Parts 1 & 2 Here, Part 3 Here
(Author's Note: This fanfic takes place sometime during Season 7 of the show -- just in case anyone didn't want any spoilers. Not that they're huge. Well, maybe.... You've been warned. ^_^ As always, constructive criticism is welcome.)
(a Stargate SG-1 FanFic)
Shortly before updating Stargate Command on the situation, the team discovered that their radios weren’t working. After some quick diagnostics by Sam, they concluded that something near the village was causing electromagnetic interference. Once in proximity to the Stargate their radios seemed to work fine. Clear that there was no danger, they settled in for a meal in one of the common buildings, along with a few of the town elders, the Abaris, and a few of his eldest children—with a noticeably absent Elpis.
“So is it just me,” Jack murmured to the others at the dinner table as the meal was ending, “or is ‘one of these things not like the other’?” His eyes rolled a little, his last words trailing in a sing-song voice.
The Abaris looked in SG-1’s direction and called out to them, down the long table. “What was that you said, Colonel?”
Jack looked around at his team, but Daniel jumped in before the question could be answered.
“Abaris, one of your daughters mentioned drawings. Could I see them, possibly?” He looked around at the team. “It might help us understand a little bit more about what you believe me to be.”
“Of course, Daniel. They are housed in our simple museum but one building over.”
The Abaris led SG-1 next door, and they made their way through large rooms housing paintings and drawings, with a few stone sculptures and artifacts dug up through the years. Normally Daniel would have been interested in these, but he held close to the Abaris, intent upon seeing these drawings that supposedly depicted him.
“After the first drawings, we had many people attempt to copy the likeness, and so we put the small collection of the best likenesses in this small room.” He stepped into a side room, leading them to a main wall that stood in the middle of the room. Hung cautiously without frames and drawn on rough-hewn, canvas-like pages, were striking likenesses of Daniel.
Daniel stared at the images. Logically, he knew this couldn’t be possible. There was no way that some woman he didn’t even know, light years away from home, could possibly know him, much less what he looked like. But in front of these images his heart told him differently. Soon after they were mentioned as existing, he knew it had to be true. Her warm emerald eyes had held recognition, and he knew that it was his lack that caused her to turn away. She knew him. But how?
“It is indeed puzzling, Daniel Jackson,” Teal’c answered.
Daniel did a double-take and looked at Teal’c, finally realizing that he had spoken his question out loud.
Jack tapped on the wall, near the pictures. “Well, the clothes are different,” he said, trying to be helpful in pointing out discrepancies.
In the portraits it was hard to distinguish, but in the few full-bodied images, the Daniel in the pictures was shown wearing clothing similar to the locals of this town.
“And the glasses are missing,” Sam pointed out.
Daniel crinkled his nose and merely nodded.
“Who drew these,” she asked, turning to the Abaris.
“These were the first, and were drawn by Elpis herself.” He smiled. “She is quite talented.”
Almost as if he hadn’t heard the previous few comments, Daniel turned to them, eyes wide and throwing his hands out to the drawings. “Besides the fact that someone had a dream that had someone that looks like me in them, and they put that likeness to paper, why the shrine at the Stargate? Why the copies of the initial likeness? Why a whole wing dedicated to this Dream Giver! What makes him more than a dream?”
Sam, Jack and Teal’c looked at each other, then to the Abaris. With drooping brows, the Abaris looked softly at Daniel.
“While we call you, uh, him,” he said, pointing to the drawings, “the Dream Giver, it is only because he always appeared in dreams. Elpis claims that he spoke with her, almost as if he were with her. He helped her guide our village. He helped explain cures to simple ailments, helped us with ways of going about our daily lives in this village, and taught us how to guard against any who would come to us through the Chapa’ai. It was as if he were our protector.”
Daniel’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes briefly, running both hands through his hair. “I need some air,” he murmured, making his way through the simple maze of halls and rooms.
Stepping outside, he let his eyelids slide to close and took a deep breath of the cool evening air, exposing his face to the sky. Slowly opening his eyes, his peripheral vision caught the last vestiges of light on one side, giving way to the inky night sky, which gently took twinkling stars into its embrace. He blinked. He was used to unfamiliar stars after traveling to so many planets, but he was surprised as he looked at these. These seemed vaguely familiar. He shook his head, took another deep breath, and started walking slowly around the village. Very few people were out—most could be heard in their homes, enjoying their evening meal.
Almost to the edge of the town, he was about to turn around and go back, when he heard singing. It was hard to make out at first, amidst the gentle coo of birds settling down for the night, and the evening sounds of crickets and cicadas floating through the night air. He walked toward one of the larger homes on the outskirts of the village, the song becoming louder, and clearer. He knew that song! Well, perhaps not the words—those eluded him—but the melody was quite familiar. The house sat right before a downhill slope, and at the back a large garden was surrounded by a stone half wall, with an impressive wrought-iron gate. In the middle of the garden, built up on more stone, was a gazebo that looked out to the plain and the mountains beyond. And in the gazebo, upon a marble bench and surrounded by ensconced candles, sat Elpis singing the hauntingly intimate tune.
He watched her from beyond the gate, transfixed upon her gentle song, filled with a heartbreaking hope, sung in a clear soprano. His breath caught as her face turned slightly toward him and he saw tears on her cheeks glistening in the candlelight’s glow. His jaw clenched slightly as he watched her sorrow from the shadows. In the darkness he whispered, “Who are you?”
Her fingers wiped at her tears as her song trailed off.
Daniel paused for a moment and turned silently to go.
“I am Elpis,” her voice chided softly, gently carried to him.
He turned back to the gate, sure that she didn’t mean to speak to him.
“But the question is,” she continued, as she rose and approached the gate, flickers of candlelight catching the green in her eyes like fireflies, “who are you?”