• SPOILERS: None for Stargate, possible minor Lord of the Rings spoilers
• SUMMARY: A mission takes an unexpected twist
• PG [CR] [D]

"Daniel?"

"Jack?"

"I don't suppose you happen to know where we are."

Jack gave up looking for a familiar landmark - the Stargate would've been nice - and turned to look at his teammate. Daniel was lying flat on his back staring up at the sky with a somewhat bemused expression on his face. Jack guessed he'd probably had a similar expression when he'd regained consciousness a few moments earlier. That was when he'd discovered he wasn't where he'd expected to be and had no idea how he'd got to wherever he was. He watched as Daniel rolled over, and then straightened up.

"Daniel?" he prompted impatiently.

Daniel glanced at him then looked back at the surrounding countryside. "I have absolutely no idea."

Jack squinted into the bright sunlight, adjusted his cap, and then studied the open plain that spread before them in the vain hope it may have suddenly morphed into somewhere familiar. "Me neither."

"Sam? Teal'c?" Daniel asked glancing round as though his team-mates might suddenly appear.

"It's just the two of us," Jack said, trying not to let his concern about his missing team sound in his voice.

"Oh. Well, it's not the first time the 'Gate has malfunctioned and split us up," Daniel winced as he climbed to his feet and he rubbed at his temple.

"Do you see a 'Gate?" Jack asked, wishing Daniel would get up to speed on their situation.

Daniel did a slow 360 degree turn. "No 'Gate?"

"No 'Gate," Jack answered

"So I don't suppose you know how we got here - wherever here is?"

"Nope." Jack tugged his cap off and scratched as his head. "Come to think of it, I don't remember much of anything."

"Headache?" Daniel asked, still rubbing at his temple.

"Yeah." He gazed across the grassy plain again. "Weren't we on a mission?"

Daniel frowned. "I think so. P3X-243?"

"Isn't P3X-243 covered with rain forest?"

"Yeah." Daniel turned to look at him. "Somehow I don't think we're on P3X-243."

"I figured that too." Something caught Jack's attention to the west and he shaded his eyes again. "What's that?"

"Dust cloud?" Daniel offered, looking where Jack had pointed and squinting into the distance. "Must be a common occurrence in this kind of terrain."

Jack shook his head. "I don't think so." He fumbled in his vest pocket, pulled out a pair of binoculars and peered through them. Daniel had been half right. It was a dust cloud. However, it wasn't a natural phenomenon. It was being kicked up by a young man on a galloping horse. Long blonde hair whipped around the rider's face as he glanced over his shoulder. "It's a horse and rider," Jack informed Daniel. "And - sheesh!"

"What?"

"He's being chased by some kind of honking big ugly critters." Jack tossed the binoculars to Daniel and than yanked his zat gun out of its holster.

"What are you doing?"

"Helping."

"Jack, you have no idea why they're chasing this guy," Daniel protested. "It might not be wise to get involved until we've at least figured out where the hell we are."

Jack shot him a sharp look. "Since when did you do the non-inference thing?"

"I'm just saying," Daniel protested, raising the binoculars to his eyes. "Yo! You weren't kidding about them being ugly. What the hell are they riding? They look like some kind of giant hyena."

"I don't know. But they're ugly, armed to the teeth and gaining on their quarry. If we just stand around watching, Blondie over there is going to get turned into chopped liver." He gestured towards a small hillock a couple of hundred yards away. "This way." If the rider didn't change direction, he'd pass right beneath them.

They sprinted to the top of the hillock and threw themselves on their bellies, zats at the ready. Totally oblivious to their presence, the rider glanced over his shoulder again, and then slowed his horse, coming to a halt just a few yards from their hiding place. Moments later, horse and rider wheeled round to face their pursuers, and the rider hurled the spear he was carrying. He clearly had muscles beneath his leather armour because it whistled a fair distance through the air before embedding itself in the chest of the nearest pursuer. With a scream, the creature toppled from his mount, which immediately turned on him; its huge jaws closing around his body as it began to eat.

Metal hissed against metal as the rider drew his sword. "Death to you all!" he yelled defiantly.

"That's brave," Daniel murmured appreciatively.

"More like stupid," Jack retorted. "He can't possibly hope to... Oh crap!" Jack was astounded as the rider suddenly kicked his horse forward, and charged into the midst of the creatures. "Get as many as you can, Daniel!"

Metal clashed against metal as the rider took on his attackers. As electric blue light from Jack's zat sizzled over one of the creatures to his right, he glanced back and barely kept his head on his shoulders as another creature swung at him.

"Don't look at us," Daniel muttered, taking out two of the creatures with well aimed shots. The rider couldn't have heard him, but the near miss was enough to prevent him glancing at the unexpected aid again. Sword swinging he wheeled and turned, ducking and swaying as long, vicious blades scythed the air around him. The zats made swift work of the company, and moments later it was over. The few creatures that hadn't fallen to sword or zat abruptly turned tail and ran.

Having satisfied himself that all the creatures were dead, the rider urged his horse back to the hillock where Jack and Daniel were dusting themselves off. He swung himself off his horse, swiftly cleaned his sword on the grass and then thrust it back into its scabbard.

"May I ask who I am indebted too," he said breathlessly as Jack and Daniel reached him.

Jack took a step forward. "Colonel Jack O'Neill. This is Daniel Jackson. And you are?"

"Eomer, son of Eomund. Third Marshall of the Mark."

"Impressive title," Jack responded.

"Eomer?" Daniel repeated slowly, an odd look on his face.

Jack raised his eyebrows in question, but before Daniel could respond, the colour abruptly drained from Eomer's face and he swayed drunkenly.

"Uh-oh." Jack suddenly saw the blood running down the leather armour. "Looks like one of those creatures got you."

Puzzled Eomer glanced down at his chest, and then he looked back at Jack, distress in his eyes. "So it would seem," he said, his skin now totally ashen. "Perhaps I had better..."

He didn't have time to finish the sentence. Quick reflexes drove Jack forward and he caught the warrior just in time to prevent him making a painful nose dive. Daniel was a mere fraction of a second behind, and between them they eased the wounded man to the ground.

"Take it easy," Jack said as Eomer stirred. He glanced at Daniel. "We need to get this armour off him. Find out how badly wounded he is."

Daniel glanced around at the landscape. "We're in the middle of nowhere, Jack. And we don't have any medical supplies." He tapped at his shoulder indicating his missing pack.

"And?" Jack's frustration made him snap.

"That armour looks pretty tight. It may be the only thing stopping him from bleeding to death."

Eomer stirred again, weakly lifting his right arm. "There is a small farmstead not far from here." He gestured to the west. "If you can but get me there..."

"Okay," Jack interrupted, hating the lack of options. "Save your strength. We're on it."

"Again I am indebted," Eomer said softly.

"Whatever," Jack said impatiently. "Do you think you can ride?"

"A Rohirrim can always ride," Eomer replied with a pained smile.

"Okay, then let's get you back on your horse and off to see the wizard."

Eomer stiffened beneath his hands. "You have seen the wizard."

"Oh yeah," Jack said. "Every Christmas and holiday. Gotta love that yellow brick road."

"Your words are strange," Eomer said. He groaned softly as Jack helped him to his feet. His left arm was now hanging limply at his side and blood was trickling between his fingers.

"So I'm often told," Jack said, bending down with his hands cupped to give Eomer a step up. The warrior swung himself up with a pained grunt. Apparently exhausted he leaned forward and rested his head against the neck of his horse.

Daniel exchanged a concerned look with Jack. "Perhaps I should ride behind him?"

Jack nodded.

"With your permission," Daniel said to Eomer.

Teeth gritted against the pain, the warrior merely nodded.

As Daniel moved to mount the horse, he caught Jack's arm and pulled him close. "I think I know where we are," he said, his voice low.

"Oh?" Jack could tell from Daniel's tone that he wasn't going to like whatever conclusion Daniel had arrived.

"You're not going to believe it, though." Daniel gave a nervous laugh and glanced up at the wounded man on the horse.

"Try me," Jack said.

"Actually I'm not sure I believe it."

"Just spill it Daniel," Jack demanded.

Daniel licked his lips nervously. "I think we're in Middle Earth."

"Middle Earth?" Jack asked incredulously. "Suffer a little bit of brain damage on the way through the 'Gate, did we?"

"Do you see a 'Gate," Daniel asked as though that explained everything.

"Daniel, I hate to break it to you, but Middle Earth is a fictional place."

"I know that," Daniel snapped back. "But how else do you explain the fact that I'm sitting on a horse behind Eomer, son of Eomund. Third Marshall of the Mark?"

Jack's eyebrows danced. "People dress up in fancy clothes and pretend to be fictional characters all the time, Daniel. He's probably just some sad loner with an armour fixation."

Daniel glanced towards the dead creatures, and raised his eyebrows pointedly. Jack grimaced, knowing his comment hadn't made any sense. However, neither did Daniel's suggestion that they were in Middle Earth. What was Daniel going to come up with next? That Tolkein was goa'uld historian?

The debate was brought to an abrupt end by Eomer folding bonelessly against the neck of his horse.

"Crap!" Daniel hastily grabbed him round the chest before he could pitch to the ground. With effort he pulled Eomer back against his own body and was almost tilted over the back of the saddle by the momentum of two-hundred pounds of unconscious weight and armour.

"Daniel?" Jack raised a hand in a futile attempt to help balance his team-mate.

"It's okay," Daniel replied, wrapping himself more tightly around his burden. "He's passed out. We need to get to that farm."

Jack nodded and slapped the horse gently on the rear. "Get up, Dobbin."

"Firefoot," Daniel said, as the horse broke into a walk.

"What?"

"If this is Eomer, then the horse is Firefoot."

The horse nodded its head and snuffled gently as though in agreement.

Jack gave it a distrustful look, then sighed. "Firefoot it is then. But so help me if it starts to talk..."

"That's Narnia not Middle Earth," Daniel said, then ducked his head into Eomer's shoulder as Jack glared at him.

For the next fifteen minutes they travelled in silence. With Eomer drifting on the edge of unconsciousness, it took all of Daniel's strength to keep himself and the wounded warrior in the saddle. Eomer easily matched Daniel in height, and his firmly muscled body was clad in a lightweight chainmail, leather armour and at least two other layers of clothing. Daniel's own muscles were soon protesting at the effort required, despite his regular gym sessions.

"Thank goodness," he whispered as he saw the small farmstead finally came into view. As they drew nearer they could see animals in enclosures - chickens, sheep and cows, all reassuringly Earth-like and docile. Smoke drifted from the chimney of the main building, reassuring them that someone was in residence.

As they reached the outer perimeter, Jack pushed the wooden gate open and, zat in his hand, called out a greeting. Two young boys who were working in a small vegetable garden turned to stare, but neither responded to the greeting. Firefoot, meanwhile, tossed his head towards the grey horse that was now peering out of the stable as though greeting an old friend.

"Think he's been here before?" Daniel asked.

Before Jack could reply, the farm house door flew open and a woman stepped into the yard. Both Jack and Daniel stared open-mouthed, but it was Jack who recovered first.

"Carter?" he said incredulously, taking in the long wool dress she was wearing and, far more surprisingly, the blonde curls that reached down to her waist.

She looked blankly at him, then turned towards the horse and riders. Shock and distress vied for prominence on her face and she gave a startled cry.

"My Lord Eomer?" She hurried forward, treating Daniel to a distrustful look as she addressed him. "What happened? Where did you find him?"

"Sam, what are you doing here? Are you alright?" Daniel asked, ignoring her questions.

She frowned up at him, no recognition on her face. Apparently dismissing him as irrelevant she turned her attention back to Eomer. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the blood seeping through his chainmail. "Such lightweight armour is no protection against for weapons forged in the fires of Isengard," she murmured with distaste. "How long?"

"What?" Daniel asked.

She glared up at him and repeated her question as though addressing an imbecile. "How long ago was he wounded?"

Jack answered as he moved to her side. "Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes."

"Minutes? What are minutes?" Frustration sharpened her tone and she shook her head impatiently.

"Look, Carter, mind telling me what the hell -"

"Not long," Daniel interrupted, as Eomer stirred in his arms. He shot Jack a sharp look, silently communicating that maybe they had more pressing priorities than their team-mate's apparent brainwashing. "I think the sooner we get him off this horse the better - for both of us."

Sam nodded emphatically. "At least one of you speaks sense. There is no time to waste. Bring him into the house."

As she turned, clearly intent on striding away, Jack caught her arm. "Just a minute, Carter - "

She slid out of his grasp as though her skin was oiled, and he didn't see the knife until it was at his throat, its sharp blade pricking at his skin.

Blue eyes blazed angrily at him. "Touch me again and I'll slit your throat."

"Whoa! Carter!" He raised his hands in surrender and slowly backed away.

She jerked her head towards Eomer, who had now regained consciousness, but her fierce gaze never left Jack's face. "Do as I say. Bring him into the house. And pray to your gods that I do not find you are responsible for the harm that has befallen him."

"Okay, take it easy." Jack backed towards the horse. He exchanged a concerned look with Daniel, then concentrated on the task at hand.

"I can manage," Eomer murmured, as Jack and Daniel debated the best way to get him out of the saddle. He waited while Daniel dismounted then, leaning forward over Firefoot's neck, he swung free of the saddle and slid less than gracefully to the ground. His knees buckled almost immediately and he would've fallen had Jack and Daniel not been ready to support him. He gave a pained sigh, then lifted his head. "Thank you."

"Let's get you inside," Jack said, wrapping an arm around his waist.

"Wait," Eomer gave a pained gasp as he resisted the forward movement and jerked to a halt. "Who will see to Firefoot?"

"I will, my Lord." One of the young boys from the garden had already taken hold of the reins.

Eomer shot the lad a grateful smile, then nodded towards a heavily laden fruit tree by the house. "You will find him even tempered enough if he knows your pockets are filled with apples."

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you my Lord." The boy nodded happily as he led the horse away.

"Fools! Will you dally in the yard until he's bled to death?" shrilled a female voice from the farm doorway. "Hurry up!"

Jack exchanged an exasperated look with Daniel. "What was I saying about brain damage?"

*****

Daniel was mildly surprised to find the interior of the farmhouse wasn't divided into rooms. Instead, different areas had been given over to the various needs of daily life. A fire was lit in the hearth against the back wall. One corner held a table and chairs, another kitchen implements and stores of food. Pushed against one wall was a low bed, which Sam was stripping of its fur coverings.

"I will tend to him here," she said as Daniel helped Eomer through the doorway. The strain of dismounting and walking the short distance was once again threatening to rob the Marshall of consciousness, and he was leaning most of his weight on Daniel's shoulders. "Hurry!" Sam barked, her face anxious. "Too much time has already been wasted."

With Jack's help, Daniel eased the wounded man onto the thin sacking mattress. A soft groan escaped Eomer's lips as he was settled, causing Daniel and Jack to exchange worried looks above his head. He did not seem the kind of man to vocalise pain readily.

"You!" Sam snapped at Jack. "See to the fire. We will need water that has bubbled well." She glanced down at Eomer's pale face, then stepped away from him and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Put the poker amongst the coals also." As Jack raised his eyebrows, she added. "If I cannot stop the bleeding..."

Jack winced, but nodded. It was a crude and painful way to cauterise a wound, but if necessary it could save Eomer's life. Sam stepped back to the bedside and dropped to her knees. Gently she smoothed Eomer's tangled blond hair from his face. His eyes were closed, but his harsh breathing gave away the fact he was conscious.

"My Lord, I need to tend to your wound."

His eyelids fluttered, and then he opened them, and held her gaze. His tongue flickered over his lips, but words failed him and he merely nodded his consent.

A red flush crept up Sam's neck. "I will need to remove your armour... and shirt."

He closed his eyes again and spoke with effort. "Do... what you must."

Daniel watched as Sam stared down at Eomer, surprised by the tender look on her face. If he hadn't known better he would've thought the look was one of love. That was impossible, though. Unless, she wasn't actually Sam at all. Damn, everything was so confusing and his own head was still throbbing from whatever force had flung him into this world. As Sam reached out and tentatively cupped Eomer's right cheek in her hand, her lips moving in what might have been a silent prayer, Daniel glanced over at Jack, who was setting a small cauldron of water over the fire.

"Talk to her," Jack mouthed silently. "Find out what the hell is going on."

Daniel nodded, and turned his attention back to the bed.

Sam's fingers were trembling as she tried to undo the heavy buckle on the strap across Eomer's chest. Slowly Daniel reached forward and took her hand in his own. "Let me do that," he said gently. She immediately snatched her hand away, temper glittering dangerously in her eyes. "I just want to help," he said, holding her gaze as she glared at him.

The anger in her faded and she nodded her consent.

"He grows hot already," she said fearfully. "I do not know if I can save him."

"Fever?" Daniel asked, resting his own hand against the Eomer's overly warm forehead.

"Orcs do not care much for the cleanliness of their blades." She bit at her lip, then continued. "Oft times they apply filth deliberately knowing that fever will finish what a blade has begun."

"Sam..." Daniel began, intending to offer some word of encouragement.

"Why do you call me that?" she asked, taking the strap from him as he pulled it free of Eomer's body. "Why do you pretend to know who I am?"

Daniel gave a soft laugh and turned his attention to releasing the leather breastplate. "Because I do know who you are. Or at least I know someone who looks just like you."

"It must be the latter," she said firmly. "As you have never crossed my path before." She glanced at his SGC uniform. "And I would remember such strange clothing."

Daniel worked at the final buckle. "So, if you're not Sam?"

