn’t even a consideration. He would never again set foot on the planet of his birth. He would die here, light-years from home, unable to visit his son one last time. Unable to apologize in person for the horrible deeds he had done and the pain that he had caused to so many people.

At least his team was safe. Safe from the plague that was embodied in him. They would finally gain a measure of peace—even if he could not.

If only he could gain his son’s forgiveness, maybe he’d be able to die in peace. But, he knew that that was not possible.

He was alone.

Jack O’Neill had died six days ago.

Only of the shell of the man remained.

Jack closed his eyes as the darkness finally enveloped the land. One single tear left a wet trail down his face, dripping to the ground below to be soaked up by the dust, vanishing in the twinkling of an eye.

Egan stood at the upper window of the castle, gazing down at the bustling square below. The sun had just set and Jack O’Neill would be entering the castle soon. Egan had watched the man over the past several days. He had even attempted to speak with him on more than one occasion, but his efforts had been fruitless. O’Neill had brushed aside all of Egan’s attempts at communication.

Jack O’Neill had given up hope.

Egan didn’t really blame him. O’Neill’s freedom had been a few steps away, only to have it torn away from him and replaced by this hellish existence. Egan closed his eyes, breathing deeply. His hands were tied. He had offered all the assistance he could and it hadn’t been enough.

Opening his eyes to gaze out once again into the deepening darkness, Egan spotted the lone figure for which he had been searching. O’Neill stumbled slightly on the uneven ground barely letting his unsure footing upset his stride. His head was downcast, his eyes refusing to meet those around him. The cloak he wore swirled around his legs in the brisk wind and if O’Neill felt the chill, he didn’t let on, leaving the material flying loose.

O’Neill was even thinner than he had been in the dungeons before, Egan noted critically, watching as O’Neill stumbled once again. The house servants had mentioned that O’Neill had not been eating well, merely picking at the food offered him. According to the same reports, insomnia had also set in for the warrior. Many nights, O’Neill could be found staring out the windows or aimlessly pacing the floor, walking with nowhere to go.

What could he do? Egan pondered the question thoughtfully, meaningfully. If he tried to offer help now, everyone would know, everyone would realize what his true feelings were. It was not yet time for such drastic action.

But, would O’Neill last long enough?

Only time would tell.

Morning in Meath came quickly.

O’Neill blinked weakly at the morning sun’s rays as they swept through the village, lighting everything in its path. He had been up for some time already, watching for the first glimpse of sunrise—the red and orange rays of light of the morning sun as they touched the treetops, sparkling like jewels.

Here time had no meaning. Each day merged into the next, with only the advancing of the sun to mark its passage. The farmers continued to farm, the soldiers to train, and the children to play.

A knock sounded quietly at the door and O’Neill turned his head, offering a brief call to allow entrance to the house servant. Jack hadn’t bothered asking the servant’s name. He had no use for it. He had no desire to speak to him or anyone else.

"My lord," the servant said, bowing as he entered with the morning breakfast tray.

O’Neill turned back to the window and the scenery below, ignoring the young man. He would be gone soon enough.

A few moments later, the door quietly closed once again, leaving O’Neill in solitude.

"You could be more thankful," a voice said, harsh and shrill, loud in the silence that had settled in the room.

"You could have announced your presence," O’Neill said simply, refusing to turn. His voice was quiet and uneven, unused as it had been these last few days.

"I did not think you would have welcomed me, my love," Lady Morgana said, stepping closer to O’Neill, her smell swirling around him, enveloping his senses.

"You were right."

"Why must you be so melancholy, my love?" Morgana asked, her voice even closer now, whispering in his ear, her hands lightly caressing his shoulders and arms. The hairs on his arms reacted immediately to her touch, standing up straight as a shiver rolled through his body.

Jack’s response was bitter. "What reason do I have to be joyful? You’ve taken me away from my friends and my home."

"Oh, I’ve taken far more than just your friends and your home," Morgana taunted. When he refused to be baited by her comment, she continued. "Today, we have scheduled a special ceremony. The Gods are unhappy with your refusal to cooperate."

