Darkness started to fade as he entered the ancient temple, the Stones towering above inspiring an awe that made him feel almost insignificant. The first gleam of the rising sun touched the top of the Heel Stone and shadows started to stretch towards the massive Henge: it was the time of the Solstice.

A time of great change was ahead of them. It had been foretold that a battle between Good and Evil was about to begin in this sacred place: a battle between Men and Gods with freedom as the ultimate prize.

The roar of the battle being fought between men and Jaffa could be heard faintly in the distance; Celts, Picts and Saxons* fought side by side against the en-slavers of their peoples. Word of the Great Uprising had arrived a short time ago and had been joyously received by all of the oppressed peoples of the Islands. The word would continue to be spread by Messengers, being sent out by foot, horse and coracle to the far reaches.

Boots crunched on the rocks behind him, and Artos twisted out of the way as he caught the glint of light from the corner of his eye. The rising sun reflecting off the chain mail had just saved his life, providing the impetus he needed to escape the attack.

The long blade flashed by him to impact with a clang against one of the giant Triuthons standing in the centre of the stone circle. The tall form of his opponent swung around and leapt forward in an effort to skewer the Celt.

Artos spun away from the thrust of his assailant’s blade, lifting Calladwych to parry the blow and then reverse the swing to try and cut the legs from under his enemy.

Mordred jumped back away from the now prepared man, his surprise attack having failed. A flicker of emotion passed over his face as the possibility of failure prickled against the edge of his psyche; the one thing he dared not do was fail his God.

The Jaffa brandished his sword and beckoned Artos towards him, inviting his attack. Artos studied the man before him, trying to see the person Mordred had been before foul gods laid their hands on him, before he’d been corrupted and twisted into this new form.

The War Lord saw no sign that what had been, could ever be again and strode forward to engage the Jaffa in battle.

Artos glided forward, his feet stepping surely over the broken rubble of the old temple. He focused completely on the fight ahead of him and the now alien figure of his sister’s son.

Swords clashed as the fight became a battle of strength and endurance, the War Lord caught Mordred’s sword with his own and tried to force it down against one of the blue stones that seemed to abound within the circle. The Jaffa threw himself forward, striking out at Artos with his armoured fist, the force of the impact allowing him to withdraw his sword from between the blue stone and Calladwych.

Artos recoiled from the mailed encounter, shaking his head to resettle his helmet, then charging forward, started to drive Mordred back away from the centre of the circle.

Artos’s foot came down on a small pebble that turned under his heel as he lunged forward, seeking a hole in Mordred’s defences. He reeled, staggering in an attempt to regain his balance. He saw Mordred jump forward taking advantage of his stumble; Artos desperately parried the blade away from his body with Calladwych and felt a biting pain in his side.

Mordred swung his sword again with a shout of success and Artos lurched back, favouring his side, backing away slowly and keeping his blade ready in front of him.

He parried quickly as Mordred lunged at him and dodged around an upright Sarsen stone, hoping to buy himself some time to recover from the shock and pain of the wound in his side

Mordred came around the side of the stone swinging his blade, forcing Artos back towards one of the huge stones at the centre of the Henge. The sun glinted off the raised gold symbol in the middle of the Jaffa’s forehead, almost distracting Artos as he parried the sword again.

"Mordred, you know this is useless. Calladywch will never serve your Master, Mithra," Artos said, breathing heavily.

"No, the sword will be destroyed, but the scabbard will heal anyone who holds it," Mordred grunted.

"You will never lay your foul hands on either of them, for there is a protection laid upon both the sword and the scabbard," Artos replied.

Mordred’s sword slipped down Artos’s blade to be halted by the cross-guard and Calladywch seemed to take on a life of it’s own, trying to twist the blade from the enemy’s hands.

Mordred jumped back away from Artos, disengaging from the trap and in almost the same move thrust his sword forward and into the Celt’s body.