"My name is Lothiriel."

"Lothiriel?" Daniel frowned as distant memory stirred. Then suddenly he knew why the name was familiar. He glanced at Eomer's face, and then at Sam. "You're his wife?"

Colour flooded Sam's face and her anger flared again. "You mock me!"

"No!" Daniel protested. "It's just that..." He stopped, too confused to attempt an explanation. Middle Earth was fictional. Eomer, son of Eomund, Third Marshal of the Mark, was a character from a book. The wounded man lying on this bed could not be him. And Sam was... well, Sam!

She glared at him, then looked anxiously down at Eomer. Leaning close, she hissed words into Daniel's ear. "It is not fitting that I should have feelings for this man. You will not mention this again." She pulled away, her face set in a determined mask.

"Sorry," Daniel murmured. Still trying to figure out what the hell was going on, he carefully eased the breastplate free. As he put it on the floor next to the bed, fresh blood began to seep through Eomer's chainmail. "It's what I thought. The straps were acting as a binding," he said.

Sam nodded, then tugged at the mail. "We must be quick now. Help me get this thing off him."

Removing a knee-length tunic of ringed metal from a barely conscious man proved to be no easy task, and Daniel had added a few Rohirrim swearwords to his vocabulary by the time they succeeded. Sweat beaded Eomer's face and his breathing was harsh as he was finally stripped down to nothing but a woolen over-tunic, a coarse undershirt and his leggings. The knife that she'd used to threaten Jack was suddenly in Sam's hand.

"I am sorry," she said to Eomer as she gripped both items of his upper clothing with one hand and set the blade to the fabric. A single downward stroke rent the garments from neck to hem, revealing not only a deep bleeding gash in Eomer's side, but also a kaleidoscope of purple and yellow bruises.

"Such bruises were not earned battling Orcs," Sam whispered, her worried eyes meeting Daniel's.

He'd never battled Orcs, but he'd had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of a beating, and he recognised the handiwork of fists. However, since he could offer no suggestion as to why the Third Marshal might have received such treatment from his own kind, he made no comment, asking instead, "How deep is that wound?"

Hurriedly washing her hands in a bowl of hot water that Jack set at her side, she prodded gently at the torn flesh. Relief washed over her face. "Not as deep as I had feared. The blade has not penetrated past bone to his life organs." She reached into the other pot Jack had placed at her side and gingerly pulled out a cloth soaked in boiled water. Her face set in a grim mask, she began to clean the wound.

"Here," Jack held out a handful of white packages. "Daniel, got anything useful in your pockets?"

"What is this?" she asked.

"Sterile bandages and dressings." She looked puzzled so he nodded towards the other strips of torn up cloth he'd just boiled. "Like those – only cleaner. Much cleaner."

Daniel hurriedly searched his pockets and came up with more. "No antibiotics?" he asked Jack as he found that particular pocket empty.

Jack shook his head. "Nothing but bandages and power bars. Someone must've stripped us before dumping us here."

"We have zats," Daniel said.

"So we do."

Daniel looked up at him quizzically. "So, don't you think that's a little odd?"

Jack blew out an exasperated breath. "Daniel, this whole thing is odd."

Again, Daniel realised he had nothing more to add to the conversation. He ripped open one of the gauze packets and held it out so Sam could remove the gauze without him touching it. "Use it to staunch the blood flow."

She peered at the pristine pad in wonder. "So white," she said.

"Not for long," Daniel said sadly, as she pressed it to Eomer's wound. Red seeped through almost immediately. Wordlessly Daniel handed her another. Then a third. The bleeding showed no sign of abating.

Eomer shifted beneath her touch and then opened his eyes. "Do... what you... must," he repeated, his voice an agonised hiss, but the tone still one of a man used to commanding. And of being obeyed.

Tears pooled in her eyes, but she nodded, then turned to Jack.

"Damn it," he said, clearly recognising the unspoken demand behind both Eomer's words and her look. He yanked the hot metal from the fire and blew on its sharp tip, wincing as it brightened into a fierce red glow.

"You're sure about this?" he asked as he turned back.

"It will deal with both the bleeding and the filth from the Orc blade," Sam said. "Although the latter may already have done damage."

"She's right," Daniel commented softly.

"I know she's right," Jack snapped. "It's just..." He grimaced. "Remind me to thank Doc Fraiser for modern medicine next time I see her." He glanced at Sam. "Want me to do it?"

Her face turned pale as she looked at the glowing metal. "I would not have you think me a coward."

Jack stepped forward. "I don't." He glanced over at Daniel. "You'd better hold him down."

Grimly, Daniel nodded, then he leaned over and took a firm grip of Eomer's shoulders. "You know what we're about to do?" he asked the warrior. A barely perceptible nod was the only reply. Daniel turned to Jack. "Do it."

Jack had done some damn unpleasant things in his life. And right now he was grateful for that experience. It helped him keep his hand steady as he thrust the burning metal into the wound. Nevertheless, he knew Eomer's scream would haunt his dreams for many nights. The Marshal bucked against Daniel's hands, the muscles of his neck corded as he fought against the pain. Then, to everyone's relief, he went limp.

Jack pulled the metal from the wound and leaned in to look at his handiwork. It wasn't pretty, but it had done what was required. The wound was cauterised. Jack moved swiftly back to the fire and dropped the poker onto the hearth. He was visibly shaken as he turned back and said fiercely. "I don't ever want to have to do that again."

*****

Teal'c opened his eyes, gave a soft groan and tried to analyse what hurt. It took him a few brief seconds to decide the answer was everything, but that the worst of the pain was being caused by a massive headache.

"He wakes!" A soft female voice sounded to his left.

"At last," said a second almost identical voice that came from the direction of his feet.

With effort, Teal'c turned his head towards the first voice. A blurred figure came into view, and he blinked hard to clear his vision. The image remained unclear, but at least now he could make out a head with a soft frame of brown hair. He tried to form words, but his mouth refused to co-operate.

"Rest, friend." The woman moved closer, allowing him to see sympathetic brown eyes, a straight nose and a cupid bow mouth. He felt a cool cloth wipe across his forehead. "You have been in darkness for many hours. We feared for you."

He drew in air and pushed through the worst of the pain. "Where am I?"

"You are in the house of Ala and Tia."

Teal'c considered this for a moment, trying to force his brain to dredge up memories. A mission? Yes. He'd been on a mission with the rest of SG-1. He tried to sit up, but his muscles betrayed him. "My friends?"

The second woman had moved into his line of sight now. She looked down at him sadly. "We were only able to save you. We are sorry."

Fear cut through him. "What do mean? Are my friends. dead?"

The woman exchanged a look with her companion. "Should I tell him, Ala? Is he strong enough?"

He cut across her. "Tell me what has happened to my friends."

"I will tell him, Tia," the other woman spoke, her voice sad. "Your friends were taken by Shining Eyes."

"A goa'uld?" From their blank looks, he gathered the two women were unfamiliar with the name. However, their words had given him hope. "They live?"

Tia looked pained. "It may be better had they not. He will have taken them for the game."

Teal'c tried to push himself up again, and this time succeeded, even though it made him breathe heavily and he felt a dozen lifetimes older than Bra'tac. "Tell me everything," he said.

******

"So what do you think?" Jack asked as he handed Daniel a bowl of stewed vegetables that he'd prepared.

Daniel prodded at his food with a spoon, then scooped some into his mouth. "Needs more salt."

Jack raised his eyes skyward. "That wasn't what I meant." He jerked his head towards Sam, who was still tending Eomer. "What do you think about all this?"

Daniel chewed thoughtfully, then swallowed. "I don't know what to think. The names are straight out of Tolkein. And those creatures that were chasing him, well, they looked remarkably like Orcs on Warg."

"Seen a lot of Orcs on Warg, have you?"

"Only at the cinema," Daniel admitted, then added, "And at Sam's of course."

"At Carter's?" Jack's eyebrows raised. "She's taken to raising exotic pets?"

"You've never been to one of Sam's Lord of the Rings evenings."

A slightly hurt look flickered across Jack's face. "No."

Daniel scooped more vegetables into his mouth, talking as he chewed. "She has both the first films - extended editions. And a bootleg copy of the new one."

"We talking illegal bootleg?"

"Siler gave it to her."

"Oh, well that's okay then," Jack said sarcastically. He glanced over at Carter again, watching thoughtfully as she dampened a cloth in cold well water and wiped it over Eomer's hot skin. "So. let's just go with the whole we're in Middle Earth thing for a moment, despite the fact we both know that's impossible - what's with Loopy Lotti?"

"Well," Daniel wrinkled his nose as he thought. "If we look at it logically."

"There's logic in this?"

Daniel gave him a sharp look. "You're the one who said to go with the Middle Earth thing."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," Jack said impatiently.

"So if we look at it logically," Daniel repeated. "She's either really Lothiriel and she just happens to look like Sam or she's really Sam but she thinks she's Lothiriel."

"Whack on the head?" Jack suggested.

"Possibly," Daniel admitted slowly.

Jack considered a moment. "And that gets us to?"

Daniel grimaced. "Sitting in a farm not knowing what the hell's going on."

"Yeah." Jack sighed. "So the stew?"

"Definitely needs more salt."

****

At Teal'c's insistence, the two women led him through their land with its gentle hills and swift flowing rivers. Still suffering from the debilitating effects of the worse headache he'd ever experienced, he was soon frustrated at his inability to move swiftly. Whatever had knocked him conscious had clearly shaken Junior up pretty badly too. However, the concerned looks the women exchanged made him resist the urge to over-exert himself. And besides, he knew he might need his strength later. Someone - goa'uld or other entity - had taken his team-mates. It was up to him to rescue them.

First they took him to the Stargate and showed him the device that had rendered SG-1 unconscious the moment they'd stepped through the 'Gate. It was a tall tower-like structure made from a smooth crystalline material that he did not recognise. There was nothing for him to break into or attempt to dismantle, and when he fired his zat at it, the energy simply dissipated on some kind of protective shield, leaving the device untouched. Frustrated he looked at the Stargate, realising that it would be foolish to call through reinforcements if they were simply cut down by this alien guard.

They travelled on, resting briefly when Ala and Tia insisted that he would harm himself if they continued. It was almost evening by the time Tia raised her hand for them to halt. "We can gp no further in this direction."

Teal'c peered across the open plain that stretched before him. "Why not?"

In answer, Tia bent down and picked up a small stone, which she threw in the direction they were heading. A loud crack sounded and blue sparks spat towards them from an invisible force field.

"This is the southern most boundary of the game arena," she explained. "It stretches two days' walk to both east and west. I have never travelled to the north, but I suspect many days of travelling would be needed to reach its furthest limits."

"And you think my friends are inside?" Teal'c asked, although he already knew the answer.

"We know it," Ala replied. "We saw them taken."

Teal'c nodded. He'd been over their story with them several times now. They'd been close to the Stargate when they heard it activate but by the time they arrived SG-1 had already been knocked unconscious. There was scant cover around the 'Gate, but they'd managed to drag his body and hide him in the bushes. Even if there had been cover enough, there was no time to rescue the others. They barely had time to cover their tracks before the creature that called Shining Eyes had arrived and taken O'Neill, Samantha Carter and Daniel Jackson.

Of the game they had mentioned, they knew very little, other than that those who were taken were never seen again. Sometimes there was talk of strange noises from the games arena - animal howls that could not be made by any of the domestic beasts they knew of, but mostly these rumours were dismissed as tales made up to scare naughty children. Be good or Shining Eyes will take you for the game. As for Shining Eyes itself, it seemed to keep mostly to itself. Ala had explained that it was rarely seen outside the game arena except when strangers came through the Great Circle.

Teal'c picked up a stone and threw it as high as he could. Blue sparks hissed again.

"I must get inside," he said determinedly. Tia and Ala exchanged a look as he turned towards them. "This creature left this place to capture my friends. Therefore, an exit must exist. And an exit can also be an entrance."

Ala's face was solemn. "There is the gateway."

Teal'c's hope immediately returned. "Where is this gateway?"

Ala turned to the west. "It is that way. But there is no point in making such a journey."

"Why not?" Teal'c demanded, already studying the narrow path that led to the west.

"Because one cannot simply choose to go through the gateway. Only the taken pass through."

Teal'c shook his head, dismissing the warning. "We will go there, and I will enter," he said, his face set into grim determination.

"If you do, we will never see you again," Tia said sadly.

"So be it," Teal'c replied as stepped onto the path.

****

He woke just after dawn and swatted weakly at the cold cloth pressed to his face.

"My Lord?" Lothiriel felt her spirits soar despite the bone-aching weariness that moments before had threatened to overwhelm her. The restless way he had passed the night had frightened her, ever fearful as she was that he would sink into delirium if the fever strengthened its grip. "How do you fare my Lord?"

He turned his face towards the sound of her voice. His eyes were dark as they focused on her; the pupils dilated both because of the dim light of the interior and his ill health. "Thirsty," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

She turned away from him and saw that the younger of her two visitors was stirring beneath his blanket. "Daniel! Fetch me fresh water from the well. He is awake."

"Awake?" Daniel rubbed at his eyes.

"Yes. Which is more than you seem to be." She shook her head in exasperation. "Water. Now."

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Daniel finally seemed to realise what she was asking. Throwing off his blanket, he pulled himself to his feet and headed out the door.

Turning back to Eomer, she found he'd closed his eyes again, and for a moment she allowed herself to gaze at him. He was indeed a handsome man, even though the fever had robbed his skin of its normal sun-kissed colour and the pain of his wound etched lines of hurt around his eyes and creased his forehead. She wished she could soothe those lines away permanently, but she did not dare to touch him in that way. He was the Third Marshal of the Mark and nephew of Theoden-King. It was best that he had nothing to do with her lest he also became embroiled in the pathetic feuding of her family. He had troubles enough. Instead she once again dampened the cloth and pressed it to his hot skin.

His was looking at her, a puzzled expression on his face. "Eowyn?" he whispered.

She knew the name, although she had never met the person to whom it belonged. "No, my Lord," she replied softly. "You are many miles from your sister and the Great Hall."

To her surprise he reached out and gently brushed her hair from her face. Disappointment flickered across his face. "I had hoped perhaps." He didn't finish the sentence, murmuring instead. "Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive, my Lord," she said, even though it hurt deeply that he had hoped she was his sister.

"Here you go," Daniel slopped water onto the floor as he set the bucket down. "Oops. Sorry."

The distraction was a relief. "Help me with him," she said. "Help him to sit up so he can drink."

"Sure." Daniel sat on the edge of the mattress, wrapped his arms around Eomer's shoulders then, gently and slowly, helped him to sit, taking most of the wounded man's weight against his own chest. Eomer's hand shook as he reached for the cup and with a bitter sigh he allowed Lothiriel to hold it to his lips.

"Enough," he said hoarsely after a few swallows, the effort of being upright clearly becoming too much.

Reluctantly Lothiriel set the half full cup to one side. Eomer sucked air between his teeth as Daniel did his best to ease him back to the mattress without jostling him.

"Sorry," Daniel apologised.

"Not... your fault," Eomer replied, finally relaxing into the thin bedding.

Daniel chewed at his lip for a moment, then blurted out. "Get into a fight with someone bigger than you?" He nodded towards the bruises swirling across Eomer's skin.

Eomer gave a bitter laugh. "They were a farewell present." Daniel's eyebrows danced in question, and so Eomer continued, his breath coming in shallow, pained gasps. "My uncle has fallen under the spell of a fork-tongued snake called Grima Wormtongue. While I was away - defending our land - this foul creature convinced my uncle that I should be banished on pain of death." Emotional anguish darkened Eomer's expression. "There are some at court who are more loyal to coin than crown. I believe they were paid well to make sure I understood what fate would await me if I dared to challenge the order."

"Banished," Lothiriel breathed the word softly, ashamed of the sudden hope that had fluttered in her chest. If Eomer were banished, then perhaps... No, how could she even begin to think such a selfish thought. He would not stand by and see the Kingdom of Rohan fall into the hands of a traitor. As soon as he was healed, he would leave.

Jack joined them, his eyes still heavy with sleep. "Beaten up and banished. Not a good day, huh?"

"I fear the Orc ambush was also Wormtongue's doing," Eomer said darkly. "He has spies everywhere and he would dearly love to see me dead."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "So what's the chance this Wormtongue knows you're here?"

"Enough questions," Lothiriel interrupted sharply. "Can you not see how the sickness still burns him? He needs his strength to heal, not to entertain you with stories of court intrigue."

Eomer's face had indeed turned ashen from the effort of speaking, and his skin was slick with sweat. She glared up at Jack, daring him to argue with her. He hesitated, clearly not happy that his question was going unanswered, but then he turned away, muttering something to Daniel about going outside to recon the defences. She didn't care that his words meant nothing. Her concern was only for Eomer.

"You should drink more, my Lord," she said softly.

"Your friend is right," Eomer murmured.

"My Lord?"

"Wormtongue. If he learns I still live..."

"Shush." She pressed a finger against his lips. "You are safe here."

"Safe," he repeated as though wishing he could believe it. His eyes closed. "So tired."

"Sleep my Lord. You will be stronger when you wake." She brushed her fingers against his forehead and felt the heat that still burned. Silently she recited a prayer, promising the spirits she would make sacrifice to them if they would but spare his life. Her prayer complete she wearily reached for the cloth, only to find another hand close around hers. Looking up, she found herself gazing into a pair of blue eyes.

"Let me care for him for a little while. You need sleep too," Daniel said.

She wanted to argue with him, but her arm arched from its task of cooling Eomer, and her eyes felt like they were filled with grit.

