Stories by
Danielle
"I have been dead, I have been alive,
I am Taliesin."
~ from "I am Taliesin" by Anonymous
as found in the
Oxford Book of Welsh Verse in English
Type: drama, AU
Rating: PG
Warnings: language
Spoilers: takes place in Season Ten, about a month after The Shroud. References Uninvited, The Fourth Horseman, and any Season 9-10 episodes that mention the King Arthur legend.
Length: about 14,000 words
Author’s Note: I relied on online translation dictionaries for the foreign phrases. I can’t guarantee their accuracy and apologize if I’ve gotten them wrong. For the most part, I translate the phrase to English somewhere in proximity to the phrase’s use. The only one I didn’t translate is the Latin phrase “meus Deus,” which means “my God.”
Incomplete Circle
The Chronicles of Galahad #3
Hank Landry studied the layout of his new office and tried to decide if he liked the desk where it was. Better to decide now before he emptied the boxes stacked around the room. Then he smiled to himself as he realized that he’d wondered the same thing about the desk when he’d moved into Jack’s office at the SGC two years ago. Seems he and Jack were getting into a bad habit of trading offices. Landry turned to the window to catch a glimpse of Washington DC’s skyline. Couldn’t complain about the view, that’s for sure. Considering the SGC didn’t even have a view, this one rated as a definite perk to the job.
He didn’t regret his decision to take over Jack’s job in Homeworld Security. In the few short weeks since Daniel Jackson’s transformation, Landry had watched the SG-1 members, both new and old, gravitate around their former archaeologist as if he were the sun to their solar system. It would have torn them apart for Jack to return to Washington DC, taking Daniel with him, and as long as the Ori battleships rampaged through the galaxy, Earth needed SG-1 completely focused on their jobs. It had taken little effort to convince the Joint Chiefs that Jack should resume his old post as commander of the SGC while Landry took over the position at Homeworld Security.
“General?”
He turned and smiled at the hesitant secretary standing in his doorway. “Marge, isn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes. “Marcia, sir. Only General O’Neill calls me ‘Marge.’ Because of the Simpsons. Then it sorta stuck because he could never remember my real name after calling me ‘Marge’ a few times.”
He snorted. “That sounds like Jack. What can I do for you, Marcia?”
“I wanted to let you know that the intercom won’t be repaired until Wednesday, so I’ll be delivering your messages in person and you’ll have to find some way to tell me if you need anything.”
“I’m sure we can make it work. I’ve been told that I’m quite good at yelling through doors.”
She shared his humor with a quick grin. “Also, your guest is here.”
“Is he now?” Landry let his smile sharpen. This particular guest had been making quite the nuisance of himself. Landry was looking forward to taking the man down a few notches, no matter how well-connected he was. “Please, show him in.”
Logan Carmichael, the man who stepped into Landry’s office a few minutes later, was not what Landry had been picturing in his mind. He’d expected someone like Doctor Jackson, a bundle of energy tightly contained by absentminded study but slipping out in moments of passionate conviction. Instead, when Carmichael’s gaze swept over the office and Landry himself in instant assessment, Landry was reminded of Jack. There was a confidence to the man, a comfort in his own body. He wore dress shoes, light gray slacks, and a sweater vest checkered in gray and light blue. The collar of the white shirt beneath was unbuttoned, and the sleeves were rolled up to the elbows. On anyone else, the elegance would have looked pretentious, but Carmichael managed to make it look casual.
“Lord Carmichael.” Landry waved toward the chair in front of his desk.
“Logan, please. I rarely use my title in the States.” Carmichael smiled pleasantly, taking the offered chair. His British accent was barely noticeable. “I’m afraid your secretary didn’t give your name. Are you General Jack O’Neill, by chance?”
“I’m not,” Landry said shortly. He sat at his desk and opened the file on Logan Carmichael. In the three days since Carmichael had arrived and begun pestering his way up the chain of command, security had managed to collect a fair amount of data.