The War Lord dropped to the ground, clutching at the blade that was embedded in his stomach and felt the slithering pain as Mordred pulled the sword from his body.

He watched as the Jaffa dropped his own sword and bent over to pick up Calladwych, then saw the weapon glow with a white heat that burned until Mordred dropped the enchanted blade with a cry of pain.

Artos smiled as he saw Mordred conceal the ruin that used to be a hand inside his armour and blessed the true gods for the sight of his enemy’s defeat and the knowledge that the false gods would never be able to use his blade or its hidden scabbard.

The scabbard was even more powerful than the sword, for Calladwych was a weapon that could only take life, not restore it. He prayed that the time would come when the hidden scabbard would be of great aid in the fight against the false gods.

But it was a great comfort that the scabbard would not fall into the hands of the Enemy Gods.

The gathering darkness spiralled in and he peered through a tunnel into a dark haired woman’s face. Her word’s seemed to be coming from a great distance and were now starting to make sense to him...

"Colonel, don’t move, we need to check you out first," Dr. Janet Fraiser said, smiling anxiously down at the prostrate form of the Colonel.

Jack peered myopically around the room, trying to figure out what exactly had happened to put him flat on his back in the medical bay. The sight of Daniel Jackson standing against the wall of the infirmary prompted a memory of Daniel coming into the Briefing Room carrying a pile of books.

Daniel Jackson bustled into the Briefing Room, clutching a large pile of books. As he sat down beside O’Neill he dumped the lot on the table in front of him.

General Hammond studied the stack of books that almost obscured sight of the Archaeologist. "Well, Doctor Jackson can I assume that from the amount of books you’ve brought with you, that you may have found some information concerning the present situation?" Hammond queried, trying not to smile at the face Jack O’Neill was pulling at the sight of so many books in one place.

Daniel looked up over the top of his glasses, then slowly pushed them up the bridge of his nose. "You could say that. I had no idea there was so little un-conflicting information about a sword," Daniel spoke, giving a glare at the tilting stack of books in front of him.

"Ya think!!" O’Neill muttered under his breath before reaching over to straighten the toppling tower of books.

"Go on, son," Hammond said, giving O’Neill a glare that just said ‘behave’.

"I could find volumes of myths about a sword called Excalibur, but little about one called Calladwych. There is a Welsh legend that seems to link the sword to a Celtic War Lord and it mentioned that the sheath…" Daniel broke off as Jack threw his pen at him.

"Scabbard!" O’Neill interrupted.

"Scabbard… was even more powerful." Daniel said, turning to glare at O’Neill for attempting to derail his explanation.

"What was the… scabbard supposed to do?" Carter asked, trying to fit a word in edgewise between the smirk and the glare of her colleagues.

"Heal…" Jack spoke before Daniel could say anything.

"Colonel, how do you know that this scabbard can heal?" General Hammond broke in before the indignant archaeologist could say anything.

O’Neill looked up at the General and shrugged. "No idea, Sir, it just seemed to come into my head." he said, looking confused.

Daniel studied O’Neill and then tried something sneaky while he was distracted. "Jack, where’s the scabbard?"

O’Neill looked at Daniel and opened his mouth to answer, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped like a stone.

"Hey, Daniel, you remember you asked me where the scabbard was?" Jack mumbled sleepily from where he lay on the bed in the infirmary.

Daniel straightened up and stepped away from the wall, the rest of the team gathering around as Jack spoke.

"Yes, Jack." Daniel said feeling guilty at causing O’Neill’s collapse.

"Well, I remember where I left it… Stonehenge!" O’Neill said, turning over to go back to sleep and the image of Daniel in speechless mode accompanied him into a deep and restful sleep.

The End (so far!)

*Author’s Note.

For those of you who may be closet archaeologists, I know the Saxons didn’t invade Britain until about 700 B.C. so please consider this story extremely A.U…. by about 5,000 years! (if Daniel’s right that is!!)