"You will call me when he wakes again?"

"Absolutely," Daniel said. He made a gentle shooing gesture, directing her to the blankets by the fire. "Sleep."

Her eyes lingered on Eomer's face and then she nodded. Wearing herself out would not help him now. He was in the hands of the spirits. She would have to trust to them. And to his own will to live.

****

The talk of spies had made Jack jittery. After a brief stroll around the outbuildings and a failed attempt to engage the two young lads in conversation, he headed back into the farmhouse. Carter, or whatever she wanted to call herself, was wrapped in one of the course wool blankets and was asleep in front of the fire. Daniel had his back to the door as he tended to Eomer. The young warrior was tossing and turning on the bed, mumbled words spilling from his lips in his own language as fevered sleep held him in its grip.

"It's fascinating," Daniel said, finally realising that Jack was behind him. "Unfortunately the Nordic languages are not my strong point, and a dictionary or two wouldn't go amiss, but nevertheless."

"What's he saying?" Jack interrupted not wanting a lecture on linguistics.

"I think he's fretting over his sister," Daniel said, but then admitted reluctantly, "Then again he could be reciting a recipe for saddle soap. It's kind of hard to tell. All those soft vowels and."

Jack cut him off again. "I'm going to scout out the terrain. See if any of those creatures are still in the vicinity."

That got Daniel's full attention. "I should come with you." He started to rise, but Jack pushed him back down with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"No. I need you to stay here and keep an eye on these two in case." He trailed off.

Daniel frowned. "You think they might come back to finish the job they begun?"

Jack's gaze swept over the bruises decorating Eomer's sweat burnished torso. "Seems pretty clear our friend here has some powerful enemies."

"And so roaming around on your own is a good idea because?" Daniel arched his eyebrows meaningfully.

Jack sighed. "Okay, it's not a good idea. But it's better than just sitting here."

"I guess so," Daniel said. "Be careful, okay?"

"Careful is my middle name," Jack said, with more cheerfulness than he felt. He took a step towards the door, then paused. "Oh, by the way, Daniel - "

"Yes?"

"Don't sit with your back to the door while I'm gone."

*****

Teal'c and his companions had passed an uncomfortable night in the open, then had started walking again as soon as there was enough light to travel safely over the tussocky ground. The sun was climbing high as Ala caught at his arm and gestured into the distance.

"The gateway," she said fearfully.

"I see nothing," he said, following the direction of her pointed finger.

"There is a shimmering, like on a hot day," Ala said. "Look closely."

He looked again, and this time he saw she was right. There was a faint disturbance in the air. Wiping sweat from his face and ignoring the growling hunger pangs of his stomach, he now led the way. Ala and Tia followed him with obvious reluctance.

"This is not a safe place," Tia complained, looking around with wide eyes. "What if we are taken also?"

"We must find a way in," Teal'c said firmly.

Ala shook her head in alarm. "No, if you enter, you do so alone. We will not accompany you."

"Very well," Teal'c replied. He had not really expected any other response. The two women were simple farmers, not warriors. "I will go alone. But I will ask one thing of you."

"And what would that be?" Tia asked.

Teal'c picked up a small stone and scratched the symbols for Earth into the dust. "If I do not return, use these symbols to open the Stargate and send word of our fate to General Hammond."

Tia and Ala exchanged a horrified look.

"You will not come to any harm," Teal'c said firmly. "You merely need to speak into the device we left by the Stargate. And in exchange for this task, tell General Hammond that I requested you be given provisions for many winters."

Ala stared down at the symbols in the dirt. "You ask much of us."

"It does not matter what he asks," Tia said. "He will not be able to pass through the gateway. Therefore he can deliver the message to this Generous Ham Ond himself."

Teal'c sighed at that pessimism, but decided further discussion was a waste of his energy. Instead he hurried on to the gateway.

Now he was close-up, the shimmering in the air was quite clear. However, there was nothing else to indicate that this was the way into the game arena. He moved closer and felt his symbiote stir restlessly. Slowly he raised his hand, intending to test the barrier.

"You must not touch it," Ala cried in alarm. "To touch the gateway is to die."

He froze. "You know this for sure?"

Ala held his gaze then shook her head. "It is what I've been told."

Teal'c turned back to the gateway. There was no obvious evidence of any device that might be generating either the force field or the gateway itself. He picked up a stone and threw it at the shimmering air. It passed right straight through, rolling to a halt several yards away. Interesting. He picked up a second stone and aimed at the force field to the right of the gateway. As before, blue light danced and the impact sounded like a sharp crack. A stone thrown to the left of the gateway had the same effect.

"It seems there are only two choices. Go forward. Or go back." He looked at the two women. "I cannot go back."

"Then you will surely die," Ala said tremulously.

****

Teal'c stared at the shimmering gateway, and once again felt his symbiote stir restlessly. Was the creature reacting to the familiarity of Goa'uld technology? Or was it a warning? There was no outward clue for him to examine - no visible technology - just a shimmering in the air. He turned and looked at Tia and Ala's anxious faces. Then resigned himself to what he had to do. If he were to die attempting to enter the game zone, then so be it.

Slowly he reached out his right hand and then as lightly as he dared he pushed on fingertip into the shimmering air. A warm tingling sensation ran up his hands. He believed it was similar to what the Tauri described as pins and needles. Not all together pleasant, but far from painful. He pushed his finger further forward, letting the air dance up to the first knuckle.

"It seems I am still alive," he observed with a disciplined calmness.

He pressed forward again, feeling the tingling search over the back of his hand to his wrist. His symbiote turned uneasily in its pouch. And then he stepped forward and let the shimmering haze wash over him.

******

Lothiriel was woken from her slumber by a raucous stream of Rohirric curses.

"Swearing really doesn't help," chided a second male voice, lighter than the first. "Now stop being so stubborn and let me take more of your weight."

Throwing off the blanket, she twisted her head towards the source of the conversation. Her eyes widened, first in delight as she saw that Eomer was not only conscious but upright. Then in anger as she saw the strain on his face and recognised that it was Daniel who was keeping him from tumbling inelegantly to the ground. "What are you doing?!" she shouted, pushing herself to her feet.

Two fair-haired heads jerked as the men realised she was not only awake, she was annoyed. Eomer muttered something under his breath, but Daniel's response was audible.

"I was just helping him..." He hesitated. "He needs to..." His eyes flicked towards the door.

Lothiriel followed his gaze, confused. "You were just what?" She didn't wait for an answer as she saw Eomer sway wildly and Daniel barely managed to keep him upright. "Enough of this foolishness. He must return to bed immediately." She hurried over and slid a supportive arm around Eomer's waist, cursing silently as she felt the heat of his skin against her bare arm. "You are still fevered, my lord."

He hissed at the pressure of her arm against his bruised ribs, but then he tilted his jaw, apparently determined to deny his injuries. "I am not an hour-born colt that must still be cleaned by its mother before finding its legs."

"No, you are not, my Lord," she said demurely, then sharpened her tone as she added, "You are a foolish man who thinks he knows better than the one who nurses him."

"And would my nurse have me wet the bed like an infant?" he retorted angrily.

Ah. Now she understood Daniel's glance towards the door. Embarrassment made her cheeks burn red, but anger that he would risk his health over such a trivial need made her meet his fire with heat of her own. "Your nurse would have bought you a bucket had you but asked!"

Even Daniel, with his rudimentary knowledge of the Rohirric language coloured at Eomer's gutteral response to that suggestion.

"That's enough!" Lothiriel abruptly stepped away from Eomer, swept her right foot up and then round behind his legs, and expertly knocked him off balance. He collapsed backwards onto the bed with a grunt, the wind momentarily knocked from his lungs. His eyes screwed shut, he let out a low groan and held one hand protectively against the dressing on his side.

Daniel stared at Lothiriel. "Are you sure you're not Sam?" he asked. "I'm pretty sure you - she - one of you - oh damn, that you showed me how to do that move a couple of months ago."

She ignored him, too horrified at what she'd just done. Eomer was wounded and feverish, and she'd just knocked him down as though sparring with one of her father's captains and without a thought of the pain she might have inflicted. He would surely hate her now. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "Very sorry. Please, can you ever forgive me?" She dropped to her knees by the side of bed, and bowed her head contritely.

To her surprise, she heard Eomer chuckle softly.

"I believe I am the one who should seek forgiveness. You were right to knock the pride from me, my lady," he said, opening his eyes and studying her with frank admiration. "I was indeed being foolish."

"No, my lord. It was I that was foolish."

He laughed again and this time she joined him, more through relief that he wasn't angry with her than amusement.

An embarrassed cough drew their attention to Daniel, who was staring at them in bemusement. He shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to another, then raised one finger as though asking permission to interrupt, despite having already done so. "Should I just, umm, maybe I should... I'll go find a bucket."

***********

He was through the gateway. And he was alive. Teal'c allowed himself a brief moment of relief. Then turned to face the two women on the other side of the gateway. He bowed his head.

"May it fare well with you," Tia said.

"May you find your friends and return with them safely," Ala added.

"Thank you," he replied, then he turned and headed into the games arena. Ahead of him the path led upwards between two small hills. It took him five minutes to reach the top of the incline. He sucked in a sharp breath as he saw the pyramid nestled in the valley below. So, Shining Eyes was most likely a goa'uld. His hand curled around his staff weapon as scanned the way down, checking for jaffa and other defences. There didn't seem to be any, which in itself set his alarm bells ringing. What kind of goa'uld went without obvious protection? Presumably one that was either supremely confident or extremely stupid. He hoped it was the latter, although experience told him that such a goa'uld was unheard of.

Cautious now, he headed towards the pyramid, painfully aware that there was no cover to hide his approach. At any moment, he expected to be cut down by a staff weapon blast or a zat. He, therefore, counted himself extremely fortunate when he made it unscathed to the entrance.

There was still no sign of any Jaffa. And there was no door. The pyramid was open to anyone who cared to walk in. Odd. Very odd. Every sense alert, he moved slowly forward. A narrow hallway led him into a room that was spectacular in its level of decay. Wooden furniture that might once have been covered with gold leaf was now rotten and useless. Velvet drapes hung in ragged tatters, their colours faded. Dust was thick on every surface.

He moved on, stepping through a doorway to his left and finding yet more evidence that the pyramid was neglected. His heart sank. What if the goa'uld simply used this as a portal? If there were transport rings, it could have taken his team-mates anywhere - to another planet or worse, to a ship.

He had no choice but to continue his search and so he moved on, penetrating the pyramid in the direction of the inner most sanctum that he knew would be at its heart. A few moments later he stopped, suddenly aware of a dull humming sound in the air. So, the pyramid was not deserted. Something was producing the noise. Taking more care now he slipped through the corridors and finally came to the centre of the pyramid.

There, in the middle of the room, was Major Carter.

Teal'c's stomach twisted as he recognised the device she was cocooned in. He'd seen the black tentacled seats before on a planet that had been controlled by an alien known as the Gamekeeper. But surely he could not be here? The description of Shining Eyes did not match for one thing.

"Major Carter?" he hissed as he reached her side. She didn't respond.

Uncertain what to do, Teal'c ran his hand along the tentacles that were connected to either side of her head. He knew there were others plugged into her body - one supplying nutrients, another removing waste material. The chairs were like advanced intensive care units, only with the horrific twist of sucking memory from the brain. He brushed his fingers around the tentacle attached to her right temple, trying to feel if it was held in place by suction or some more devious way. Either way it did not matter. He did not dare to remove it.

On the Gamekeeper's planet he and his team-mates had all been ensnared in such devices. Their release had come from an awareness that they could simply leave. However, it taken some time for them to learn that - time that they spent inside the Gamekeeper's virtual world reliving the memories of Colonel O'Neill and Daniel Jackson. His symbiote had protected his mind from the Gamekeeper's plundering, and Major Carter's encounter with Jolinar had protected her, which made it all the more odd to find her trapped again.

His course of action was obvious. He needed to find the person who was controlling the game. He needed to find Shining Eyes.

****

Daniel hated sitting around with nothing to do. But there was a limit to how many times he could redress Eomer's wound without risking a Rohan fist in his face. He'd even volunteered to cook, but Lothiriel apparently wanted to impress the Third Marshal of the Mark with her culinary skills. So he sat and watched the door, and pretended he wasn't concerned that the sun was setting and Jack had yet to return.

It seemed like a year passed before Lothiriel finally finished tending to a pot of stew on the fire, and ladled a portion into a wooden bowl. She handed it to Daniel with a shy smile. "You worry much for your friend."

"Yeah." Daniel took the spoon she offered him. "It's beginning to grow dark."

"He is a warrior, is he not?"

"A soldier, yes."

"Then I am sure he will return soon."

Daniel glanced over at the bed where Eomer was still sleeping fitfully. Memory of the beasts that had attacked the young warrior stole his appetite.

Lothiriel squeezed Daniel's shoulder sympathetically. "I know what you are thinking. He is a warrior too, but still suffered hurt. However, the Orcs were hunting for him. It is unlikely they do so for your friend."

"Yeah." Daniel tried to take comfort in that fact.

She turned away and spooned more stew into a second bowl. "Will you help me feed him?"

Daniel smiled wryly. "He threatened to rip my head off if I touched him again."

"I think he may be more amenable to putting food in his belly than a clean dressing on his wound."

"You know him well?" Daniel asked, unconvinced.

Lothiriel blew on the stew to cool it. "I know that he is a good man - if a little hot tempered at times."

"But you have met before," Daniel pressed.

"Once. Two years ago. I do not think he remembers me."

"But you remembered him." Daniel flinched as she glared at him. "Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She sighed. "No, I am sorry. It is no secret that we have met, but circumstances were different then."

"In what way?" Daniel asked, hoping he wasn't pushing his luck too far. He didn't fancy having a plate of hot stew dumped on his head.

"It is better that you do not know."

"Oh, I think maybe I should be the judge of that," Daniel said slowly.

She studied him for a long moment, then glanced over at Eomer and sighed. "Very well. But you are not to speak of this to him. Give me your word."

"Agreed."

She took in a deep breath. "My father is a nobleman, a prince by birth. A year ago he took a new wife, an ambitious woman who sought to further her own position by making a good marriage for me."

"Ah." Daniel was sympathetic, but his own experience forced him to speak. "Well, not all arranged marriages are a disaster. My wife was given to me by her father."

Lothiriel narrowed her eyes. "And was she of your age?"

"A year or two younger," Daniel said.

"And beautiful?"

Daniel sighed sadly. "Yes. She was very beautiful."

"Then that is why you feel as you do. My stepmother would marry me to man who has sons older than I. Denathor." She spat the name in disgust.

"Denathor," Daniel repeated slowly. "Steward of Gondor."

"You know him?" she asked, surprised.

Daniel pulled a face, as he recognised yet another Tolkein character. "Kind of." This whole thing was just too weird for words.

"Then perhaps you understand why I prefer to live here than in my father's court."

Daniel gaze drifted back to Eomer. "Yes, I think so."

Lothiriel gave a heavy sigh. "Even if he noticed my existence, he is but the nephew of the King of Rohan. My father's new wife would never be persuaded to sanction such a union."

"Perhaps one day he will be King of Rohan," Daniel said, wondering if he would be breaking some bizarre law of 'Gate travel by letting on that he knew the history of this land - this fictional land!

She snorted. "And perhaps one day I will be Queen of Rivendell. Now will you help me put food in his belly? Or would you rather discover how bad-tempered a hungry Rohirrim warrior can be?"

Daniel set down his own empty bowl. "Okay. But you get to wake him up. I rather like having my head attached to my shoulders."

"He feels cooler," she said, moving to bed and resting her hand against Eomer's forehead. "That's a good sign." She leaned over and shook him gently. "Eomer. Wake up. You sleep too much."

He groaned softly, murmured something in his own tongue, then slowly owned his eyes. "Lothiriel?"

She smiled down at him. "Yes, my lord. How do you fare?"

He tried to sit up, winced and then sighed. "Still wounded. Still as weak as a new-born."

"Hungry?"

He considered for a moment. "Starving."

"That's a good sign."

Daniel stepped forward. "Need a hand?"

"My wound is fine," Eomer replied darkly.

Daniel smiled wryly. "Actually I was offering to help you sit up."

"Oh." A vaguely apologetic look touched Eomer's features. "Then yes, I accept your help."

"Yo campers!" The door opened and Jack stepped into the farmhouse, brushing dirt from his pant legs. He glanced over at Daniel who had his arms wrapped around Eomer's shoulders. "You two really need to get a room of your own."

"Jack!" Daniel protested.

"Stew?" Jack picked up the bowl Lothiriel had served out for Eomer. "Great. I could eat a horse."

"Don't be so disgusting!" Lorthiriel said, snatching the bowl from his hands.

"What did I say?" Jack asked innocently.

She glared at him. "There is more in the pot. Serve yourself."

"Jack?" Daniel knew the flippant mood was Jack's way of covering something he was worried about. "What's going on?"

"Nice countryside out there. Rolling hills. Trees. Nice weather."

"Jack?" Daniel repeated, his anxiety notching up a level.

Jack suddenly turned serious. "There's an army of those Orc things heading this way. Nasty looking guy at their head. Black hair. White skin. Looks a bit like Skeletor."

Daniel looked at Eomer, who had turned pale. They both looked up at Jack.

"Wormtongue," they said in unison.

***

It took Teal'c an hour to search the rest of the pyramid and reassure himself that it was empty except for Major Carter and the cocoon seat. As he began to retrace his steps, he knew exactly where he was heading. There had been a small alcove in the central chamber that served no apparent purpose. It was exactly the kind of location to find transport rings.