He finally turned to her, meeting her green eyes, his mouth inches from hers. His warm breath touched her face gently, their positions intimate. "Don’t you mean that you are unhappy that I won’t cooperate?"

Morgana smiled innocently, her green eyes dancing in amusement. "These things are but one and the same. We are going to offer up a sacrifice to appease the Gods, to ask for their mercy on our village."

"Have fun at the bonfire. I’m really not in the mood for a party," O’Neill said, turning back to the window. Life was starting in the square below as farmers and others began their chores for the day. Soon the village would be filled with activity, everyone having a share, everyone with a purpose, a use—except for him.

Morgana’s firm voice broke into his thoughts, dragging him reluctantly back to the present. "Hywel will escort you to the ceremony later today. I expect you to cooperate with him." Her tone allowed no room for arguments.

O’Neill rolled his eyes heavenward and shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Fine."

"Eat up, then. You have a big day ahead of you," Morgana said, her voice flowing behind her as she glided to the door.

Once he was sure she was gone, O’Neill released the breath he had been holding. When she was around, he had to keep his emotions in the strictest of checks—trying to keep his mind focused on something else, lest he accidentally try to throttle her to death—although, with that device in his head, that was not exactly a possibility.

The pain, though, he could really live without. Even when he was "behaving," O’Neill was convinced that the device still hummed and it was grating on his nerves.

Jack was unsure how long he stood there gazing out across the expanse before him, when a knock sounded once again at the door. Offering a brief, "Come," he turned to see Hywel enter the room and bow slightly, the epitome of propriety. That was one thing he couldn’t fault them for, Jack had to admit. The house servants were polite and always kind to him, much to his surprise.

"My Lord," Hywel said, his deep voice carrying across the room. "Lady Morgana requests your presence at the ceremony this morning. Would you please accompany me?" Although the words were phrased as a question, Jack knew he had no choice in the matter. What Morgana wanted, she got. If she wanted him at this ceremony of hers, he would have to attend—even though it was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Sure, Hywel," O’Neill said quietly, stepping away from the window and the view. Hywel stopped Jack with a light touch on his arm, carefully settling a hunter green cloak across his shoulders and fastening it at his neck with one of the most intricately designed metal broaches Jack had ever seen.

The broach reminded him of Daniel, but Jack had finally managed to stop thinking about his former teammate every time he cast his eyes upon it. It was the little things that continued to plague him, to remind him of just how much he had lost.

"Thank you, Hywel," Jack said, waiting patiently for Hywel to lead him down the stairs to where Morgana waited.

Before they reached the stairs, however, Hywel stopped suddenly. "My Lord, may I speak with you?" Hywel’s eyes were intense, the first time Jack had seen anything besides subservience in them. It piqued his curiosity and stirred something inside him—hope. He roughly shoved that emotion down, back into the depths, down into the back reaches of his mind. Hope was something that no longer had a place in his life.

"What is it?" Jack asked, his tone sharp, sharper than he originally intended, his back straightening with anger.

"I have been asked to relay a message to you from Lord Egan. He wishes to speak with you before the ceremony is to begin. If you agree, we must hurry for we do not have much time. Lady Morgana expects us to arrive forthwith."

"Hywel, I have no intention on speaking with anyone if I don’t have to," Jack said, a measure of fire finding its way into his tone. He turned his back on Hywel, striding toward the stairs. "Let’s get this over with. Just bring me to Lady Morgana.

Jack could hear the disappointment in Hywel’s voice when he finally answered. "Yes, my Lord." Hywel quickly stepped up alongside him, accompanying him to the main floor and out of the castle door, steadily moving into the castle gardens to the west.

As they approached, Jack could hear the rumblings of a great crowd of people and moments later, they turned a corner and the crowd was spread out before him. Lady Morgana stood regally on a raised dais in the middle of the garden with a small child—a young boy no older than four or five—at her side. A dark stone altar lay behind her and, as they got closer, Jack could see its deep coloring was not part of the stone—it was bloodstained.