“Ah.” Carmichael was silent a moment, as if waiting for Landry to introduce himself. When he didn’t, Carmichael asked diffidently, “And was it explained to you that I need to speak to General O’Neill?”
“He’s unavailable. Why don’t you talk to me instead?”
“I’m sorry.” Both his tone and his expression were apologetic. “What I have to say concerns the Stargate program. I really must insist on speaking to General O’Neill and only to him. No offense to you, sir.”
Landry read from the file, “Lord Logan Carmichael, currently residing in England. Thirty-nine years old. Only child of Edward and Myra Carmichael. Parents separated when you were four, after which you spent school years with your mother in Nebraska and summers in England with your father. Graduated from Harvard with a Master’s degree in Medieval studies. Never married. Inherited the peerage at your father’s death and returned to your family’s holdings in England three years ago.”
Landry looked up from his reading and was mildly surprised to see amusement tugging at Carmichael’s lips.
“Is it supposed to worry me that you know my life history? I’m afraid I’m not the least bit intimidated. No doubt you discovered all the skeletons in my closet. However, I’m also sure you found nothing that suggests I have a vendetta against the American government. I simply need to talk to General O’Neill. Or, failing that, someone from SG-1.”
Landry frowned. From all reports, Carmichael’s attempts to reach Jack had been interspersed with comments like that. The man was quite good at dropping provocative names—words like “Stargate” and the names of SG-1—but never with enough information to tell if he actually knew anything. And if he did know something, the only way he could have learned it was through his friendship with Doctor Jackson, which had intensified over the last year. Landry remembered that while he and the rest of SG-1 were vacationing at Jack’s cabin, Daniel had been in England, researching Merlin and Camelot in Carmichael’s extensive library; after that time, he’d often called Carmichael to follow up on his research. However, it was hard to imagine Doctor Jackson as the source of Carmichael’s knowledge. To hear it from Jack, even torture couldn’t pry a secret out of Daniel’s lips, something the Goa’uld and a few other alien races had empirically tested.
Before Landry could to ponder further, Marcia tapped on the door and opened it wide enough to poke her head around it. “General Landry? I’m sorry to interrupt. The President has rescheduled your meeting this afternoon from 1600 to 1500.”
“Thank you, Marcia.”
The secretary withdrew. Landry made a note in his schedule book and turned his attention back to Carmichael. Carmichael’s hand had pushed aside the sweater vest to reach into the pocket of his shirt and was withdrawing a slip of paper. The man unfolded the paper and perused a list of names. He looked up, his eyes suddenly alight with expectancy.
“General Landry? Hank Landry?”
Landry couldn’t see any reason to deny it, though he remained suspicious as he confirmed his name.
“Finally,” Carmichael said with a relieved sigh. “A moment, if you please, sir.”
He bent at the waist. Landry rose from his desk chair far enough to watch as Carmichael pushed up the leg of his slacks and lowered a high-quality dress sock to reveal an envelope taped around his ankle. Carmichael carefully peeled the tape away and readjusted his clothes. He sat up, holding the envelope and gazing at it almost reverently. Landry also sat back and lifted an eyebrow as he waited for an explanation.
“About a week ago, a letter came from Daniel,” Carmichael said. “A good-bye letter that he’d written in case of his death and asked a friend to mail for him.”
Landry nodded, having received a similar letter. Doctor Jackson had written close to two dozen of them, a pre-emptive move to give closure to his friends if some misfortune kept him from saying farewell. Jack had passed out the letters after Merlin had transformed Daniel into a child, saving his life but erasing the majority of his adult memories.
“I’ve lost many friends, but Daniel… Ah, I’m afraid I can’t explain it. Daniel is different.” Carmichael looked up, and in the depth of sorrow in the man’s eyes, Landry saw the resemblance to Doctor Jackson that he’d expected from the first. Like Daniel, Carmichael had the eyes of an old soul, the look of someone who was much wiser than his years. “He gave me instructions so I could deliver this letter to someone he trusted. Your name is on that list.”