Back in the central chamber he took a moment to check on Major Carter's condition. As he'd expected it was unchanged. If it weren't for the ugly black tentacles attached to her body, she would simply look as though she was enjoying a restful slumber. Anger sparked in him at the thought that this was not the case. Someone, somewhere was violating her mind. And O' Neill and Daniel Jackson were still missing.

Holding his zat at the ready in one hand and his staff weapon gripped tightly in the other, Teal'c stepped into the alcove. Moments later the transport rings whooshed down.

The dizzying rush of being torn apart and then thrown back together washed over him like ice water. And then he was standing in a vast darkened chamber with walls of starlight-flickering lights. A gentle humming sound filled the air, like a thousand insects rustling gossamer wings. Zat and staff at the ready he stepped forward.

No challenge came. Straining his ears he listened for the harsh footsteps of approaching Jaffa or the shriek of an alarm. There was nothing except the soothing hum. Cautiously he moved forward. Now his eyes were accustomed to the dim light he could make out shapes - large tanks, not dissimilar to sarcophagi. Other vertical human-sized chambers lined one wall, reminding him of the escape pods in Aris Boch's ship.

He took another step forward. Then saw what he was seeking. It was another cocoon chair like the one that held Samantha Carter. Only this one contained an alien - a slender, long limbed creature that was taller than an Asgard, but smaller than an average human. Its limbs were covered in fine yellow hair and it was dressed in a loose fitting, short sleeved tunic, belted at the waist. The chair faced the wall of twinkling lights. Teal'c now recognised them for what they were - it was some kind of control panel, but more vast than anything he had ever seen, and certainly more complex than the computers of Stargate computer. There was no possibility of him deciphering even one of the displays, let alone ever understanding what this machine did.

There was nothing for it but to attempt to remove the alien from its cocooned slumber by force. He turned back towards the chair, intend on removing one of the tentacles from the alien's forehead - and found himself looking into a pair of shining grey eyes.

Surprise made him step back, his zat aimed at the creature. It tilted its small round head to one side as though eyeing him curiously, then slowly it raised one slender hand and removed the cocoon tentacles from its temples, first the right, then the left. From what Teal'c could see there were no other connections between it and the chair - no waste removal or nutrition pipes.

"Who are you?" Teal'c growled. "And what have you done with my friends?"

The creature blinked slowly, opened its mouth as though to speak. Hesitated. Then formed words with obvious difficulty. "Do you speak of the female?"

"And two males," Teal'c said.

"The female provides source. She is unharmed."

"Source?" Teal'c said, glancing at the cocoon. "You would steal her memories from her?" He remembered the Gamekeeper's world and that there neither himself nor Samantha Carter had proved compatible with the more emotionally abusive parts of the cocoon's purpose.

The creature's strange features changed into something resembling an expression of surprise, but Teal'c was aware it could just as easily be a smirk or a look of regret. "No, not memory," it said. "Her imagination. And I do not steal. I simply borrow and adapt."

Teal'c considered this for a moment, then moved on to more pressing matters. "You will release her now."

There was a long pause as the creature focused on the zat weapon, clearly contemplating the weapon. "Very well. I have what I need."

"And what of O'Neill and Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c demanded.

"The males?"

"Yes."

"They provide amusement."

"Amusement?" Teal'c all but spat the word. "What do you mean?"

"Allow me to show you," the creature said slowly, gesturing towards the wall.

"I do not trust you," Teal'c replied.

"Of course you do not. But you have no choice but to act as though you do." The creature climbed slowly from the cocoon.

"I will not hesitate to shoot you," Teal'c warned as it moved towards the wall of lights.

"I do not doubt that." It moved forward slowly, the shining grey eyes never moving from Teal'c's face. It gestured towards one of the lights. "This controls the viewing platform. It will show you where your friends are."

"Very well." Teal'c nodded his head in assent.

The creature reached forward and pressed his palm against the light. Immediately one of the walls blossomed into life, revealing a panoramic view of rolling hills.

"What is this place?" Teal'c demanded.

"This is where the amusement takes place."

Teal'c glowered up at the display. "My friends?"

"Here." The creature touched the control light again and the scene shifted, zooming across the landscape and then focusing in on a small group of buildings. Another touch of the control and they were looking inside the farmhouse. Teal'c felt a rush of relief as he saw O'Neill, Daniel Jackson - and Samantha Carter?

"I do not understand," he said. "Who is that woman?"

"The female?" The creature turned towards him. "A clone imprinted with a new personality."

Teal'c gaze shifted to the blonde haired man lying on the bed. "And him?"

The creature's face twisted into what might have been a smile. "A very special creation. Flesh and blood is he, but drawn from the mind of your friend."

Teal'c could hardly believe his ears. "You created a living being from Samantha Carter's imagination?"

"Yes."

"That is impossible."

The creature turned to the screen. "Clearly it is not."

Teal'c looked back up at the scene in the farmhouse. "What of O'Neill and Daniel Jackson? Are they clones also?"

"No. I like to mix originals with my creations. The element of randomness makes the amusement more. intense."

"You will release them now," Teal'c growled. "All of them!"

"I am afraid I cannot do that. I create the amusement, but I do not control it."

"Then I will retrieve them."

"That I doubt," the creature said. He touched the light again and the scene changed. Teal'c's eyes narrowed as he saw a band of nightmare creatures moving towards the farmhouse.

"What are they?" he demanded.

Now the creature definitely smiled. "Orcs," he said. "One of the more interesting things I discovered in your friend's imagination."

"You created those too?"

"Oh yes. And do not misunderstand - they are very real. And quite deadly."

****

"How many orcs come with him?" Eomer asked, leaning against the wall behind the bed. His face had paled with the effort of sitting up and he was breathing shallowly, a sure sign the wound in his side was still troubling him.

"At least thirty," Jack replied.

"Then we cannot stand against them," Eomer said softly. He turned to Daniel. "Help me put my armour on."

"Excuse me?" Jack said, well aware that Eomer was in no condition to take on a pack of bloodthirsty hellhounds. "Didn't you just say we can't fight them?"

Eomer turned his gaze on Jack. "It is me that Wormtongue comes for. There is no need for the rest of you to die."

Jack grimaced, recognising the intention behind Eomer's words. "Oh now see, much as I appreciate the heroics, that's not going to happen."

"Daniel." Eomer nodded towards his discarded clothing, ignoring Jack. "My armour."

"No, Daniel." Jack's order made Daniel freeze in place.

Eomer's eyes narrowed. "The last time I looked I was Third Marshal of the Mark, not you."

Jack snorted. "I don't care if you're the Third Marshmallow in the Pack. No way in hell are we going to stand by and watch you walk out there alone."

"My decision is already made," Eomer snapped.

"Then you'd better unmake it."

"We cannot fight them," Eomer protested angrily. "We are but three men, and I am barely able to stand let alone lift a sword."

"Three men and a woman," Lothiriel interjected tersely. She stepped across the room, then suddenly dropped to her knees at the side of Eomer's bed. "I will fight for you. And if required I would gladly give my life for you." She bowed her head.

He gazed down at her for a long moment, then gently reached out and tilted her face upwards. "What would be the point?" he asked softly.

"My Lord?" she asked quizzically, the moonlight from the window suddenly catching in her long blonde hair.

Eomer's features softened and he spoke lovingly. "Do you not know that my life would be but a living death if you were not here to share it?"

"Oh pur-lease!" Jack interrupted. He turned to Daniel. "Did we just slide out of Tolkein and into a Mills and Boons romance?"

Daniel opened his mouth to speak, then his eyes widened. Jack merely shook his head and turned his attention back to Eomer.

"If you don't mind, could we get back to the subject of Skeletor and his army of Morks?"

"W...w...wait a minute," Daniel interrupted. He was staring at Lothiriel and Eomer, who looked like they had forgotten anyone else was the room and were about to cut straight to the passionate embrace.

"Daniel?" Jack asked, recognising that expression as being the one Daniel often got before that genius brain of his made some huge great intuitive leap.

Daniel's eyes were wide as he looked at Jack. "I think you might be right?!"

"Right about what exactly?"

"That we just slid into a Mills and Boon romance."

"Daniel," Jack said, elongating the syllables, "Have you been drinking?"

"No. No. No." Daniel was suddenly animated. "Think about it, Jack. We're in Middle Earth, right?"

"Apparently," Jack admitted reluctantly.

"And the first person we run across is Eomer."

"And? So?"

"Sam's favourite character," Daniel said excitedly. "She has this huge poster of him in her..."

"Too much information!" Jack interrupted, trying not to notice that the woman who looked like his second in command was about to lip lock with a guy who smelt like a horse. And, unless he was very much mistaken her breasts were now heaving in her tightly laced bodice. Definitely Mills and Boon.

"And look!" Daniel gestured at Lothiriel. "Sam's not here, but someone who looks exactly like her is."

Nope. No way was he going to look. Bad enough he'd noticed his second in command had breasts. He shook his head, not following at all. "Simple words, Daniel. Use simple words."

"I think we're trapped inside one of Sam's fantasies!"

"That's ridiculous."

"Do you have a better explanation?" Daniel demanded.

Jack eyed Eomer afresh, trying to imagine Carter imagining... He shuddered. Eeeew! What was he thinking?

"Jack?" Daniel asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, but his attention was caught by the sound of a bloodfreezing cry cutting through the night outside the farmhouse.

Eomer jerked away from Lothiriel. "It seems we have run out of time to debate our choices. They are here."

Jack moved to the door, opened it and cautiously peered out. In the distance, he made out nightmarish shapes silhouetted against the darkening sky and heading rapidly towards the farm. "Crap!" he said, hurriedly closing it again. "How the hell did they get here so fast?"

"The boys," Lothiriel said fearfully. "I must fetch them to the house."

"I'll go," Jack said.

"Daniel, my armour," Eomer said again. Daniel glanced towards Jack, who reluctantly nodded his approval before heading out the door.

Hurrying across the yard, Jack slipped into the stable. "Yo, kids!" he called. A frightened face peeked out at him from behind the straw bales.

"We heard orcs," the lad whispered fearfully. "Are they going to kill us?"

"Not if I can help it," Jack replied, looking round for the other boy. "Where's your friend?"

The young lad paled. "He ran."

Jack felt his stomach twist. "What do you mean - he ran?"

The boy gestured towards the doorway. "He was afraid the orcs were coming here. I told him not to go. But he said he could get away - find a better place to hide."

Jack swore. "Let's hope he's right. Come with me."

"Where to?" the boy asked.

"For now, into the house."

"I am not allowed into the mistress's house."

"Yeah, well, tonight's an exception," Jack said.

The boy slid from his hiding place, but then hesitated. "What of the horses?"

Jack glanced towards Firefoot and his stable mate. "They'll be fine. Come on now."

Back in the house, Daniel was strapping Eomer's leather breastplate over the Marshal's linen shirt. The chainmail lay discarded by the bed. "Too heavy," Daniel murmured softly in response to Jack's unspoken question.

"Only one?" Lothiriel asked, looking at the frightened stable boy.

"The other one ran off to hide."

Eomer sucked in a sharp breath as Daniel pulled on a buckle. Sweat already glistened on his face from the effort of dressing. "Let us trust his decision was a wise one." He turned to Lothiriel. "Is there anywhere for you and this one to hide?"

Her eyes narrowed. "There is the root cellar. But I will not hide while you are in danger. I have a sword and I am not afraid to use it."

"Lothiriel."

"No!" she snapped, then her voice softened. "Please, do not ask that of me."

Defeated by the desperate appeal in her voice, he bowed his head in agreement. Satisfied she turned towards the table, then pushed it to one side to reveal a small wooden trapdoor hidden by the floor rushes. Beneath the door was a shallow pit, half filled with potatoes and other root vegetables. She beckoned the boy over, and he looked uncertainly down at the hole. "You will be safe in there," she reassured him.

Clearly reluctant, the boy climbed into the hole. Lothiriel gave him two thick blankets and also handed down a large pitcher of water. "Now, be silent."

The trapdoor closed on him, and she replaced the rushes and the table.

Suddenly a voice sounded from outside. "Eomer, Son of Eomund. I would speak with you."

"Wormtongue," Eomer spat the name with disgust. With Daniel's help he got to his feet, then walked unsteadily towards the door.

"Eomer," Jack said, his voice a soft protest. He lifted his zat, making it clear he preferred fighting to talking.

"We cannot win this battle," Eomer replied.

"You don't know that for sure."

"I can't let you risk your lives for me."

Jack merely grinned. "'Fraid that's not your decision to make, Marshy." He glanced over at Daniel. "Want to kick some orc butt?"

Daniel nodded.

Eomer's gaze slid to Lothiriel, who had retrieved her sword from its hiding place and was looking equally determined to do battle, then back to Jack. "It seems that my wishes are to be ignored." He gave a small smile. "I thank you for your friendship." Taking a deep breath he opened the door wide enough to shout through the gap. "What do you want, snake?"

The sound of his voice was greeted by the guttural mutterings of the orcs. Jack winced, recognising the tune of bloodlust even though the language was alien. Moving to the window he peered out and saw that the orcs were milling about outside the wooden fencing. Seated on a pale coloured horse, Wormtongue had positioned himself in the gateway, unfortunately too far away to be hit by a zat. He frowned as he tried to make out what the creature had flung across the front of his saddle.

Wormtongue's voice sliced through the night. "Look down at your feet, Eomer, and tell me what ground you tread upon."

Eomer looked down, then glanced up at Jack and shrugged. "Do not waste my time with riddles, Grima. Tell me what you want?"

"You tread on Rohan soil, Banished Nephew of Theoden-King."

"We both know you tricked my uncle into signing that warrant," Eomer threw back.

"Your uncle signed the warrant because he grew weary of your troublesome ways. And now you choose to defy him further." There was a slight pause then Wormtongue added darkly. "Your life is forfeit."

"I am ever loyal to my king and to Rohan," Eomer shouted back.

"You are loyal only to your own ambition," Wormtongue retaliated.

Eomer shook his head impatiently. "What do you want, Grima?" he asked again. "Speak quickly."

"I have come to take you back to the Edoras," Wormtongue said. "There you will be executed that all may see what fate befalls those who dare to defy the King."

"You think I will simply give myself up to you?" Eomer replied.

An unpleasant laugh sounded through the night, and suddenly Jack realized what the bundle across the front of the saddle was.

He turned to Eomer. "He has the boy."

"What?" Eomer peered into the darkness, the muscles along his jaw clenched in anger.

Wormtongue's voice was as smooth as oil. "You will turn yourself over to me now, Eomer, Son of Eomund. Because if you do not I will feed this young lad that crossed out paths to the orcs. I am sure you will find his screams most entertaining."

Lothiriel watched as Eomer rolled away from the door clearly grateful for the support of the wall against his back. He tilted his head back against its solid surface and closed his eyes as though he could shut out the nightmare.

Fear churned in her stomach. She knew what he was thinking. Somehow she had to persuade him otherwise. He was the Third Marshal of the Mark. Was not his life worth more than that of a mere stable boy? She shuddered at her thoughts. Who was she to decide that one life was worth more than another? And yet how could she stand by and watch him give himself up to Wormtongue and an ignoble death?

"Eomer?" She crossed the small room and stood before him. The sound of her voice made him open his eyes and she almost flinched at the pain she saw in their depths. The physical hurt of his injury and illness was written on the surface, but more deadly was the emotional pain beneath. Eomer of Rohan was not used to being trapped. Was not used to feeling powerless.

"There is no choice but one," he said softly.

"No!" She knew her denial was wrong. That it would simply torture him more, but she couldn't help herself. Her own pain at what he was clearly intending was too much to bear. She reached for him, cupped his face in her hands. Tears glittered in her eyes. She wanted to beg him to stay, but instead she bit her own lip, refusing the words their freedom. That at least she could give him.

He caught his hands in her own, and held them to his lips. His kiss was a gentle pressure on the back of her hand. "You know I must do this."

A single tear slid down her face as she nodded.

Again Wormtongue's voice sounded. "Eomer. The bellies of the orcs rumble with hunger. What is your answer?"

Eomer glanced over at Jack and Daniel. The faces of both men were grim. Jack swore and scuffed at the earth floor before looking up. "We'll get you back. Before you reach... Eldorado."

"Edoras," Daniel supplied the word Jack was hunting for. He too met Eomer's gaze, reaffirming the promise. "We'll get you back before you reach Edoras."

"You must not." Eomer began.

Jack cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah. We mustn't risk our lives for yours. You need to get some new dialogue."

That made Eomer smile as he bowed his head in gratitude to them. Then he turned and opened the door again and shouted into the darkness. "Wormtongue. Give me your word the boy goes free."

Daniel made a disgusted sound. "You're going to trust him?"

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Not a good idea?"

"Not according to the book," Daniel replied.

Eomer looked puzzled at their exchange, but then settled for answering Daniel's question. "He may be a snake, but even Wormtongue has some honour. He will not break a word given as oath."

"Very well," Wormtongue replied, as though he could hear their discussion.

"And the occupants of this farmstead," Eomer called. "They too must be unharmed."

"You are not in a position to bargain with me," Wormtongue shouted back.

"Perhaps not. Yet that is the bargain I set before you. I will not give myself into your hands to simply watch you and the orcs slaughter those who offered me shelter."

There was a tense silence before Wormtongue spoke again. "Very well. I give my word, Eomer, Son of Eomund. No harm will come to the boy or your friends."