A pit of unease swirled in Jack’s stomach, threatening to rid itself of the acid burrowing a hole into its lining. The atmosphere of the crowd was charged. They knew something was going to happen and Jack immediately knew that it involved that little boy.
And if it involved Morgana, it couldn’t be good.

Hywel slowly walked them up toward the front of the ground; the crowd parting to allow them passage. Eventually, they reached the front and Jack found himself standing on the ground just before Morgana, a pleased smile radiating from her face, bathing the crowd in her aura of peace and authority.

To these people, she was the high priestess, the spokesperson for their God. Whatever she said, these people would do without question. He’d seen it before—on Earth and on many other planets. As much as he hated clichés, this one fit the bill: Absolute power corrupts absolutely. This was—she was—a prime example.

Apparently, Morgana had been waiting for them because as soon as they settled into the front row, she began speaking and chanting. The child beside her was looking on, a terrified expression on his face, too scared to move a muscle. Jack watched the young boy’s blue eyes search the crowd. He was probably looking for his parents, Jack surmised, or at least a friendly face.

There were none to be found.

"My children, your God Lugh is not pleased and he has withdrawn his blessings from this village. The only way we can appease him is through a sacrifice and we have one to present to him." Morgana’s voice carried through the garden, weaving its way through the foliage, caressing the senses of those present. Her voice was intoxicating. It was so thick you could drink it in, delighting in its luxuriant tones.

Jack shook his head, trying to clear it, finally putting all the pieces together. Morgana was going to sacrifice the child to her false god. She was going to kill that little boy before he even had the chance to grow up, to learn what it was to live, to love. He couldn’t let that happen.

"Stop," he cried jumping to his feet and breaking the spell that she was weaving.

Morgana looked down upon him, anger in her face and madness in her eyes. "How dare you interrupt these sacred proceedings." Her voice became venomous, her finger pointing as his chest. "It is because of you that we have been forced to offer up a sacrifice to Lugh in order to appease him."

"Spare the child. Take me instead," Jack said, stepping forward boldly, acting only on instinct, his feet climbing the stairs to stand at her side, pushing the child behind him, shielding the young boy from her. Out of the corner of his eye, several of the larger guards had started moving as well, but a small gesture from her hand stopped them in their tracks.

"Your death will not please our God Lugh."

"What will? What can I do to spare the life of this child? Killing him will not appease your God."

Morgana did not hesitate. "You must pledge your life to him and to his people."

"My life is already in your hands," Jack said, emphatically.

"But it is not given freely. Give yourself freely to us and I will spare the child."

Jack looked at the small child, huddled behind him, clutching at his legs. The boy’s blue eyes were wide, pleading with Jack, asking for his protection. Jack looked across the gardens at the crowd gathered before him, noticing Egan standing quietly off to the side.

Jack bowed his head, realizing he was choiceless. If he did not agree, the child would die. That was not acceptable—especially when he had the power in his hand to prevent it.

Jack dropped to his knees before Morgana, bowing his head in deference to her—to her authority, to her power, to her sovereignty. He raised his voice loud enough for it carry to all present, the dais offering a unique acoustic, adding finality and decisiveness to his words. "I do this of my own free will. I give my life, my soul, and my whole being to you. It is all I have to offer."

Morgana’s hand rested gently on the back of his bent head. As soon as the words left his mouth, a feeling of deep despair enveloped him. The darkness in his heart and mind was finally complete. He had made a deal with the Devil to protect the life of a child and, in the process, he had lost his soul.

Morgana’s chillingly bright smile was only eclipsed by the roar of the crowd.

"General Hammond, we have to go back right now," Daniel’s impassioned cry echoed off the hard concrete walls as he burst into the General’s office without knocking. General George Hammond looked up suddenly and watched as Sam, Teal’c, Janet, and Jacob, a few steps behind, followed Daniel into his office.

"Doctor Jackson, what is the meaning of this?" Hammond raged, appalled at the distinct lack of protocol and courtesy as the horde trampled into his office with nothing more than a muttered apology on the part of Doctor Fraiser and Major Carter.