Carmichael reached out, offering the envelope. Landry took it reluctantly. The last letter from Daniel had managed to wring several tears out of him. Doctor Jackson definitely had a knack with words. Landry unsealed the envelope, slid out a single page with the SGC letterhead, and read:
Dear Jack,
If you’re reading this, then I’m dead or otherwise incapacitated and you’re still fighting the Ori. If you’re not Jack, then it’s possible something happened to him as well. Either way, you’re someone I trust to do the right thing.
The bearer of this letter is Logan Carmichael. He’s a good friend, but more importantly, he’s an expert on the Arthurian legends. You need someone in the fight against the Ori who knows that stuff, and Logan is your best bet. I’ve learned as much about Camelot from him as I’ve read in books.
If you read my letters, Jack, then you know Logan is someone from “outside” that I’ve suggested as a possible replacement for me. Since Logan would be an asset to the program anyway, I’ve already started the process and submitted a proposal for the SGC to hire him. There should be a file on my computer about Logan’s qualifications; ask Sam to find it. She did the background check already. He’s clean.
I’ve given Logan names and enough information about the program that he can work his way to someone I trust, knowing you’ll get him to the SGC. He doesn’t know much, though, so please bring him up to speed as soon as you can. Believe me, he can help.
Doctor Daniel Jackson
Landry set the letter aside. He recalled both the proposal and his intention to discuss it with Daniel. Then he’d forgotten it during Vala’s kidnapping. A few weeks later, Daniel himself had been captured. He glanced up to see Carmichael studying him curiously.
“Ever been to Colorado, Lord Carmichael?” Landry asked. Without waiting for an answer, he bellowed, “Marcia!”
Jack had always said his secretary Marge could work miracles. Landry was about to find out if she could get someone to Colorado before the end of the day.
#
Logan Carmichael:
After the interminable days of working my way into Washington’s highest echelons, I was rather surprised at how quickly I was transferred to a jet, flown to Colorado, and escorted to Cheyenne Mountain to meet General Jack O’Neill. It was a relief to know I was finally nearing the end of this seemingly impossible quest on which Daniel had sent me. Not for the first time, I wondered what Daniel did for the military and how it could possibly explain his interest in the Arthurian legends. I also marveled at the power of the few words Daniel had given me. Every time I threw out a word like “SG-1” or “Stargate” or one of the trusted names on Daniel’s list, I found myself propelled from lower-ranked employees into the charge of their superiors until I had landed in General Landry’s office. I began to realize why Daniel had always answered “I can’t talk about it” whenever I pressed him for details about his work.
I couldn’t help shifting nervously as the elevator descended and the numbers continued to increase. What could possibly be this far underground? Weapons were an option, though I couldn’t imagine Daniel, with his love of peace, in support of a military operation. The feeling of uncertainty was unsettling. Lifetimes of experience meant very little could surprise me.
“Where are we going?” I asked my Air Force escort. That was another puzzle. Why did the Air Force need an underground base? Shouldn’t they be flying planes…in the air?
“Briefing room,” the escort answered succinctly.
“Ah.” After a pause, I tried for more information. “I’m supposed to meet General O’Neill. What’s he like?”
“I couldn’t say, sir.” The escort glanced sidelong at me, and his lips twitched. I suspected that “lamb to the slaughter” was the thought that crossed his mind. My clothing choices were calculated to produce that reaction. No one in the military was threatened by a man in slacks, a sweater vest, and dress shoes.
I hoped Jack would feel the same way, but I had my doubts. According to Daniel, nothing got past Jack. People underestimated Jack because he acted the fool, but his powers of observation and analysis were quick, accurate, and decisive. I would need to be very careful around him.
With a pang of grief, I realized how much Daniel had shaped my thoughts about Jack. I’d heard so many stories of Jack that I didn’t even think of him as “General O’Neill,” and although we’d never met, I felt as if I already knew him.