Eomer closed the door again, his face set in a grim mask of determination. "It is agreed then." For a moment his shoulders slumped and he looked defeated. A man wearied beyond his strength. Then, drawing in breath he straightened his back and turned as though to leave.

"Eomer." Lothiriel couldn't bear to see him go. She acknowledged what she had always known - that she had loved this man from the moment she first set eyes on him, and that her love had grown deeper as she'd gradually come to know him. It broke her heart to see him bravely facing a death that would no doubt be as slow and as painful as Wormtongue could make it.

He hesitated in the doorway at the sound his name, and she stepped forward catching his hand in her own, drawing him round to face her. His light brown eyes studied her quizzically. There was a time for decorum, she realised, and there was a time for boldness.

And then she did it.

Reaching up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips against his. For a moment he seemed frozen with shock, but then he wrapped his arms around her and returned the kiss with a passion she had not dared to hope for. Somewhere across the room, she head one of the strangers murmur 'damn Mills and Boon again' but she had no interest in what the strange words meant. Her mind, her soul, her body - all were lost in the moment and the awareness that the leather armoured body of Eomer, Third Marshall of the Mark was crushed against her own, his lips on hers, the scent of him filling her, the touch of his skin overwhelming her.

When finally they broke apart she was breathless. He held her gaze for what seemed an eternity, then he turned away and stepped into the night.

****

Teal'c arrived back in the pyramid with the alien just as Samantha Carter began to stir. The tentacles of the cocoon had retracted, leaving red marks on her temples.

"See," the creature said. "I did as you asked. And I will not interfere with your attempt to save your friends. Indeed your participation in the entertainment is most welcome."

Teal'c glowered, then used the tip of his staff weapon to indicate the alien should stand to one side. "Major Carter," he called gently, tapping the side of her face.

She gazed up at him in confusion, then suddenly registered what she was sitting in.

"Sheesh!" She launched herself up and out of the chair.

Teal'c caught her before she could fall, holding her tightly as she found her balance on unsteady legs.

"What the hell happened?" she asked. "Are we back on the Gamekeeper's world?"

"We are not. However, this device in which you were trapped is very similar to those we encountered before. Are you all right, Major Carter?"

She eased herself away from him, considered for a moment, then nodded. "I'm fine." Glancing round she caught sight of the alien, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Who's that? And where are Daniel and the colonel?"

"O'Neill and Daniel Jackson are caught up in some kind of game that has been drawn from your mind. This creature is responsible."

She glared at the alien. "You stole my memories?" she said. "I didn't think that was possible."

"The game is based on your fantasies, not your memories" Teal'c said somberly.

"My what?" Colour flooded her face.

"There is little time to explain," Teal'c said, handing her his zat. "Their lives are in great danger."

"How?" She shoved the zat into her holster.

"They were facing a large group of creatures that I believe are known as orcs," Teal'c said.

"Orcs?"

"Yes."

"Orcs as in Lord of the Rings orcs."

"Indeed."

"Is this for real?" she asked.

"It is very real," Shining Eyes offered.

"Teal'c?" she said, clearly confused.

"We must go to their aid immediately," he said.

"What about him?" she asked, staring at Shining Eyes.

"I wish only to be entertained," he replied.

Teal'c's voice was a growl. "Watching people suffer and die is not entertainment."

The creature stared at him with its bright, glittering eyes. "Death is irrelevant when one can simply recreate that which has died."

"Excuse me?" Sam sounded shocked.

"I will explain what I can as we travel," Teal'c interrupted. He moved to the alcove that housed the transport rings, aimed his zat at the control panel and fired. Sparks showered across the floor. Behind him the creature howled in outrage. Satisfied Teal'c turned to face it. "You will remain here, where you can cause no further harm." He turned to Sam. "Major Carter, we must waste no more time."

"Wait, what about my backpack?" she glanced around the empty chamber.

"There is no time to search for it," Teal'c answered. "Fortunately I still have mine. Let us trust we will not require more supplies than I carry."

She nodded, gave the creature one last glare, and then followed Teal'c out of the pyramid.

**********

Even though it was almost more than she could bear, Lothiriel watched Eomer walk the short distance from the farm house to the gate. He held his head high, even though every step must've been eating into the scant reserves of his strength.

"Let the boy go," he said, coming to a halt a few feet from Wormtongue.

Wormtongue's features twisted with sick pleasure as he deposited the boy onto the ground like a sack of grain. Eomer stepped forward, clearly intending to help the boy to his feet. Fear flickered across Wormtongue's face and he gestured to the new nearest orcs. "Seize him." Immediately they lurched forward, each taking hold of one of Eomer's arms and pulling him to a halt before he could reach the boy. Struggling, Eomer tried to break free, but then apparently realised the futility of his actions. He glanced at the boy, who had now found his feet by himself. "Into the house, lad," he ordered. "You'll be safe."

Eyes wide with fear, the boy bolted for the farmhouse. Jack already had the door open, his zat at the ready in case one of the creatures tried anything underhand.

With the boy gone, Wormtongue turned his full, vindictive attention on his prisoner. "Strip him of his armour," he hissed. "A traitor has no right to dress like a noble warrior."

Eomer's face twisted with the effort of holding back curses as the orcs did as they were bid, their rough hands yanking at the leather straps with no concern for the bruised and injured body beneath. When they finally had him stripped down to his shirt, breeches and boots, Wormtongue threw a coil of rope at their feet. "Now bind him."

Still watching from the house, Lothiriel's clenched her jaw in frustration as Eomer's arms were yanked behind him with such force he let out a grunt of pain. Beside her Jack and Daniel were equally tense. She glanced towards them, tears in her eyes. "Must they bind his hands so tight? He will have lost all use of them long before they reach Edoras."

The sound of Wormtongue sliding from the saddle drew their attention back to the scene before them. Eomer straightened up as his enemy approached, making the most of his extra height to offer what defiance he could.

"You have caused me much trouble, Eomer, Son of Eomund," Wormtongue crooned. "But no longer will you stand between me and control of Rohan." He caught the eye of the orc standing to Eomer's right and gave the smallest of nods. Immediately the orc stepped forward and slammed his calloused fist into Eomer's unprotected stomach. With a grunt of pain, Eomer dropped to his knees.

"No!" Lothiriel cried, her hand drawing her sword. Jack caught her arm as she moved for the door.

"You step out there and they'll simply kill you in front of him," he warned. "Is that you want?"

Frustrated she pulled away from him. "Damn them to hell," she swore as she drove the sword back into its scabbard.

With his hands tightly bound behind him, Eomer was struggling to find his balance but somehow succeeded. Breathing heavily he lifted his head and defiantly met Wormtongue's gaze. Lothiriel flinched as she saw that Wormtongue had found courage now that his enemy's head was lower than his own.

The vile creature moved closer to Eomer. Drawing back his arm, he backhanded the young man across the face, then grabbed his hair and yanked his head back so he could hiss words of hate into his face. "That is but a taste of the suffering you will experience, traitor. Before I am done with you in Edoras, you will be begging me to end your life swiftly."

The orcs shifted restlessly as the scent of blood from Eomer's split lip reached their nostrils. Wormtongue glanced round uncertainly, then turned back to Eomer, his dark eyes glittering evilly.

"I will beg nothing of you," Eomer ground out.

Wormtongue merely smiled at his defiance, then jerked his head forward again as he released him. He glanced at the orcs then moved back to his horse. "Bring him," he snarled over his shoulder. Eomer was immediately pulled to his feet and dragged away from the farmhouse. Wormtongue swung up into his saddle and then turned to the gathered orcs.

"Burn the farmhouse," he shouted. "And kill everyone in it."

"No!" Eomer screamed, desperately trying to struggle free. "You gave your word."

Inside the farmhouse, Daniel glanced over at Jack. "He really should've read the book."

****

Six orcs fell to the zats before the beasts realised they could not rush the house.

"What are they doing now?" Daniel asked, peering into the darkness.

Jack narrowed his eyes as he tried to see, his stomach tensed. "I'm not sure. Looks like just one of them is approaching."

"Is that a burning arrow?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, but he'll never reach the house from that distance and if he approaches we'll zat him."

Lothiriel moved closer to Daniel's side so she could see out. "Do not be so sure," she said.

"No way..." Jack said, as the orc notched the arrow into a short bow and began to draw back the string. "We're perfectly..." The words froze on his lips as he watched the arrow arc upwards, its orange flame tailing comet like through the sky. "Safe," he finished as they heard it thud into the thatch roof over their heads.

"Now what?" Daniel asked, his eyes wide.

Jack glanced out of the window again. Two more orcs were notching arrows into bows. "Crap! Okay, plan B."

"We had a plan A?" Daniel asked.

Jack shot him a dark look, then turned to Lothiriel. "There are two horses in the stable, right?"

"Yes. Mine and Eomer's."

"Take the boys and the horses. Ride the hell out of here. We'll cover you. Make sure you get away.

Her eyes widened. "And what of yourselves?"

Jack exchanged another look with Daniel, this time more enigmatic. "We'll be fine. We get out of corners like this all the time."

"You will be killed," she contradicted.

"And if you don't leave now, you'll be killed with us," Jack replied tersely as two more arrows thudded into the roof.

"I can't leave you to die."

Jack shrugged off her protest. "If you don't get out of here nobody's going to know Eomer is in trouble until that snake rides into Edoras and kills him in front of everyone. Leave now and you may be able to find men still loyal to the Third Marshal."

Her face twisted with the conflict of her emotions, but he knew he'd won. "Very well," she said. "But promise me you will not be more reckless than necessary."

"Reckless?" Jack gave a harsh laugh. "Don't know the meaning of the word. Now, get the other boy and get the hell out of here."

Wordlessly she did as he ordered, retrieving the second stable boy from his hiding place. "Which of you is the better rider?" she asked.

"I am, my lady," the taller lad replied.

When the other one did not contradict him, she nodded. "Very well, you will take the Third Marshall's horse. Harma will sit before you. Firefoot is as much a warrior as his master. He will see you to safety. I will go in front of you on my own mount."

"You need to go!" Jack said urgently, as smoke began to curl down from the eaves.

Unable to argue further, Lothiriel ushered the boys towards the door, before turning to Jack and Daniel. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jack said. "Now go!"

And then they were all running from the house. Jack and Daniel fired non-stop forcing the orcs to fall back from the gate. Lothiriel and the boys followed them, then darted into the stable.

"No time for saddles," Jack yelled. There was a whiny of horses in response, then an odd whistling sound. Jack realised the latter was an arrow as it embedded itself in the ground barely six inches from his boot. He glanced to his right, saw that Daniel had found cover behind a set of barrels, and then dove for protection behind a small cart. "Keep firing," he shouted to Daniel. "We have to hold them off until she's out of here."

Then suddenly Firefoot came tearing out of the stable at a full gallop. Behind him came Lothiriel, her sword in one hand, the reins of her horse in the other. Kicking her horse forward, she somehow managed to get in front of Firefoot. Jack was on his feet in an instant, running forward, zat blazing to clear a path through the orcs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Daniel mimic his action. Orcs fell to right and left. Then the horses were through the gate. Lothiriel swung her sword at one that somehow got missed, virtually beheading it as the creature grabbed for the reins. Zat fire sizzled and crackled. And then she and the boys were through the ranks of orcs and galloping for all they were worth towards freedom.

Another arrow thudded into the ground at Jack's feet. He spun round, saw that the roof of the farmhouse was now totally ablaze. Two more arrows fell close by. But to take cover anywhere amongst the buildings was to invite certain death by fire. With the horses gone and the buildings burning the orcs had regrouped just beyond the range of their zats. It was clear they were contemplating a mass rush at the gate.

"Jack?" Daniel's voice sounded strained. "What now?"

He glanced round. Nothing came to mind. No strategy. No way out.

"Take cover," he said, knowing it would only be temporary. "We'll take as many of them with us as we can."

***

Heart pounding, Daniel ducked his head down as another arrow sailed past his left ear. He thought he knew all about dying. One day he was going to get around to writing a book about his various experiences. He even had a title in mind. There and back again - an archaeologist's tale. This, though, had to be one of the most bizarre ways in which to die. Orcs. He shook his head at the notion. They didn't exist. They couldn't exist. They were fictional. And yet there they were. Massing outside the farmhouse gate, baying for his blood. He glanced over at Jack, and saw the dark expression on his face. Jack had clearly arrived at the same conclusion he had. There was no way out of this. They were going to die.

Yet another arrow thudded into the ground a few inches from the barrel behind which he was hiding. In response he fired off a dozen zat blasts. Another orc fell. But then the remaining orcs set up a thundering roar that chilled Daniel to the bone. And then he heard an even more sickening sound. The sound of dozens of booted feet charging towards the farmhouse. The orcs were coming. The game was over.

He was up on his feet, firing for all he was worth in the desperate hope that somehow the odds of surviving would be proven wrong. Then suddenly he saw a figure on the hill behind the orcs. What the hell?! Dazzling white light back lit the giant. Silver robes fluttered. And then fire streaked into the air from a staff.

Daniel heard an orc cry 'Wizard'! And then pandemonium broke out as the cry was picked up by others. Some turned tail and ran, colliding into their fellows, who struck out at them in blind terror. Relief almost made him fall as, for one exquisite moment he thought they were safe - that the orcs would simply give up and flee. But then some of those at the front of the onslaught turned once again towards the farmhouse and his hiding place. 'Kill the humans' the lead orc cried. 'Kill them now!'

"Jack!" he yelled as six orcs sprinted towards him. He fired desperately. Took out the first two. Missed the rest as they split into pairs and darted to his right and left to avoid the zat blast. Rolling to his right, he bought the zat up and took out first one, then a second orc. Then something slammed into his left shoulder. His face hit the ground at the impact, but instinct made him roll away even though his shoulder felt it was on fire. As he turned on to his back, he found himself looking up into a nightmare face of calloused skin and ridged scars. The creature grinned down at him maliciously, drew back a flat-bladed weapon and swung it at him, clearly intent on removing his head from his shoulders. With a scream he pushed himself sideways. Stars exploded behind his eyes as unforgiving metal met with flesh. And the world went black.

***

"Daniel?" A voice was calling him - distant and echoey. "C'mon, buddy. Open your eyes."

He didn't want to open his eyes. His head hurt. His shoulder ached. He liked the darkness, liked floating in a world without pain.

"Daniel." A different voice this time. Softer. Feminine. Pleading.

And suddenly it all came flooding back. Lothiriel. Eomer. Orcs. And.

"Gandalf!" he shouted. He opened his eyes and found three concerned faces peering down at him. He recognised the nearest as belonging to Jack, and felt a flood of relief to see that he was alive and apparently unharmed. Next to Jack was Lothiriel. Daniel frowned slightly. Something wasn't quite right. Then he realised what it was. "You've cut your hair," he said, looking at her short blonde locks.

"Ummm. no," she replied. "Daniel, how are you feeling?"

He blinked hard. "Sam?"

She smiled at him. "Take it easy, Daniel. The colonel says you took quite a hard smack to the head. And then, of course, there was the arrow."

"Arrow?" He followed Sam's gaze and realised there was dried blood on his jacket and a large, ragged hole right over the pain in his shoulder. He peered at the white bandage under the hole. "That's odd. Shouldn't that be hurting me an awful lot more?"

"We shot you full of painkiller," Sam explained.

"Oh." His gaze caught an odd expression on Jack's face, and his stomach twisted as he remembered Eomer's scream when Jack cauterised his wound. "You didn't have to."

"Teal'c did it," Jack replied. "But you were unconscious at the time."

"Guess I should be grateful for the blow to the head," Daniel said with a soft laugh. Nobody joined in. "Or not," he added quietly. He finally focused on the third face. "Thank you, Teal'c."

"I am glad you are alive, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said solemnly.

It was only now that Daniel realised he was lying on his back in the farmyard. Cautiously he pushed himself up on his good elbow and peered around at the bodies of the dead orcs. "So what happened? I heard someone shout wizard and then..." He licked his lips, tasting dried blood. "Well, to be honest I don't remember much after that except thinking we were dead."

Sam looked quietly pleased with herself. "Teal'c and I pulled off a little light and magic show."

"Light and magic?"

"When Teal'c told me we were in a recreation of Middle Earth."

Jack interrupted, clearly struggling to keep a neutral expression on his face. "One of your fantasies, I believe."

Sam glared at him. "Hey, I didn't ask for some alien to go poking around in my mind." She turned back to Daniel. "So, when I realised where we were and saw the orcs, I figured we needed a little wizardry to get you guys out of trouble."

Daniel grimaced. "That's a really bad pun, isn't it?"

"Sorry," Sam apologised, a smile tugging at her lips. "Anyway, Teal'c wrapped himself up in a couple of survival blankets and I shone one of our flashlights behind him for effect. That plus his staff weapon and voila!"

"Gandalf," Daniel said softly.

"It fooled the orcs," Sam said.

"So now what?" Daniel asked.

Jack climbed to his feet. "Now we get back to the Stargate and get you to the infirmary."

"What about Eomer?" Daniel asked. "We can't just abandon him."

"Eomer's here?" Sam asked, looking around hopefully.

"You have to ask?" Jack said. "This is your fantasy after all."

She sighed. "Is there any chance of you not harping on about that?"

Jack smirked. "Not a hope, Major. That's one part of the mission report I'm looking forward to writing."

Daniel swallowed his impatience at their bantering. "He needs our help," he said crossly.

"Daniel," Jack said. "Does the term 'fictional character' mean anything to you?"