"Sir…General, we have to go back to Meath," Daniel repeated, his blue eyes feral, his hair ruffled, the Tok’ra memory device still implanted in his right temple. To Hammond, Daniel looked like a wild man. His pale white appearance and his rumpled uniform did not do anything to help dissuade his first impression.

Hammond’s angry eyes roved throughout the room, piercing all those who would meet his gaze. "Would someone please explain to me what the hell is going on here."

"Sir," Sam said, stepping forward, drawing his attention to her. She was wringing her hands together, biting her lips as she pulled words to explain their intrusion. "We’re sorry for barging in like this, but the memory device worked and we have to go back to Ildanach."

"Why does this request require the five of you to storm into my office yelling at the top of your lungs?" Hammond asked, trying to keep his temper under control. It was a tough battle. He was tired and frustrated and he still didn’t have the answers he wanted and needed. He was still mourning the loss of a good officer and his friend. Hammond continued to worry about the team that had been left behind. They were not the same, hadn’t been for weeks, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"I’m sorry, General, it’s my fault that they all ran in here," Daniel said, his voice finally calming down to a more normal, Daniel-like level. "It’s just that now there’s a sense of urgency."

"Why now? You’ve been back for the better part of a week. What’s gotten you all so fired up?"

"Sir," Janet said, stepping forward. Apparently, she was the next in line to face the firing squad of her commanding officer. "Daniel’s fully regained his memories from his first trip to Ildanach. When you put together his memories with what recently occurred, it has given us…a measure of concern."

"Doctor Fraiser, what do you mean? Someone needs to explain to me, in simple easy-to-understand language, what the hell is happening here. What did you find?"

"George, it’s not really a matter of what they found. It’s more like, what they’ve finally realized," Jacob Carter said, pausing in his explanation to gather his thoughts. To Hammond, Jake could have even been consulting with his symbiote for all he knew. "George, Colonel O’Neill is still alive—or at least he was alive the last time SG1 was there. George, as amazing as this sounds, Daniel had personal contact with the Colonel, but due to a number of factors, did not realize who it was who had approached him."

Daniel picked up the explanation, drawing Hammond’s attention back to the young archeologist. This was more like what he expected. He was getting answers, although these answers were just causing his stomach to do flips. "General, when we left Meath, Lady Morgana was searching the forests for a man. She was searching for Jack. Jack’s already been through more than any man has the right to endure in one lifetime at the hands of that woman," Daniel said, his hands waving wildly as if to emphasize his words. His eyes took on an earnestness that Hammond recognized. "We left him behind the first time and then we returned, we made a treaty with these people, and left him behind again, not even lifting a hand to help him—even when he asked. The least we can do is to go back and find him and bring him home."

"It’s understandable that you did not recognize him, but why is it that Majors Kovachek and Davis did not mention seeing the Colonel?" Hammond asked, his eyes boring into Daniel’s blue ones. He had to ask the question, but Hammond knew he wasn’t going to like the response. It was just the news he was dreading. They had left a good man behind to die. He stood, walking a few steps to stand at his open door, staring out at the Stargate standing proudly below the window of the briefing room.

"General, I don’t think you understand just what Jack’s been through. Lady Morgana tortured him, probably severely from the looks of it. He’s as thin as I’ve ever seen him and it’s an unhealthy thinness. With his beard and dressed like the villagers, he’d be easy to mistake on any given day." Daniel’s eyes had regained some of the passion he’d been missing ever since they returned from Ildanach. Daniel was truly back. "Sir, he even carries himself differently. If we don’t go back soon, I’m sure we’re going to lose whatever’s left of him."

"What do you propose, Doctor Jackson? How do you expect us to go up against a people that you consider to be savages? How do you expect us to defend ourselves against a people that can effectively alter your mind? We have no defense against that sort of thing." Daniel’s impassioned plea had struck a chord with him but he couldn’t allow them to walk into what was essentially a trap. Pacing closer to the briefing room window, he gazed down on the massive gate, the time allowing him the opportunity to organize his thoughts. Vaguely, he realized the quiet shuffling behind him indicated his visitors had followed him into the briefing room. With the lights in the briefing room off, he could see them standing behind him, scattered throughout the room, their reflection in the glass. They stood patiently waiting for his decision, for the words that would seal the fate of their friend.