The elevator finally slid to a stop. I followed my escort to a room dominated by a large table. Heavy, gray blast doors covered the windows along one wall, and I wondered what lay beyond that had to be hidden from view. After telling me to wait, the escort stationed himself just outside the door we’d entered. Another door appeared to lead to an office, but I remained where I was, so as not to intrude on what sounded like a phone conversation.
My wait wasn’t long. Within minutes, I heard the person in the office hang up the phone with a muttered curse. A chair squeaked, footsteps approached. I turned to face the office.
I expected Jack. I didn’t expect my reaction.
When Jack appeared in the doorway, a file in hand, I felt the oldest part of myself rise up and take notice. That part usually stayed tucked in the back of my mind, offering sage advice without intruding on my life. It had never taken control of my body; I hadn’t even realized that it could. Before I knew what was happening, though, I had bent to one knee, my head bowed, and words I never would have uttered were falling eagerly from my lips.
“My Lord Arthur.”
I looked up, wondering if the surge of devotion was as evident on my face as it was in my voice. Above me, Arthur—Jack, I correctly fiercely—stared at me with a mixture of confusion and surprise.
“It’s General Jack O’Neill,” he said—meus Deus, he even sounded like Arthur!—and the suspicion that I’d hoped not to elicit flared in his eyes. “I thought you were the lord.”
I stood shakily, slapping down the part of myself that protested. It left me off-balance; I’d never felt a disconnect within my mind until that moment.
“Your pardon, if you please, General. I thought I recognized—er, you look like someone I know—knew,” I fumbled through the explanation.
“Hmm.” Jack motioned to the table beside us. “Have a seat, Lord Carmichael.”
“Logan is fine, sir.”
Although he rightfully stood beside the chair at the head of the table, he waited for me to sit first. I had to force my knees to cooperate, ignoring my inner objection that it wasn’t proper for me to be seated before Arthur. Jack, I reminded myself again. I settled into the chair but didn’t relax until Arth—Jack had sat down as well.
“So, Logan, General Landry tells me you’ve been amazingly stubborn about talking to me. I’m flattered.”
“The honor is mine, my--” I said. I clamped my lips over the “my lord” that I felt prompted to add. With the oldest part of my mind engaged, the ancient formalities came easily, and I had to concentrate to remember the more relaxed norms of modern day.
Jack’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “Tell me something about yourself. Something I wouldn’t learn from this.”
He tapped the file he’d set on the table. I had the sudden urge to admit that I knew everything about him. I knew that he commanded his people’s trust because he trusted them in return. I knew he could be charming or uncompromising, depending on the situation. I knew he preferred to lead from the front lines. I knew all this, not because of Daniel’s stories, but because I had known Arthur in another lifetime, and Arthur was so very, very present in Jack that it would have been impossible for Jack to completely escape Arthur’s influence.
My desire to confess was thwarted by the arrival of a child. The toddler sprinted past my escort, through the doorway, and straight to Jack, who looked not the least bit surprised to see a child running through a military base.
“Daddy! Me want ice cweem!”
“You always want ice cream.” Jack smiled indulgently at the boy leaning against his leg. “Where’s Carter? She’s supposed to be keeping an eye on you.”
“Sam coming. Her is talking to Cam, but dem too slow. I runned more fastest and comed see you. Lub you, Daddy. Want ice cweem.”
Jack ruffled the boy’s blond hair. “I love you too. But you’ll have to get ice cream with Carter because I’m in a meeting right now.”
Jack tipped his head in my direction. The boy turned, noticing me for the first time. Big blue eyes widened as if he recognized me. He straightened and stepped closer.
“Cyfarchion, Taliesin, Ben Chan Beirdd. Croeso.” The bell-like voice lilted slowly but precisely over the syllables.