Teal'c raised an eyebrow. "This Eomer that you speak of may have been created from Major Carter's..." He hesitated, clearly trying to avoid the f-word. "-mind, but the alien creature we met made it clear that he is indeed flesh and blood. If he is in danger."

"Then he needs your help," a voice suddenly said from behind them. "As do I."

They all spun round at the interruption. Sam's eyes widened as she saw the figure standing before them.

It was Daniel who spoke first. "Sam, meet Lothiriel. Lothiriel - this is Major Samantha Carter."

****

Eomer came to with a soft groan. He cursed silently, realising he must've passed out at some point during the march away from the farmhouse. That was not a desirable event. It meant he now had no idea where he was. He drew in a breath and revised his opinion - judging from the foul stench around him he was still in the company of the band of orcs. That, however, was not a welcome discovery.

Other sensations began to register now. He was lying on his side, damp seeping into his shirt and leggings, chilling him to the bone. His hands were tied tightly behind his back, his lip was cut and swollen, and he ached all over. The latter was probably due to the myriad of fresh bruises he'd acquired trying to resist the orcs as they dragged him away from the farmhouse.

Lothiriel! The memory was like a knife in his belly. The thought that she was dead almost wrenched a cry of despair from him. It was all his fault. If only he'd told the strangers to take him elsewhere when they'd found him, she'd still be alive. His only comfort was the vain hope that she would've died quickly. The two strangers were no doubt dead too. And the stable boys. Five lives ended because of him.

A pair of black boots sticking out from a dark robe suddenly appeared in his line of vision. He looked up and found himself staring into the face of his enemy.

"Ah, he wakes at last," crooned Wormtongue, his pale face twisting into an insincere smile.

Eomer bit back the urge to curse at him. Words were Wormtongue's weapons, and he knew he was unlikely to win in any verbal sparring match. Besides, what was the point? His uncle had grown old before his eyes and seemed to have little concern as to whether he lived or died. In fact worse, he had tried to defend the Riddermark on the King's behalf and what had he received for his pains? Banishment and a beating.

And now Lothiriel was dead. Wormtongue had already destroyed the one reason he might have found to continue fighting - to continue hoping.

Disappointment stole across Wormtongue's face at Eomer's silence. He clicked his fingers at an orc. "It seems the Third Marshall has lost the ability to use his tongue. Perhaps he needs refreshment. Share your cup with him."

The orc growled its dislike at the request, but did as it was bid. Squatting down, it thrust one armoured hand under Eomer's head, lifted his shoulders from the ground and then held a metal goblet to his mouth. "Drink!" it commanded hoarsely.

Eomer caught the strong aroma of sour wine. Thirst overruled his sense of smell and he took a large gulp. His eyes watered at the acidic flavours exploded on his tongue before he swallowed. Fire burned its way to his belly, but he welcomed it. Right now getting drunk on orc wine seemed as good a plan as any.

"Enough," Wormtongue said, before Eomer had chance to take a second mouthful. "I wish only to loosen his tongue, not numb his pain."

The orc immediately removed his support from Eomer's shoulders, letting the young man crash back to the ground. He stifled a groan as his head impacted with hard earth, then rolled back on to his side to relieve the pressure on his bound hands. Wormtongue was watching. Waiting for him to speak. As far as Eomer was concerned, he could wait until he shrivelled to dust in the dry Rohan wind.

"Still no words, Eomer?" Wormtongue crouched beside him. "She's dead, you know."

He forced himself to stare impassively at the pale eyes boring into him, even though everything in him longed to tear the vile creature limb from limb.

Wormtongue leaned closer. 'The orcs said she begged them not to harm her before they ran her through with their swords."

"No!" The word burst from his lips before he could stop it. Wormtongue raised a non-existent eyebrow. Teeth gritted, Eomer spat out his protest. "She would never beg. You're lying."

"Perhaps it was not the swords that she feared," Wormtongue said coolly. "They told me she was beautiful for a human woman. And orcs have fleshly needs."

The implication was more than Eomer could bear. He lashed out with his legs, sweeping Wormtongue from his feet. Immediately three pairs of orc hands were on him, pinning him to the ground. Swearing and cursing, he struggled futilely against them. Wormtongue climbed slowly to his feet, brushing dirt from his robe. "My only regret is that I did not get to sample her delights." He turned away, then half-turned back. "It would have been interesting to compare her with the pleasurable nights I have spent in your sister's bed."

Eowyn! How could he have forgotten Eowyn? A half-strangled cry escaped Eomer. "You're a dead man, Wormtongue!" he shouted, still struggling against the orcs. "Do you hear me? Dead!"

One of the orcs holding Eomer down glanced up at Wormtongue. "Let us kill him now, my Lord. We can feast on his flesh."

Wormtongue hesitated as though considering the prospect, then he shook his head. "Patience, my friend, his meat will taste much sweeter for being butchered before the eyes of his beloved Eowyn." He paused again then added slyly. "Of course, it may be she will not weep for him. For how can she love a brother who betrayed the King and left her with no one to turn to except me?"

Another growl of fury from Eomer was cut off by an orc fist impacting with his stomach.

"Let him be," Wormtongue called, apparently weary of the sport. "He will suffer enough when we reach Edoras."

Eomer curled up and rode out the pain as they released him. Frustration crashed over him at his inability to do anything about his situation, and with it came the heavyweight of depression. How had things come to this? Eomer, Third Marshal of the Mark lying bound and impotent like a market cockerel awaiting slaughter. Long had he trusted in the strength of his arm and his skill with blade and horse. What use was any of that to him now? He'd failed to save the woman he loved. The agony of knowing Lothiriel's blood was on his hands was worse than any physical torture that he might face in Edoras. And he'd failed his sister. The thought of Wormtongue's hands upon her made him feel nauseous. What if the snake was right? What if Eowyn hated him for betraying her to a fate far worse than any he might suffer? It would be no more than he deserved for his rash actions. He should've seen her safe in the Eastfold with men who would protect her. Instead he'd allowed Wormtongue to banish him, leaving her unprotected.

He curled tighter, telling himself it was a reaction to the cold and not an attempt to shut out the hurt of his reality, but the lie refused to sit with him. And, for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing for the comfort of oblivion.

****

"Well, this is weird," Sam finally managed to say as she stared at Lothiriel.

Lothiriel returned the stare with one of equal bemusement. "Are we...?"

"Related?" Sam offered. "Kind of. It's complicated." She dragged her attention away from her cloned twin and for want of something more intelligent to say nodded towards the horse that was waiting patiently at the gate. "Yours?"

"No. Firefoot belongs to the Third Marshal of the Mark. I hope to return him to his master."

"Eomer," Sam breathed the name softly, trying to decipher exactly how she felt about being thrown into one of her own fantasies.

"You know of him?" Lothiriel asked.

Jack interrupted. "There's knowing and then there's 'knowing'."

"Sir!" Sam protested.

He ignored her, turning instead to Lothiriel. "What are you doing back here?"

She tilted her chin defiantly. "I intended to do as you suggested..."

"As I ordered," Jack murmured.

Her eyes narrowed. "As you suggested. However, I thought it more prudent to attempt to release Eomer from Wormtongue's clutches sooner rather than later."

"Just going to ride in and take on the orcs single-handed?" Jack asked sarcastically.

"I am not a fool," Lothiriel retorted. "I followed them - stealthily – until it became obvious they were taking the road to the Stallion River. They will not attempt to cross the ford at night, therefore I hastened back here, hoping that you had survived."

"Here we are. Almost in one piece," Jack said. Sam saw his gaze drift back to Daniel's wounded shoulder and wondered again what had happened to make the colonel react the way he had. She'd not seen the colonel baulk at dealing with an injury before. Guilt cut across her musing. It was her fault Daniel was hurt and the colonel was acting strangely. In future she was going to indulge in nice gentle fantasies involving roaring fires and mugs of hot chocolate instead of wild Xena-style adventures with orcs, swords and kidnappings.

Her attention moved back to Lothiriel and the knowledge that she probably wasn't even going to get to play the heroine in her own fantasy. Now that was just plain unfair.

Oblivious to Sam's thoughts, Lothiriel stepped towards the colonel, her face animated. "I am very glad you are - and that you have your companions with you also. This is excellent. We must journey immediately to the river and."

"Whoa. Whoa!" Jack raised a hand to stem the flow of words. "We're done here. Daniel's hurt and..."

"I'm fine," Daniel interrupted. "Just a little sore."

Jack gave him a sharp look. "We just pulled an arrow out of your shoulder and you got whacked round the head. I think we'll let Doc Fraiser decide whether you're fine or not."

Daniel shook his head. "Jack, we can't just abandon him."

"Sir, Daniel's right," Sam interjected. "Besides, I feel rather responsible for what's happened."

Jack made an exasperated noise. "Admit it, Carter, you just want to get up close and personal with fantasy-boy."

Colour crept into her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm a little curious." She quickly composed herself. "But that's not the only reason. This whole mess is largely my fault. And as that creature said, they're not just holographic images - they're flesh and blood. We - I owe them something."

"Then you will help?" Lothiriel said hopefully.

Sam looked to the colonel, willing him to agree.

"Daniel?" he asked. "Sure you're up to this."

Daniel nodded. "I'd quite like to see Edoras."

Jack rolled his eyebrows. "Are you sure that knock on the head didn't addle what few brains you had left? It's won't be the real Edoras."

"Not the real Edoras?" Daniel asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It'll just be Carter's version."

"As compared to?" A smirk pulled at Daniel's lower lip.

Jack glared at him. "Leave me alone." He turned back to Lothiriel. "So, how long is it going to take us to get to Marshy?"

Now it was Sam who raised her eyebrows. She mouthed the nickname silently to Daniel, who simply shrugged in return.

Lothiriel gestured to the north. "They will be encamped by the ford. If we move swiftly we will reach them before daybreak."

"You're sure they won't cross the river before then?" Jack asked.

"The Stallion River is wild at this time of year. Even the ford crossing requires care. To attempt it in the dark would be suicide."

"So what are you proposing? That we sneak into the camp and spirit Eomer away?"

"Yes, exactly that," Lothiriel replied.

"I doubt it will be that easy, even if they're not expecting us. We'll need a diversion."

Teal'c caught Jack's eye. "Do you wish me to reprieve my role as the White Wizard, O'Neill?"

"I think we'll save the amateur dramatics for the base Christmas party," Jack said.

Sam patted Teal'c sympathetically as his face fell. "You were a very good White Wizard."

"Thank you, Major Carter. I am glad someone appreciated my thespian skills."

"Teal'c," Jack said with a long suffering sigh. "Take out a dozen orcs for me and I'll listen to you recite Hamlet all night long."

Lothiriel interrupted them. "Please we have little time."

Sam found herself nodding in agreement. "Do you have a plan, Sir?"

Jack considered a moment, then gestured towards a dead orc that was sprawled near by. "We go in disguise."

Sam wrinkled her nose. "Are you suggesting we strip them of their armour?"

"If you have a better plan, I'm all ears," Jack replied.

She poked at the nearest orc with her toe, disgust on her face. "No, Sir. I don't."

"Right then, pick your orc. There'll be prizes for the best costume." Despite his apparent bouyant mood, he had to admit the act of stripping a dead orc and then dressing in the armour was pretty disgusting. The stench was bad enough from a distance, but close up it was nauseating. "Here, let me help you with that," he said to Daniel, as he saw the archaeologist struggling to buckle on a breastplate. As he moved closer, he couldn't help but notice how pale Daniel was beneath the dirt, grime and blood that covered his face. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with this?" he asked.

Daniel clenched his jaw as he met Jack's gaze and nodded.

Jack grimaced then held up three fingers in front of Daniel's face. "How many?"

"How many what?" Daniel asked ingeniously.

"Fingers, Daniel."

"Ummm." Daniel licked his lips as though Jack was asking him to answer one of Carter's physics questions. "Three."

Jack dropped his hand. "That was a lucky guess, wasn't it."

The truth of that flickered across Daniel's face before he could stop it. "So my vision is a little blurry."

"You're concussed, Daniel."

"I've had worse."

"And a big hairy orc used you for target practice."

"Orcs aren't hairy."

"That's not the point. You're staying here where you can rest."

"No! Jack, I can't just stand by and let them torture Eomer to death."

Jack shook his head in frustration. "You've only just met the guy. And yet you want to risk your own health for him? For crying out loud, Daniel, why?"

"Because." Daniel began vehemently, then he stopped. Hesitated for a moment, then finally said, "Because I feel like I've known him all my life."

If there had been a brick wall handy, Jack would've banged his head against it. "That damn book, right?"

"I can't help it," Daniel protested. His voice softened. "My Dad used to read it to me when I was a kid. And then later. well, Eomer lost his parents when he was young too. I kind of, I don't know... I guess I just feel we have something in common and, well, he's in trouble and who else has he got to rescue him?"

Damn it. That was below the belt. Jack opened his mouth to repeat his order, and found he couldn't. "You should really stay here," he managed. "Fraiser will skin me alive if I let you get into a fight when you're already concussed."

"I'll take full responsibility."

"It's not yours to take," Jack argued.

"Okay, I'll stay here."

Jack eyed him suspiciously. Daniel never gave into anything that easily. "You will?"

"Sure." Daniel smiled sweetly. "Of course, I can't be held responsible if I should wander off in a state of confusion. What with being concussed and all."

"Damn it, Daniel." Jack scooped down and picked up a helmet from the ground. "At least wear this. And try not to get hit anymore, okay."

"Whatever you say, Jack. You know me. Always happy to obey orders."

********

"So," Sam said, falling in step with Lothiriel as they headed towards the river. "You and Eomer, are you like."

"Like what?" Lothiriel asked, when Sam didn't finish her question.

"Well, you know." She was embarrassed now, wishing she hadn't started this line of questioning and yet was unable to help herself.

"No, I do not know." Lothiriel turned a puzzled gaze on Sam.

Sam breathed deeply, then sighed. "I was just wondering if the pair of you had, like, got together - as a couple. Yet."

"Oh." Lothiriel gave Sam a calculating look, then admitted slowly. "I believe we may have reached an understanding."

"Right." Sam absorbed the news slowly, trying to come to terms with the disappointment that knifed through her. "Good. 'Cos, you know, him and you... It's kind of meant to be." She hesitated, then couldn't help but ask, "So, he is a good kisser?" Lothiriel's shocked look made the heat rise to her cheeks. "Not that it's any of my business. But, you know, I'm curious because, well, I don't know if the guys have said anything to you, but, you know, Eomer is actually."

"Sam!" Daniel's voice sounded behind her. "What are you doing?"

She glanced over her shoulder at him. "Oh, come on, Daniel. You can't blame me for wanting to know."

Daniel raised his eyebrows pointedly. "I think maybe Lothiriel has other things on her mind right now."

Guilt flooded through Sam as she took in the worry lines that creased Lothiriel's forehead. "I'm sorry. That was thoughtless of me."

"I'm sure you meant no harm," Lothiriel said graciously. She lengthened her stride as Daniel fell in step with Sam. "Just for the record, though," she threw back at them. "Yes. He is extremely accomplished in the art of kissing."

"Damn. I knew it." Sam hissed to Daniel. "This is just so unfair!"

*****

Sneaking into a camp full of sleeping orcs was one thing. Sam very much doubted sneaking out again would be as easy - especially if they achieved their aim of finding and retrieving Eomer. She glanced over at Lothiriel, who had been teamed up with the colonel and Daniel, and felt guilty as her competitive spirit flared into life. Despite herself, she really wanted herself and Teal'c to be the ones who got to Eomer first.

She headed deeper into the camp, Teal'c just behind her, both of them taking care to try and move in an orc-like manner. Exactly what this was had been a matter of some debate on the way to the river. The colonel had clearly been watching too many Tarzan movies since he seemed to think it was something akin to a chimp. She and Lothiriel had done their best to put him straight, but eventually it was Teal'c who turned in the most accurate rendition of the creature's slightly jerky movements. Perhaps she should invite the colonel to the next viewing of the movie - assuming they got out of this alive.

Her thoughts turned back to the task in hand, and she tried to imagine she was Wormtongue as she stepped carefully over a sleeping orc, her eyes scanning the sprawled bodies around the numerous camp fires. Where would she put Eomer if she were the cowardly adviser to King Theoden? The centre of the camp was most obvious, but not so close to himself that Eomer might get a chance to get his hands around the man's scrawny neck. In the gloom she saw a ragged banner flying - its dark material marked with the white hand of Saruman. She had no doubt that Wormtongue would be close by to this symbol of his allegiance - the symbol of his supposed power. Which meant Eomer would not be far away either.

She gestured to Teal'c, who nodded as he saw the banner. Then, trusting that the stench of the orc armour would mask the smell of her own body, she moved on. A small group of three orcs grunted as she and Teal'c walked past their camp fire. Teal'c growled back at them, his voice low and menacing, and they immediately turned their interest back to the chunks of flesh they were searing in the flames.

And then she saw him - a figure curled with his back to her, but instantly distinguishable by the tangled mane of dirty blond hair. He was being guarded by two orcs, but neither were paying any attention to him. They seemed engrossed in some kind of a game. All the other orcs nearby were sleeping - their bellies no doubt full of meat and beer. Sliding her knife from its sheath she moved closer. Silently she motioned to Teal'c, who drew level with her. A few brief hand signals and they moved in.