"Doctor Jackson, I would do anything to retrieve Colonel O’Neill, but I don’t see how that’s feasible in this situation. I have no idea what might happen if I send you back. If I send you back with several heavily armed teams we’d be effectively waging war with our newest ally. The President would not look kindly upon such action."

"We’re talking about Colonel O’Neill here, General," Daniel said, stepping forward and coming around the table toward the General, his impassioned plea urging his body to action. Daniel’s words, though, had turned bitter. "How many times has SG1 saved the world? Why can’t we expend a little effort to save him from certain death? What does that say about us? How do you think Jack would feel about that?"

Hammond turned to face the archeologist, his eyes narrowing. "Doctor, Colonel O’Neill would understand. He’s a military man, taught to weigh the options and act in the best interests of the many."

"You’re wrong," Daniel said, his tone firm. "I know Jack. I remember. Jack wouldn’t understand. He expects us to go back for him. We don’t leave our people behind. That’s what we always say. Or has that mandate changed suddenly?"

"Doctor Jackson, you know our policies very well. As long as it is safe, we will attempt a rescue. From what you’re telling me, Ildanach is anything but safe. It does not make sense to risk the lives of more men to rescue one who is most likely already dead."

"So that’s what you really think," Daniel said angrily, his back straightening, his muscles tightening. Daniel paced a few steps closer, his hands clenching at his sides. Sam tried to warn him off, but he ignored her, plunging headfirst into uncharted waters. "You think he’s already dead. You can go ahead and think that way but I sure as hell won’t. I know Jack O’Neill, General, and I know the kind of man he is. He’s still alive and he’s waiting for us to help him. All he needs is a chance, an opening, no matter how small. I’m not going to sit around here twiddling my thumbs when I can give him that chance." Daniel turned on his heel to storm out the door when General Hammond’s voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Doctor Jackson!"

Daniel turned back to face the reddened face of General Hammond, realization crossing his face. He knew had gone too far.

"First, I do not react kindly to that tone in my office or anywhere in my mountain and I trust that you will remember that. Secondly, I can also assure you that we are not twiddling our thumbs. If the opportunity presents itself to organize a rescue mission I will do so, and not a moment sooner," Hammond said, his voice turning quiet and deadly. "And thirdly, if I decide to launch a rescue mission I will do so because I believe it is the right thing to do, not because I was ordered to do so by a civilian archeologist. Am I understood?"

Daniel swallowed a lump in his throat before he answered. "Yes, Sir," Daniel said meekly.

"Very good. Now all of you get the hell out of here. Some of us actually have work to do," Hammond said, turning back to his office and his desk.

Once they were gone, he dropped into his chair, rubbing his hand savagely across his face. The encounter had exhausted him. Not only was he having problems sleeping, worrying deep into the wee hours of the night, but also he was emotionally drained. How many more people could he lose under his command? How many more letters would he have to write? How many more lies would he be forced to tell for the good of the country? How many parents and spouses would never know the truth of how their loved ones died?

Hammond closed his eyes, leaning his face in his opened hand, his elbow placed carefully on the desk blotter, lost in thoughts of despair.

"Damn," Daniel said for the tenth time in the past minute, as they stood in the elevator waiting for it to deposit them on level 21. He was slumped in the corner of the elevator. To Sam, it looked like he was trying to hide, trying to blend into the metal elevator walls and disappear. It wasn’t working.

"Daniel," Sam started, cautiously eyeing her teammate and her friend. He was calming down, but he still wasn’t happy. His hair was in disarray and the memory device on the side of his face made him look frantic, wild even. "Deep down, you know the General’s right. I know you don’t agree with him, but he’s only trying to do what’s best for the command."

"I know," Daniel said, looking up quickly and catching her eye. "It’s just that…we…I…need to do something instead of pace through the halls of the SGC. If I was there, maybe I could actually make a difference. Maybe I could find a way to make it up to him."