The part of myself that was Taliesin stirred in astonished delight, providing an instant translation: “Greetings, Taliesin, Chief of Bards. Welcome.” Taliesin had never been so directly addressed, not in the many lifetimes since his true death. And the boy had spoken Taliesin’s native Welsh in the old speech, a dialect which had altered over the years and was no longer spoken.
Thrilled to hear the old speech, I asked the boy his name. “Beth yw eich enw?”
“Fy enw i yw Sir Galahad, Farchog chan’r Chwmpasa Bord.”
His answer stunned me. Afraid I had misinterpreted, I tried translating the sentence into English: “My name is Sir Galahad, Knight of the Round Table.” Even the translation left me shaken.
Impossible. That would mean…
“Who is this?!” I asked, more harshly than intended.
Reacting to my curt tone, Jack scooped the boy protectively into his arms. His eyes glinted a warning, but his voice was pleasant as he replied, “This is Doctor Jackson’s son, Daniel Junior.”
“Daniel didn’t have a son.”
“Came as a shock to us too. You coulda knocked Daniel over with a feather when he found out.” Jack grinned, but his eyes hardened, threatening me not to push it. Then the grin slipped away as he added, “Daniel was bringing his wife and son back here when they were all in the accident that killed Daniel and Sha’re.”
Taliesin insisted that the boy could not be Galahad and Daniel’s son. Since the child was clearly Galahad… My mind floundered. I could not grasp the paradox that Taliesin was suggesting.
“There you are,” Jack said, looking past me.
I turned, and suddenly I sat frozen, spellbound by a flood of memories. The woman who had entered the room was the warrior princess of Arthur’s court, who had so often struggled to find her femininity in a world populated by male knights. The man who accompanied her was the last and youngest to join Arthur. I remembered him as a lad whose impulsive behavior sometimes led to foolish acts until bravery and determination finally tempered the recklessness.
“Guinevere,” I breathed. “Percival.”
“Hey, isn’t that what Mer--” Percival started, only to be silenced by Guinevere’s quelling look.
When Percival fell quiet, she glanced to Arthur for instructions. “Sir?”
“Daddy. Daddy.” Galahad tugged at Arthur’s shirt, demanding attention.
“Not now, Daniel.”
“Yes, now, Daddy. Dese intortant fings me gotta tell you,” Daniel/Galahad said solemnly. “Re-nemmer dat poem. You sayed you not forget me, Jack.”
An emotion I couldn’t decipher passed over Jack/Arthur’s face. His gaze sharpened as he studied Daniel’s face. “I’m listening, Daniel.”
“You gotta tell Teek and Vala to come have a briefing wif us. And you gotta show Taliesin da Stargate now.”
“Who?”
Daniel twisted and pointed at me. “Him, Daddy. Show dat man.”
Jack hesitated only a moment. Then, carrying Daniel on his hip, he strode to the nearest phone, picked it up, and instructed someone named Walter to locate Teal’c and Vala and to open the blast doors. While I was puzzling over the incongruity of a general obeying a toddler’s orders, the blast doors shuddered away. Jack gestured me to the windows. I rose, stepped forward, and stared at the huge stone circle in the room below. I didn’t recognize it until I reached deeply into my earliest memories.
“Meus Deus! Astria porta!”
Elation vibrated inside my head. Memories I’d never had reason to access opened to me. A portal to the stars. Other planets. The Holy Grail. Beings of light and energy. A far-off peril. A dangerous plan. The pictures flooded through my mind, past and present colliding with a ferocity I had never imagined possible, all overlaid by Taliesin’s excitement. Once again feeling the disconnect with my own mind, I cried out and squeezed my eyes shut against the barrage of memory.
With an effort of will, I finally managed to regain control. I opened my eyes to realize someone held my elbow, steadying me. Without the support, I surely would have fallen. I glanced to my right.
“Thank you.” I paused, realizing that I didn’t know the man’s name. “Your name isn’t really Percival, is it?”
“Lieutenant-Colonel Cameron Mitchell,” the man said with a hint of a Southern drawl that definitely didn’t belong to Percival. The boyish grin, though, was still Percival’s. “How about I help you to a chair?”