The two orcs were dead before they had chance to realise they were in any danger. Quickly, Sam wiped the black blood from the blade of her knife, swallowing down her distaste at killing in cold blood - even if they were orcs who had probably done the same to others, if not worse. Hurriedly she moved to the prone form of Eomer, dropping onto one knee at his side. She wasn't sure if he was unconscious, sleeping or simply had his eyes closed to shut out the nightmare he was in - whatever the reason he was oblivious to her presence. She allowed herself the briefest of moments to note that he was every bit as handsome as she had dreamed, despite a split lip, dirt-streaked skin and tangled hair, and that his damp clothing did little to hide the well-sculpted muscles beneath. Had this truly been a fantasy she might have given in to the sudden and no doubt entirely inappropriate urge to kiss him into wakefulness. However, such selfishness was hardly prudent since she was, after all, still representing the United States Air Force. Instead, with a pang regret, she pressed her left hand firmly over his mouth to stop him crying out and then attempted to gently shake him back to consciousness.

******

He didn't want to return to consciousness. Didn't want to return to a world that held nothing but pain. But the hand on his shoulder was insistent. And the voice calling his name seemed so familiar.

"Eomer! Please. Wake up."

She'd been there in his dreams. Wrapped in his arms. His face buried in her hair as he breathed in the scent of her - rosemary and sage, and that indefinable perfume that was simply her. An aroma that filled him with desires he hadn't experienced before - physical urges, yes, but also an intense need to protect, to cherish, to love. Needs that he hadn't been able to fulfil because they been cruelly torn apart even as he'd recognised them, and now - now she was lost.

"Eomer!"

Suddenly he realised this was no dream. The voice was real. The hand on his shoulder was solid living flesh. He opened his eyes and stared up into her face. No. This couldn't be. She was alive? Hope was poisoned with uncertainty. He tried to speak. Found a hand was covering his mouth.

"Shush," she whispered. "It isn't safe."

He nodded, and she slowly lifted her hand away, then moved behind him. He forced himself to relax as he felt a blade sawing at his bonds. She was alive. He wanted to shout it in loud celebration. Wormtongue had lied to him. Somehow she'd survived the burning farmhouse and the orcs - and now she was here. His joy was abruptly interrupted as his hands were freed and pain exploded like a firecracker. Despite his best intentions, he failed to bite back a groan.

"Sorry," she murmured from behind him. He rolled onto his back, grimacing as fire burned through his shoulder muscles and sent waves of agony down into his forearms. She leaned over him, took one of his numb hands in her own and began to massage it back to life. He hissed softly as the returning blood flow started up a vicious attack of pins and needles, but the physical hurt was once again little more than a distraction. She was alive.

"Lothiriel." He breathed her name, no longer able to stop himself.

A dark emotion flickered across her face, and then she shook her head. "Ummm, no. Wish I was, but - I'm Samantha Carter. You can call me Sam." She took his other hand in hers and began to rub at his fingers. Confused he stared up at her. Unease began to gnaw like acid in his stomach as he slowly reached out and caught at a short lock of blonde hair that was escaping from the helmet. "You cut your hair?"

She shook her head impatiently. "No. I just told you... Never mind. We don't have time for this. Just trust me okay?"

No. This wasn't happening to him. She looked so much like Lothiriel, and yet the way she moved, the way she spoke, all these things were somehow wrong. He pulled his hand away from her and shrank back, feeling the raw hurt of loss afresh. "What magic is this? What new trickery has Wormtongue dreamed up to torment me?"

A dark-skinned face suddenly swooped down at him and he winced at the sight of the gold tattoo embedded in the man's forehead. "Eomer of Rohan, I am Teal'c. It is necessary that you trust us. We are here to rescue you." A large hand was thrust towards him as an offer of assistance. "Can you walk?"

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Eomer said, turning his gaze back to the woman masquerading as Lothiriel. "Or with this witch."

"Okay, now that's just plain rude," Sam said, giving him a hurt look. Her head jerked round as an orc voice growled behind them.

"You! What are you doing with the prisoner?"

There was a sudden crack of blue light and the orc collapsed to the ground with a loud grunt. Eomer started, then recognised the now familiar weapon in Teal'c's hand. Other orcs were stirring now, their calloused hands instinctively reaching for weapons. "Major Carter," Teal'c growled, his gaze moving swiftly across the orcs as they began to stumble to their feet. "We must go now."

"Please," she begged again, holding out a hand to Eomer.

He swore colourfully as he weighed his options. Stay a prisoner of Wormtongue and face death at Edoras or expose himself to whatever devilment this woman and her companion represented. Certain death compared to the unknown. He suddenly realised he didn't really have a choice at all. Reaching out he took her hand. Teal'c was at his side in a flash, a strong arm snaked around his waist helping him find his balance as he struggled to make his abused body remain upright.

"This way. Quickly!" the woman said, gesturing to the right.

Committed now to a course of action, Eomer shut out everything other than putting one foot in front of the other. His body clearly didn't think this was a good idea, but he ignored the protest of his muscles, gritted his teeth and tried not to mind that his rescuer was bearing much of his weight. Escape was the only goal that mattered now.

"Major Carter! Look out!" Teal'c bellowed as an orc seemed to appear from nowhere. It swung a serrated blade at her head, but the warning had done its work. She ducked and the blade hissed through empty space. Teal'c brought his arm up to fire his weapon, but a second orc suddenly rose from the ground, kicking the weapon from him, then launching itself at the two men with a scream of fury.

Eomer was pushed roughly to one side as Teal'c turned to take the brunt of the attack. With a grunt he dropped to one knee. To his right, Teal'c was engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Ahead of him, the woman - Sam - had taken out two orcs with the deadly blue light of the magically weapon, but three others were bunching together to rush her.

Swearing at his physical weakness, Eomer forced himself back to his feet and staggered forward. The glint of metal at his feet caught his attention, and he stooped hurriedly to gather up a discarded weapon. It was a flat blade, crude in construction, but it felt good to fold his fingers around its thick handle. An orc rushed at him and instinct overcame his body's reluctance to move. He waited out the charge, sidestepped at the last moment, then thrust the weapon forward and up. It slid through skin and flesh with a satisfying squelch. The orc screamed its defiance then died, dragging him to the ground as it fell back, his newly acquired weapon still embedded in its chest.

Breathing heavily he pulled the blade free and used it to push himself upright again. Teal'c was now armed with orc weaponry and was battling with two of the creatures, thrusting and parrying with a skill that gave Eomer confidence that he would prevail. Turning he sought out the woman and was horrified to see an orc was stealing up behind her.

"Sam!" he shouted her name, but his voice was hoarse and the sound did not carry. No! He couldn't let this happen. Somehow he found a fresh reserve of strength and propelled himself forward, driving two orcs out of his path with wild swings of his blade as they tried to intercept him. "Sam!" he yelled again. She turned, registered the danger, brought her weapon up to fire and then stared in horror as the orc simply batted it from her hand. The creature laughed in violent triumph as it drew back its own weapon, a spear with a vicious barbed spike protruding just below the head.

Eomer screamed his frustration - enough people had died for him! - and then threw himself at the creature. His shoulder collided with hard armour, driving the breath from him. Together they hit the ground. He felt something slash across his right leg, but he ignored it, instead concentrating on rolling under the creature and then, with a shove of his hips, up and over.

The orc had the same idea though, and Eomer's momentum was suddenly turned against him. With a grunt he found himself pinned beneath the creature, its hot breath on his face and its gnarled hands closing around his throat. Desperately he swung his right arm back. The blade in his hand arced through the air, and then sliced through flesh. Dark blood splashed over his face as the decapitated orc collapsed on top of him, filling his nostrils with the foul stench of death and decay. Fighting nausea, he saw blue light spit and spark to his right, and he prayed that the weapon had been retrieved by one of his rescuers. Then a familiar voice sounded through the darkness.

"Carter! Where's Marshy?" It was O'Neill's voice

"Under that orc, sir," came the strained reply.

"You couldn't find somewhere better to hide him?"

"It wasn't exactly intentional."

The weight of the orc was suddenly lifted from his chest, and he found himself looking up into the amused eyes of Jack O'Neill. "Look's like you could use a bath. Are you okay?"

He tried to speak, but found he was still struggling for breath and had to settle for a brusque nod.

"He saved my life, sir. " Sam appeared behind O'Neill. Her eyes widened as she looked down at Eomer. "You're bleeding!" She dropped to her knees, shrugged off her pack and pulled out a small white package.

Eomer lifted his head and saw the blood oozing through a gash in his leggings. The sharp stinging pain of lacerated skin began to make itself known, mixing with the stink of orc blood to renew his nausea. He lay back, drawing deep breaths into his lungs and concentrating on taming his rebellious stomach as Sam tended to the wound.

"It's not deep," she said. "Little more than a scratch really. I'll bind it now. We can clean it when we get out of here."

"Thank you," Eomer managed to murmur.

She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. "I'm the one that should be thanking you."

O'Neill's voice cut across the conversation "You done with the Florence Nightingale act, Carter?" When she nodded, he looked Eomer, shook his head as though commiserating, then thrust out a hand and yanked the warrior to his feet. He leaned close and hissed into Eomer's ear. "If she starts up with the whole 'I belong to you because you saved me thing' - don't believe a word of it, okay?"

Eomer was about to ask O'Neill what the hell he was talking about when he suddenly caught sight of a second female figure making her way towards them, her long blonde hair wild and a blood-stained sword in her hand. "Lothiriel?" he said, once again barely daring to believe his eyes.

"The one and only." O'Neill glanced at Sam, and then added. "Well, kind of." He shook his head as though bemused, then suddenly became serious. "Okay, kids, let's quit playing around and get the hell out of here. Teal'c, left flank. Daniel to the right. I'll watch your six. Ladies, I think the Third Marshal needs a little help here."

It was only now that Eomer realised a battle was still raging around him. The orcs, startled out of sleep, had taken to fighting one another, and Daniel, Teal'c and Lothiriel had been defending a small circle around him. But then, the battle faded into the background again because Lothiriel was suddenly in front of him. Mirrored in her eyes he saw his own emotions – the overwhelming relief that death had been cheated reflected back at him as she reached up to touch his face, reassuring herself he was real. He grabbed her hand, relishing the warmth of her skin as he pressed it to his lips.

And then Sam was at his side. "Don't mind me," she muttered, sliding an arm around his waist, and positioning herself under his armpit. "Lothiriel, we have to go!"

"Yes, of course." She pressed the skin he'd just kissed to her own lips, then mimicked Sam's action's, moving under his arm so she could take some of her weight across her shoulders.

"Let's go kids!" O'Neill shouted.

Eomer snapped back into the present. He swallowed his humiliation that he'd been reduced to the state of needing the aid of two women to walk, and instead concentrated on the fact that, with every step, he was destroying Wormtongue's plans.

****

There were times when Jack didn't enjoy being in command. This was one of them. He'd kept them moving for over two hours now, despite the knowledge that Daniel's face was a ghostly shade of greenish white, and Eomer was so far beyond exhaustion he would probably struggle to remember his own name. He had at least been able to spare Daniel the extra burden of taking a turn in assisting Eomer, despite Daniel's protest that he was fine and could do his fair share. The look they'd exchanged clearly stated they both knew that wasn't true, but Jack appreciated the sentiment behind the offer.

Finally, though, they'd reached a stretch of rocky terrain that offered them at least some minimal cover should the orcs stop killing each other and set off in pursuit of them. Moving ahead of the team, he spotted a spur of rock, behind which there was shelter both from the wind and prying eyes.

"Take a break," he ordered as the others caught up with him. "No fire. Boots on." Eomer was being supported between Teal'c and Carter, and he watched as they eased the warrior to the ground. Carter gave Lothiriel a dark look as the other woman immediately moved in to tend to the wound on Eomer's thigh. Jack crossed his fingers that he wasn't going to have to break up a cat fight, and then turned his to the person who was, in his humble opinion, in as much need of attention.

"How you doing, buddy?" he hunkered down next to Daniel, who had simply sat down where he was the moment Jack gave the order to rest.

"Fine." He was leaning back against a conveniently place boulder, his long legs stretched in front of him. Head tilted back, his eyes were closed. Dirt and dried blood offered a macabre contrast to the paleness of his face.

Jack shook a canteen close to Daniel's right ear. "Thirsty?"

Wearily Daniel opened his eyes, gave a pained sigh and then accepted the canteen. "Got any Tylenol?"

"Sorry. Headache?" Daniel gave him a look that said 'go figure'.

"How's the shoulder?"

"You want to play racquet ball?"

"Not right now."

"You're just saying that 'cos you know I'd win."

Jack smiled. "Let me take a look."

"Must you?"

Jack waggled his fingers in a come-here gesture. Daniel sighed and tilted his head back, eyes shut. Carefully Jack unstrapped the orc breastplate from his team-mate's chest, then pushed the rough wool shirt open and lifted the dressing. The wound beneath was shallower than he'd expected and, to his relief, showed no obvious sign of infection. It still had to a hurt though. He sealed the dressing again.

Daniel gaze shifted to Eomer. "How's he doing?"

Jack pulled a face. "Right now? I think he's in serious danger of being comforted to death."

Daniel gave a soft laugh. "There's worse ways to die."

"So, are you.?"

"I'll be fine, Jack."

"Teal'c has another shot of morphine. You need it?"

Daniel licked his lips, considered, then shook his head. "I'll be."

"Fine," Jack finished for him. Reluctantly, he accepted that there wasn't a lot he could do if Daniel wasn't fine, other than carry him back to the 'Gate. Which, of course, he would do. He squeezed Daniel's good shoulder. "Take it easy for a bit. Teal'c and I will keep watch."

Teal'c took a moment from watching the horizon to cast a concerned look in Daniel's direction as Jack approached him. 'How is Daniel Jackson?"

"He's not too good," Jack admitted.

Teal'c's jaw tightened. "Then I do not believe it would be wise to proceed further without rest. Eomer is a strong man, but he also has endured much. He requires sustenance and sleep."

"As do we all," Jack added softly. He glanced round at their surroundings. "I guess there's worse places to spend the night." He continued on to where Eomer was sitting, propped up against a rock. "How's the leg?"

"I've had worse," Eomer replied. "It really is little more than a scratch."

"Sir," Carter interjected. "He doesn't need to lose any more blood. And all this walking." She trailed off, looking miserable.

In response, Jack glanced down at the bloodstain on Eomer's pant leg. It was clearly more than a scratch, but he didn't comment further. "What's the chances of those creatures back there coming after us?" he asked.

Eomer considered a moment. "Orcs like to fight, but they don't much mind if they're fighting an enemy or amongst themselves. I do not know what power Wormtongue holds over them but I would wager that it will be no easy task for him to regain their focus." He glanced up at the sky. "And dawn cannot be too far away. Once it is light, they will be even less inclined to seek us out."

Jack didn't need any more information. "Right, we'll wait out the night here. Reserve what energy we have left. Come daybreak we'll move on." He looked at Teal'c. "Got any food in that pack of yours?"

"I have two MREs and three power bars." A smile tugged at Teal'c's upper lip. "I also have chocolate."

"Chocolate?" Carter asked hopefully.

"Ah. Ah!" Jack warned her off with an upraised hand, then gestured towards Daniel. "Headache boy over there gets the chocolate. Split everything else between us." He took the chocolate from Teal'c and headed back towards Daniel. "Hey, look what I found."

Daniel's eyes widened in amazement, then a knowing look crossed his face. "Teal'c." He took the chocolate and turned it over in his hands as though handling a priceless artefact. With a deep sigh, he handed it back to Jack. "Share it out."

Jack immediately thrust it back at him. "Already have. That's your share."

"A whole bar?"

"Don't look a gift horse and all that." Jack ruffled Daniel's hair and then hurried back to the others before Daniel's concussed brain woke up to the fact he was lying through his teeth.

"Here you go, sir." Carter handed him a half-empty foil pack.

"What is it?" he asked suspiciously, peering at the off-white gloop it contained.

"Macaroni and cheese."

He gave a strained smile. "My favourite." What could another lie hurt?

******

Eomer tried to sleep, but the ground was hard and every part of him ached from the various forms of abuse he'd suffered. Besides, he couldn't relax knowing that Wormtongue and the orcs were out there in the dark somewhere. Wherever somewhere was. He'd heard enough of the strangers' conversation to know that either they were in the wrong world or he was. He suspected it was the latter. It had made no sense for Wormtongue to pursue him from Edoras. That his uncle's adviser hated him and wished him dead was no surprise, but Grima was no fool. Banishing him from the Royal Court would've been victory enough. No, hunting him down was simply not Grima's style.

With a soft groan, he rolled over and tried to find a comfortable position on his other side. Thinking simply made his head hurt. The strange food, if that was what it could be called, had gone some way to restoring his strength, but only sleep could cure his exhaustion and mental fatigue. Wearily he peered into the dark. He could just about make out the solid dark shape of Teal'c in the distance. The jaffa was sitting on top of a boulder, watching out for danger. Eomer rubbed at his eyes, wishing for sleep. Then looked again.

Teal'c was gone.

Unease twisted his stomach and he pushed himself into a sitting position. To his left, Lothiriel was curled beneath a blanket. To his right was her twin, Samantha Carter. He was reluctant to wake either of them, yet the sense that something was amiss had settled on his shoulder like a black-feathered bird of doom. He leaned forward and shook Sam's shoulder. She didn't stir.

"Sam!" he hissed. Still nothing. It was as though she was drugged. Or bewitched.

He turned to Lothiriel. Just like Sam, she too was deeply unconscious.

Every muscle complaining at the movement, Eomer forced himself to his feet. Daniel was next in line. The archaeologist was sprawled on his back, his face pained even though he wasn't conscious.

For a moment, Eomer considered shouting for O'Neill or Teal'c, but the thought of orcs roaming nearby silenced him. His hand dropped as he instinctively felt for his sword.