"Sam," Jacob Carter said, pulling her attention to him, his voice thoughtful. "I have to agree with Daniel."

Sam’s head came up sharply. She had fully expected her father to take the military line. His siding with Daniel was not something he would have done before Selmac. Apparently, his symbiote was having a good influence on her father—much to her surprise. "What?"

"Sammy, I happen to think Daniel’s right. We have to go back. I took a look at that herb and, by itself, it couldn’t have done what it obviously did to you, Daniel, and Teal’c. There is something else involved."

"I must agree with you, Jacob Carter," Teal’c said. The Jaffa had been very quiet as of late, spending much time meditating and kel-no-reeming. "Normal drugs do not affect Jaffa the same way they do other people. Perhaps it involved a strong telepath. The Gou’ald have encountered several species that have been telepathic."

"That’s exactly what I was thinking, Teal’c," Jacob said, nodding his head. The opening of the elevator door interrupted his thoughts as the group made their way down to the infirmary and Janet’s office, where they could speak a little more freely. Only once they were all settled in Janet’s office did Sam’s father continue to speak.

"Janet, if I show you how to operate the memory device, will you be able to walk both Teal’c and Sam through the same day that I walked Daniel through? I’m not sure how long it will take. You can even have one of the nurses help you if you want."

"Sure. Why, where are you going?" Janet asked, stepping forward a few paces, her head angled as if to catch Jacob’s words better.

"Selmac has some vague memories about a race of people the Gou’ald encountered long ago, but unfortunately the memories are fragmented at best. If I had to guess, I’d say it had something to do with the Furlings as well, but I can’t be sure." Jacob rubbed his hand across his mouth, deep in thought. He was thinking out loud, trying to sort out his own faulty memories and recollections. He turned his attention back to Janet, his eyes narrowing as he tried to focus on one thing at a time. Knowing Selmac, the symbiote was probably giving her father a running dialogue as well. Sam didn’t envy the headache he’d have once he was done. "Janet, I brought an extra memory device, so once I remove the one I used on Daniel, you should be able to do both Sam and Teal’c. We need to know what they know before we leave."

"Leave?" Sam asked, her forehead creased in confusion, as her father’s steps moved him back to the office door. "Where are we going?"

Jacob’s mouth was set in a thin line. "Right now, I’m going back to talk to George. We’ll probably leave for Ildanach first thing in the morning, so make sure you get some sleep tonight. If my guess is correct, you’ll probably need it."

It only took a few minutes for Jacob Carter to ride the elevator down the several floors down to General Hammond’s office. When they had first barged into his office a while before, Jacob had been surprised at the appearance of his friend. They’d known each other for many, many years and had been through some strange things together—most of which had occurred over the last few years.

This time, though, his friend looked every single day his age. He looked old. Okay, maybe not old, per se, but he looked tired, drawn, haggard, and weary. With the strange and taxing things that this particular command could throw at him, nothing else had shaken his friend as much as this one mission had.

Jacob knew that George had lost men before under his command. It was a fact of life. This time he’d lost one, but for some reason, this time it was different. Jack O’Neill was more than just a colleague. Jack O’Neill was more than just the second-in-command of the SGC. He was a friend. He was, in many ways, the glue that held things together. He kept the fight going. He kept things moving. He was energy embodied in the form of a man. Even when Jack O’Neill was dead tired, dragging on his feet and barely able to stand, he still kept going. The man didn’t know when to stop. Jacob was convinced that Jack wouldn’t know how to die.

When George had given up on Jack O’Neill, it didn’t seem right. George, of all people, should know the sheer determination to hang onto life that Jack personified.

Approaching General Hammond’s office quietly, he noted that the door was still ajar. Jacob took the opportunity to peer inside first, checking out the scenery. Hammond was sitting at his desk, much as Jacob suspected he would be, but it was his posture that was wrong. He was slumped in his chair, his head resting in the palm of his hand, and his eyes were closed. George Hammond was the poster child for despair.

Not a good sign.