“Ah, yes. Excellent suggestion.” My legs trembled as he guided me to the table. I sank gratefully to my chair. He stepped back, and Guinevere took his place, offering me a glass of water. I accepted it with both hands to keep from spilling. “I thank you, my lady.”
A smile played over her lips as she introduced herself, “Lieutenant-Colonel Samantha Carter. Please, call me Sam.”
I sipped at the water and watched as the others seated themselves. Cameron to my left, Sam across from me, and Jack at the head of the table to my right. The boy waited quietly in Jack’s lap. Unlike any toddler I’d ever known, he sat still, focused on the adults around him instead of fidgeting for attention or entertainment. I couldn’t help staring at him as I tried to deal with the revelation Taliesin had given me earlier. Finally I set the glass down.
“I don’t understand what’s happening here,” I said.
Jack raised an eyebrow. “And yet, somehow you appear to know more than you should. General Landry seemed to think you had only a few names without much intel.”
“You called the Stargate an astria porta. Do you know what that means?” Sam asked. “Do you understand what it does?”
I dismissed her questions with a wave of my hand. “Yes, yes. Portal to the stars. Travel to other planets. That’s hardly my most pressing concern.”
“Funny. It’s usually the first thing people flip out about,” Cameron said.
I said nothing, but I was thinking how I could hardly be considered an ordinary person. The vast storehouse of knowledge that I had accumulated over generations of lifetimes was always available to me, though I tended to ignore most of it unless I needed the information. Until now, it hadn’t been important for me to know about life on other planets, but because it was commonplace to Taliesin, I found it easy to accept now that I did know. However, for the people gathered around the table to understand that, I would have to explain about Taliesin, a secret I had kept all my life.
Stalling while I tried to decide how much to reveal, I took another drink. I almost choked a moment later when I recognized the two people who joined us next. The dark-skinned man was Bedwyr, a warrior of honor who had betrayed his first lord, the evil Meleagant, to serve Arthur instead. I noticed the serpent lord’s gold mark on the man’s forehead, so very similar to Meleagant’s standard, and wondered if this man had left Meleagant to once again become Arthur’s most loyal knight. The woman with the impish grin was Nimue the Seductress. Merlin had tamed her wild nature by understanding her desperate need for affection and acceptance and offering her a home in Camelot. The part of me that was Taliesin marveled that so many of my former companions were gathered in one place.
“Teal’c, Vala, this is Lord Logan Carmichael,” Jack introduced. “He was just about to explain to us what he knows about the Stargate.”
Vala slid into the chair beside Sam and smiled playfully. “Oh, I know who you are! Daniel went to study with you because you have all those lovely…books.”
She winked. Her inflection on the last word insinuated that books weren’t the only thing Daniel and I had studied. Sam hissed Vala’s name in reproach. Nimue had always been shockingly provocative with her comments. Startled by Taliesin’s amused remembrance, I chuckled. I had wondered how much the personalities of the past influenced present behaviors, and it seemed obvious that, like Arthur with Jack, Nimue’s personality had certainly affected Vala.
“Logan Carmichael,” Teal’c said formally, inclining his head to me before he settled in the chair beside Vala. “Daniel Jackson spoke of you with great respect.”
I looked around the table, committing their newer names to memory, and realized that these were the people on Daniel’s list. Only the two generals, Landry and Hammond, were missing. Daniel had trusted these people.
At the thought of Daniel, I turned to stare again at the boy on Jack’s lap. The boy met my gaze gravely, and I pleaded, “Who are you?”
Jack frowned, and his arm tightened around the boy’s waist. “I told you already. This is Daniel’s son.”
Jack’s don’t-argue-with-me tone of command was so reminiscent of Arthur’s that part of me quailed in protest when I persisted, “No, he’s not. That’s what I don’t understand about all this. I don’t know how, but that,” I pointed to the boy, “is Daniel.”