"Looking for this?" He felt the prick of a blade between his shoulder blades.

Ice froze his blood as he recognised the voice. Slowly he turned, and found the tip of his own sword was a mere inch from his throat. "Wormtongue," he hissed.

"Did you think you could escape your fate, Eomer, Son of Eomund?" Wormtongue crowed, brave behind the handle of the sword.

Eomer tilted his chin as the cold metal of the blade touched the base of his throat. "I do not fear death," he hissed.

Wormtongue's eyes glittered cruelly and he pressed the sword forward, forcing Eomer to step back. "Then why do you retreat?"

"Would you have me impale myself for your pleasure?" Eomer asked sarcastically. Not fearing death was one thing, suicide was another.

"The idea is appealing," Wormtongue replied. He stepped forward, clearly relishing his power as he forced the warrior to retreat until, at last, Eomer was standing between the two sleeping women. "Ah, what ill-wind has befallen such twin beauties that they slumber during the last moments of your life?"

"Don't deny your hand is behind this. What have you done to them?" Eomer demanded.

"Why would I deny it?" Wormtongue replied. He thrust his left hand into the folds of his robe, and then withdrew it as a fist. Uncurling his fingers he smiled at the yellow powder in his palm. "A powerful sleeping draft that has taken me many months to perfect. One merely has to inhale it to fall into a deep slumber." He lifted his hand and blew the powder in Eomer's direction. Horrified, Eomer held his breath, desperately hoping the powder would be carried quickly away on the wind. Wormtongue laughed. "It would've been wiser to succumb," he commented. "Your death would be far less painful."

Cautiously Eomer filled his lungs, and was relieved to find the air free of the evil powder. "I prefer that my last breath be spent cursing you."

"Very well," Wormtongue replied calmly. "Then at least let me give you good reason to curse." He forced Eomer further back so that his own feet were now at head level with Sam and Lothiriel. His pale eyes drifted first over Sam, then over Lothiriel, and finally came to rest on Eomer. "Choose which one you would wish to go ahead of you."

"What?" He didn't want to believe what was being asked of him.

"I saw how they were fawning over you. It seems only fitting that one should go ahead to prepare the Halls of your Fathers for your arrival while the other stays here to mourn your passing."

Fury twisted in Eomer's stomach. "Leave them out of this," he hissed.

Wormtongue shook his head. "Sadly I cannot. Now tell me, which woman do you choose to live - and which to die?"

"No! You have already proven your treacherous nature a thousand-fold. I will not play your sick games."

Anger flickered across Wormtongue's face. "You are a constant disappointment, Eomer. Why do you insist on thwarting my every plan? Very well, if you will not choose, I will kill them both."

"No!" Eomer started forward as the tip of the sword swung towards Lothiriel.

Immediately, Wormtongue's hand jerked back up. "Stay back!"

"And watch you take two innocent lives?" Eomer growled as the sword once again stood between him and his adversary.

"It need only be one life," Wormtongue retaliated. "Simply give me a name."

No. No. No! How could he do such a thing? To choose Lothiriel over the Sam would forever taint their relationship with guilt. Yet to choose Sam over Lothiriel - Wormtongue might as well run him through and be done with it. Wait! What was he thinking? He wasn't going to get out of this alive. His eyes narrowed as he focused on the man behind the sword. And a dark plan formed. Sacrifice wasn't suicide either.

"Stay back," Wormtongue hissed as though he could read Eomer's mind.

"You want to kill me, snake. Go ahead," Eomer said calmly. He stepped to his right, forcing Wormtongue to follow him.

"Move again and I will," Wormtongue threatened.

Eomer felt the tip of the blade press into his skin. He took another step away from the women, slowly circling so he would be between them and Wormtongue. "What are you waiting for? I'm unarmed and physically weak. Take my life now, snake. You may not get another chance."

Wormtongue's gaze slid to the women. "You will not save them this way. I will still kill them." He glanced over at Daniel. "All of them."

"But you will not have the pleasure of watching me see them die," Eomer retorted, taking yet another step. "That is victory enough."

"That isn't victory," Wormtongue spat angrily. "It's cowardice."

Eomer's attention was suddenly caught by a familiar beat sounding upon the wind. He shivered as he recognised it. All the Rohirrim knew of Sleipner, the mighty horse that came to bear the dead to the Halls of their Fathers. The sound of distant hooves would be Sleipner - coming for him.

He focused on Wormtongue again. Took another step. "You're the coward. You hold a blade to my throat and yet you do not strike. What's the matter, Wormtongue? Killing in cold blood not as much to your liking as your evil potions and poisons?"

"Silence!" Wormtongue screeched. "I am in control here. Not you."

Eomer was now between Wormtongue and his unconscious friends. It made him feel better even though he knew he could do nothing to protect them once he was gone. He closed his eyes and let the sound of Sleipner's hooves reverberate through his body. A dozen regrets welled through him. That he would never make love to Lothiriel. Would never be a father. Would never know what fate befell his beloved Rohan. And that he would no longer be able to serve his king or his people. He opened his eyes again and met Wormtongue's malevolent gaze with calmness.

"No," he said. "I am."

With a howl of outrage, Wormtongue pulled his sword arm back and up in a deadly arc. Eomer tensed every muscle, preparing himself for the moment when the blade would swing back and slash across his throat. Horse hooves thundered. And suddenly the creature arrived. An angry, high-pitched screech tore from its throat as it reared up. Terror raced across Wormtongue's face at the sound. Forgetting Eomer he whirled around. Screamed. And fell as the horse's front hooves drove down into his chest.

For the briefest of moments, Eomer was too stunned to react. But then his warrior's instinct kicked in. The sword had fallen from Wormtongue's hand and Eomer no longer hesitated. In one flowing movement, he scooped it up, turned, and with a howl of pent-up aggression, drove it into his enemy's crushed and broken body. Wormtongue stared up at him, shock and amazement on his face. His hands clutched at the bleeding gash in his chest as Eomer pulled the sword free. And then bloody bubbles frothed on his lips as his final breath escaped from his body.

The sudden adrenaline rush left Eomer as swiftly as it had come. He dropped to his knees, the sword falling from his hand. For one sickening moment, the ground beneath him seemed to swoop and dive, and he feared he would pass out. Or worse. But then he felt warm breath on the back of his neck and a soft concerned whinny penetrated the fog in his brain. He dragged his head up and found himself looking into the face of the horse.

"Firefoot," he whispered as recognition finally made it through his wearied brain. The horse whinnied again and nuzzled his face gently. Weakly, he lifted his arm, the muscles leaden and stiff. "I'm okay," he said as he rubbed Firefoot's nose and then rested his face again the warmth solidness of the horse's cheek. "I'm okay," he repeated, rubbing at the annoying stinging sensation on his neck. His fingers came away wet, and he stared at the bright red blood for a long moment. Then, finally he did what his body had been demanding.

He fell forward and let darkness claim him.

****

Jack swore as he came too. Damn that creature for sneaking up on him like that and blowing la-la dust in his face. Judging from the bruises now making themselves known on his hips, he'd been unconscious before he'd even hit the ground.

Stifling a groan as he hauled himself to his feet, he grabbed his zat. Fearful of what he might find he hurried back to the camp. Moments later his stomach clenched as he saw the sprawled bodies on the ground. Weapon at the ready, he headed first to Daniel, who was lying spread-eagled on his back.

"Danny?" he tapped at the pale face, and was rewarded with a low groan. Daniel's left hand batted weakly at him.

"Go 'way. Too early."

Satisfied Daniel was alive if not exactly lucid, he moved towards the two women. A sound to his right made him start, but as he glanced over he saw it was Teal'c. The Jaffa looked somewhat dazed, but he was positioned behind a large rock and signalled he was providing cover as he saw Jack look his way. Jack gave the briefest of nods and then turned his attention back to the women.

"Carter," he hissed. She groaned, and then looked up at him, dazed and confused.

"What happened?"

"Knock-out powder." He pressed his fingers to Lothiriel's neck and was relieved to find a pulse. "See if you can wake her up."

"Jack?" Daniel had managed to find his feet and was staggering towards him. "What the hell happened?" He glanced round, then suddenly lurched in a different direction. "Eomer!"

"And everybody's favourite bad guy," Jack observed as he passed Wormtongue's lifeless body to beat Daniel to the fallen warrior. Eomer was sprawled on his front, his long blonde hair covering his face. His sword was still clutched in his right hand. Jack dropped to his knees, set his zat to one side and carefully uncurled Eomer's fingers from the weapon. Accidentally being decapitated by a startled Rohirrim was not on his top ten list of ways to die. With the sword safely out of the way, he reached out and grabbed Eomer by the shoulders. He was relieved to find warmth in the younger man's body as he carefully rolled him over.

"Crap. He saw the bloodstain on down the front of Eomer's tunic.

Daniel dropped next to him, and brushed a strand of Eomer's hair away from his neck. "I don't think it's as bad as it looks." He pointed to a small but fresh cut at the base of Eomer's throat. "That wound wouldn't have bled freely for more than a few moments. I suspect the fabric of his shirt is highly absorbent, spreading the blood widely."

"Why's he unconscious then?"

"Exhaustion?"

Hoping Daniel was right, Jack yanked Eomer's tunic up to check for more serious chest wounds.

A growled Rohirric complaint sounded and the bottom of the tunic was snatched from his hand. "Pray tell me what you think you are doing?"

Jack rocked back on his heels as he found a pair of angry hazel eyes glaring up at him. "Checking you over," he nonchalantly, then, as Eomer's gaze sharpened, hastily added. "For wounds."

"Are you okay?" Daniel addressed Eomer. "There's blood on your shirt."

Eomer's peered down at his chest and then his fingers went to his neck. "A minor injury. Nothing more. Thank you for your concern." He shot Jack another dark look, and then tried to sit up.

"Whoa there," Jack said, as he saw the colour leech from Eomer's skin. "Take it easy for a minute or two." It might be a minor wound, but you still lost quite a bit of blood. Not to mention the hammering you've taken over the past couple of days." He jerked his head towards Wormtongue. "I take it you're responsible for that too?"

Eomer's expression darkened as he nodded and then allowed Jack to gently press him back to the ground. "Lothiriel?" he asked.

Daniel glanced over at the two women, and saw that Sam was helping Lothiriel to her feet. "She's just fine," he said with a smile.

As though she'd heard her name, she hurried towards them. 'Eomer," she said, kneeling at his head and caressing his cheek with her hand. "Are you well?"

He smiled up at her. "Now that my eyes can feast on you, I am more than well." He reached up with one hand and gently pulled her closer.

"Don't mind us," Jack said sarcastically as the two lovers kissed. He stood up, then held out a hand to Daniel, pulling the younger man upright. "Are you okay?"

"Kinda dizzy," Daniel said, but then hastily added. "I'll be fine, though."

"Carter," Jack said, as she joined them. "And how are you?" Her eyes drifted wistfully towards Eomer and Lothiriel. "Other than green with envy that is?"

She glared at him. "I'm fine. Thank you, sir."

Teal'c wandered over to Wormtongue and peered down at the body. "Can we assume it is now safe to depart?"

Eomer finally managed to tear his lips away from Lothiriel. "There may be a few orcs still roaming in the vicinity. However, with Wormtongue's death, the worst threat to Rohan is now gone."

"Ah yes," Jack said. "About Rohan. We really need to talk."

***

"Teal'c!" Ala and Tia shouted his name as SG-1, Eomer and Lothiriel approached the Stargate. "You live!"

Sam laughed as the two women threw themselves at the Jaffa, wrapping their arms around him. "Friends of yours?" she asked.

"Indeed," Teal'c said. "This is Ala and Tia. They saved me from Shining Eyes."

Jack stepped forward. "Then we owe them a great deal. Ladies, thank you."

For the next few minutes, the team were caught up in explaining all that had gone on. Eventually though Tia and Ala managed to draw Teal'c to one side to show him the items Generous Ham Ond had sent through the 'Gate for them.

"That is why we are?" Tia. "So many things - we have journeyed here daily."

Sam's gaze drifted to Eomer and Lothiriel who were standing slightly apart from the group. "Do you think they'll be okay? It must be pretty weird to discover your home doesn't actually exist and that everything you believed about yourself was put in your head by a machine."

The dark look Eomer had given her when she confirmed the truth of his existence had cut her deeply. How did someone cope with being told their whole history came from a story in her head? She wasn't even the original author - though whether that mattered was debatable. All his memories were false. He wasn't even the age he thought he was. His genetically engineered body was barely a week old, not twenty-eight years.

She comforted herself with the fact he was resilient. And that he'd already figured out much of what was going on. Her revelation had not come as a total surprise. Would he mourn for the life that he remembered, though? She tried to imagine how she'd feel if she suddenly discovered her brother didn't actually exist. Or that she could never go home.

Daniel studied them for a moment. "They have each other. That must count for something."

"There is that," Sam agreed, wondering if it was enough. She looked at them again and decided perhaps it was. There was certainly nothing fictional about the deep love that existed between the two of them.

"I think they'll manage to build a pretty good life for themselves," O'Neill said pragmatically. "Eomer can protect the real native people from any stray orcs and we can send a couple of mares through the 'gate so he can breed a new herd from his precious Firefoot. And besides, he's a born leader – does it really matter where those abilities come from? He'll be fine." He turned away. "Dial it up, Daniel, let's go home. You have a date with a doctor - and no, I don't mean in the Mills and Boon sense."

Standing by the DHD, his arm around Lothiriel's shoulders, Eomer smiled as the Stargate exploded into dazzling blue liquid beauty. "A gate to another world," he murmured in awe.

"Many, many worlds," Daniel said. "You must come visit sometime."

"Indeed you must," Teal'c agreed, his gaze extending the invitation to the two women who had come to his aid.

"Perhaps," Eomer said. He squeezed Lothiriel's shoulders affectionately. "But I think first we need to get used to this world."

Jack turned to him. "We'll send supplies - including the horses we talked about. Anything else you need - just holler." He glanced towards the 'gate. "Well, guess this is goodbye." He held out his hand.

"Thank you." Eomer released Lothiriel and grasped Jack's arm in the traditional Rohirrim way. "Fare you well, friend."

Sam found herself next to Lothiriel. "This is still really weird," she said.

Lothiriel nodded. "Perhaps not so strange if we simply think of ourselves as twin sisters?"

Sam considered for a moment. "I've never had a sister."

"Neither have I," Lothiriel smiled hopefully. "I think I would like to have one though."

"Me too," Sam agreed. She suddenly found herself being bear hugged. Lothiriel might be her clone, but she was definitely her own woman. As they broke apart, Sam glanced at the 'gate and hesitated before saying. "There is just one thing."

"Yes?" Lothiriel asked.

Heat flooded into Sam's cheeks and she leaned closer to her newly adopted sister so she could whisper in her ear.

"I understand," Lothiriel said when she'd done. "One moment."

Feeling extremely foolish, Sam watched as Lothiriel gently caught Eomer's hand and drew him to one side. Oh God, what on earth would he think? She looked away as Lothiriel began to talk to him, regretting her impulsiveness.

"Carter, are you coming?" the colonel called as the team moved towards the'gate.

"Yes, sir," she replied. Perhaps she could escape through the 'gate if she was quick enough. She took three steps forward and was intercepted by Eomer. He looked vaguely amused, which she took to be a good sign, but she couldn't help but start to babble in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have asked." She didn't get to finish the sentence because his hands were suddenly cupping her cheeks. Gently he drew her face towards his and then kissed her gently on the lips.

Great! Fine! She'd got what she'd asked for. Now she could leave and put this whole embarrassing incident out of her mind. Only she couldn't because Eomer hadn't released her. Pulling in a ragged breath she caught the pleasant tang of horse that formed a subtle undertone to the darker aroma of leather and the heady muskiness that was pure Rohirrim male. And then she lost the capacity to analyse her physical senses as strong muscular arms wrapped round her and warm moist lips pressed against her own. Eomer was clearly intent on ensuring that her request for a kiss was fulfilled in the most mind-shattering, hormone-rushing manner possible.

When he finally released her, she wasn't at all sure her trembling knees would be capable of carrying her through the Stargate. Catching her breath, she found he was smiling at her - a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

"Do I live up to the fantasy?" he asked softly.

"Oh yes," she finally managed to say. She realised she was still crushed against his chest, and it took virtually all of her willpower to pull herself together and step away. Tugging unnecessarily at the hem of her jacket, she forced her brain cells to realign into something vaguely resembling human intelligence. With one last pang of regret for what might have been, she set her thoughts on practicalities. "Unfortunately, I belong on the other side of that Stargate. And you - well, you belong with Lothiriel." She glanced over at Lothiriel and was relieved to see that her clone was apparently completely at ease with the display she'd just witnessed.

Stepping away from Eomer, she gave Lothiriel a hug. "Thank you," she said. "You're one very lucky woman."

"I have you to thank for that," Lothiriel answered graciously, returning the hug with warmth.

"Carter, are you coming or what?" the colonel called impatiently from the edge of the event horizon. Sam glanced over and realised Daniel and Teal'c had already gone.

"Real life calls," she observed wryly.

And with a contented sigh, she followed her team through the Stargate.

© March 2004 Disclaimer: MGM owns Jack, Daniel, Sam and Teal'c. New Line has a claim on Eomer, Wormtongue and Firefoot. Someone, somewhere must own Lothiriel and all the orcs. The stableboys belong to me<g>
Author notes: This may seem like a crossover fic, but it isn't really - at least not in the conventional sense.