Jacob tapped lightly on the doorframe, trying not to startle his friend.

George looked up immediately, his eyes finding Jacob standing awkwardly in the doorway, and a half-smile found a way to his face. "What can I do for you, Jake?" Hammond asked, his voice evenly toned, obviously not surprised that Jacob had found his way back to the office.

He had to broach the subject carefully, Jacob realized, so he started off slowly. "It’s more like what I can do for you, George." Jacob said as he settled himself into the chair across from his friend.

George Hammond looked at Jacob, a perplexed expression crossing his face and his mouth turned down in a frown. That wasn’t the reaction he was hoping for, Jacob noted to himself.

Jacob cleared his throat quietly and decided to dive right in. "You know, Daniel was right."

"Jake, that’s not exactly what I wanted to hear right now," Hammond admitted with a tired sigh, much to Jacob’s surprise.

"I know, George," Jacob said, trying to organize his thoughts. "But, you had to hear it. I think you need to send a team back to Ildanach."

"And why do you feel that way? I’m sure you’re going to tell me, whether or not I want to hear about it," Hammond said, his tone resigned.

"There’s something else going on there and we need to figure it out. Besides, Jack O’Neill is not someone you give up on."

George sighed, the fight going out of his body. "I know. I wish there were something more that I could do, but I don’t see any possible solution."

"George, I don’t think it will be necessary to send hundreds of armed soldiers to the planet. That would just be overkill. And besides, we don’t want to tip our hand. I think we should send SG1 back to the planet. I can accompany them if you think it’s necessary," Jacob added quickly, seeing the beginning of an argument coming to George’s mouth. He paused long enough to allow his friend a comment.

"That all sounds well and good, but the last time we tried that SG5 came back minus their memories as well. What guarantee can you give me that it won’t happen again?" Hammond was playing devil’s advocate and was doing a good job, much to Jacob’s dismay.

"I can’t guarantee anything, George. And besides, nothing in life is guaranteed except death and taxes." Jacob sobered a minute later, getting back to the subject at hand. "I think if we go back with the appearance of fulfilling some of our end of the agreement, they won’t think twice about SG1 poking around. Their minds have already been altered. What harm could they do now? They’ve been back, and hell, they’ve even had contact with Jack. No one should suspect a thing."

"That’s what you say now," George said, obviously not convinced.

"I know it’s your final decision on whether we go or whether we stay, but if you’re asking for opinions, I’d say let’s go and bring Jack home."

George stared at Jacob for a long time before answering. For a few minutes, Jacob thought he had lost the argument. He had nothing else to say. There was nothing more he could add to persuade his friend to go along with his half-constructed plan. Jacob kept quiet and still, trying to hide his restlessness.

George sighed once, long and hard, before speaking. "What do you need?"

"I’ll put a list together. We can leave first thing in the morning," Jacob said, immediately rising to his feet.

"Fine," George said as Jacob turned to walk out the door. "Jake," George called, stopping Jacob in his tracks, just before he was out the door. "Just bring him home."

Jacob turned to gaze upon his friend. George looked better. He had one thing less to worry about. Jacob spoke from his heart. "I will, George. I promise…and thanks."

It wasn’t even afternoon and Morgana had been in his quarters for hours asking question after question—and Jack was answering, truthfully.

"So the Goa'uld have been building up remote outposts in order to develop weapons and technology to fight each other?" Morgana asked, her voice sounding surprised.

"That’s what we seem to be hearing," Jack said from his position at the window. He’d been there gazing out across the village and the forests beyond the walls since they had returned to the castle. As soon as they had returned, Morgana had used another finely tuned Goa’uld device to adjust the settings on the one lodged inside his head. It had tingled a little, which Morgana had assured him was normal. She claimed that she was adjusting the sensitivity of the device, allowing him better access to some of his memories without causing horrible pain. So far, it had been just as she said. If he thought too hard about home, though, the pain was quick to return.
She’d given him just enough rope to answer her questions, but nothing more—not that he was expecting anything.

"So, in your opinion, if you were looking for a Goa’uld controlled world with stores of technology, which would you recommend?" Morgana asked, dragging him back to reality. She was lounging in one of the chairs nearest the fireplace, her cloak tossed carelessly on another chair, and her close fitting dress leaving nothing to the imagination.

"There are a number of worlds that would fit that description," Jack said simply, as he watched two young men wrestle in the street, a crowd gathering to wait for the outcome.

It looked like snow, Jack thought, looking at the gray sky above. Yesterday, sitting at the edge of town, he could smell the snow, even though it was still quite a distance away. It had been a game when he was younger, living in Minnesota, one with the great outdoors. He and his brothers had competed every winter for who could forecast the snowfall first. Jack had always won. It had been different back then, simpler.

But even now, hundreds of light years away from Earth, he could still tell when the weather was changing. Now that he was older, he had even more indicators. His knee was a dead giveaway, especially on this planet. Dampness seemed to be a constant companion here. Sometimes he thought that if he sat too long in one place, he would become covered in mold. So far, that hadn’t happened—much to his surprise.

The wind yesterday had been blowing strong and true, the clouds building and moving toward the village. By evening, the temperature had dropped suddenly, more so than it had the days before. It was then that the smell had made its final change. He had predicted then, that there would be snow by midday. He was sure of it.

A light snow had started falling a few minutes ago, nearly at the stroke of noon.

"My love, I imagine that to be so, but I am asking for your opinion. If you had a choice, which world would you visit? Which world would offer the least resistance?"

Jack turned then, tearing his eyes from the soft snowflakes falling outside to look at Morgana, a perplexed expression crossing his face. "Why?"

"I wish to visit one of these worlds and reap the rewards of my journey." Morgana was much like himself, he’d discovered. She knew what she wanted and was determined to get it. There had to be some kind of result to merit the initial action, the initial expenditure of time and energy.

Jack thought for a moment, his eyes turning back to the scenery outside. "There are two worlds I remember," Jack said, his thoughts proving difficult to pull together. He had spent too long trying to forget, trying not to think about such things. He absently rubbed at the scar on his temple, his outward reminder of the device below the surface. "Both were under the control of minor Goa’uld overlords, real nobodies as far as we could figure, but General Hammond thought it was too dangerous. He planned to revisit the planets sometime down the line, months, maybe years from now, who knows exactly when. Both worlds were said to have a large store of Goa'uld weapons and devices."

For a moment, it was as if he was reliving those very memories, watching them unfold in his mind’s eye. His arguments with Hammond over both planets—P8X-767 and P3X-429—blending into one. His determination and desire to retrieve those weapons ran strongly through his mind—almost as strong as when he had first read the report describing the planets’ spoils. Those planets he would remember, of this he made sure, inscribing those symbols on his very consciousness. This would help in their fight against the Goa’uld. It was only a matter of time before he found a way to retrieve it.

Morgana’s voice drew him back to the present. "Very good, my love," Morgana said as a sense of peacefulness settled on his mind, blinding him to anything but the calmness inside. "Shall we go to the Stargate and travel to these worlds? I’d very much like to see them."

Jack turned back to her, resignation etched into every muscle. His words, though, were said with as much sarcasm as he could muster—not enough to write home about. "Yes, I can take you there, but we have to be careful. Those worlds are not a place for a lady such as yourself."

Morgana stood, gliding the few steps to rest her hand on his shoulder, to gaze directly in his eyes. "I am not your average Lady, my love," she said, her voice nearly purring with pleasure.

"So I’ve noticed," Jack said, keeping his eyes locked with hers, which were alight with playfulness and delight.

She ignored his comment, instead, stepping toward the door, grasping her cloak in one single graceful movement as she passed. "I shall call together a small group to accompany us. We can be underway within the hour."

Jack bowed his head. "As you wish, my Lady. As you wish."

A swish of fabric against the door and she was gone, leaving Jack to stare out at the snow lightly falling, coating the ground in a blanket of white, covering the dirt and grime. Jack wished he were outside, the snow falling on him. Maybe the snow could cover him and clean away the blackness that had replaced his soul.