Notes: You'll see lots of dialogue from the original episodes, as well as a missing scene I watched. If you recognize the situations and the dialogue, I'm not trying to steal it and claim it as my own. x)

Prologue

"Oma's here, watching me." Daniel closed his eyes with a grim smile of concentration, and Jack glanced around briefly as though he could see the...woman? before resettling on his ascended friend.

"And?" he prompted with a sinking feeling. Daniel had been so adamantly for the 'rules' up until now, and Jack couldn't help thinking their luck, as well as Daniel's help, was going to run out. However, the younger man proved he was still full of surprises.

"And I don't care anymore," he said firmly, eyes still closed. It seemed to Jack that he wasn't the only one Daniel was speaking to. Daniel opened his eyes then, and incorporeal or not, his eyes blazed with fierce determination, jaw set. "Anubis is one of us."

Jack felt his jaw quite literally drop. "What?!" Daniel was floating around with beings the likes of whom Anubis was part? What the hell did that say for the quality of Daniel's reliability?

Daniel seemed to pick up on Jack's doubts, and he hastened to explain. "At least, partly, in some...bastardized way."

"Daniel, what are you talking about?" Carter asked, calm and un-freaked--Jack's polar opposite, it seemed.

"The Goa'uld Anubis used to be figured out how to ascend," Daniel explained painfully.

"He was believed to have been dead for quite some time."

Daniel acknowledged Teal'c's input with a nod. "The Others didn't want him," he said, cutting Jack off before he even had the chance to get a word in.

"Well that's understandable." Jonas kept his P-90 trained outside the chamber, where Her'ak and his Jaffa had left, and contributed to the discussion for the first time. Jack startled slightly; he'd forgotten Jonas was even with them.

"They sent him back--at least, they tried, but not all the way."

"Then what is he now?" Carter asked, and Jack nodded along with the question. He was wondering the same thing; if Anubis wasn't a real Goa'uld but wasn't a real ascendant, where the hell did that leave him?

"He's..." Daniel sighed, though trying to translate the explanation as best he could, "...still some form of energy; that black mask, it's a shield. It's keeping his form intact. He's stuck somewhere between human existence and ascension."

"Why have the Others allowed him to remain that way?" Teal'c asked disapprovingly. Daniel shook his head helplessly.

"I don't know. Maybe they couldn't exile him completely."

"Maybe they just don't care," Jack jumped in. He'd been at Ba'al's mercy; the Goa'uld had stopped at nothing to get any information Jack had held about Kanan, and Daniel's glowy buddies had done a shit load of nothing to intervene. Daniel winced, but ceded the point.

"Maybe you're right," he agreed surprisingly. "Either way, he's still very powerful."

"That explains his mastery of Ancient technology," Carter said resignedly.

That was news to Jack. He must have missed an episode. "How's that?" He felt uncomfortably out of the loop when Daniel drew up in surprise.

"Jack," he said incredulously, coming forward a few steps in his urgency, "the Others are the Ancients--the original creators of the Stargates." His expression pleaded with Jack to please, just this once, for old time's sake, share his enthusiasm, to actually get it...but Jack was so blown out of the water he could only stare, face still poised in question, and Daniel turned on Carter with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. "You didn't tell him?"

"Uh...no," Carter admitted. She looked like she wanted to say more, but approaching footsteps outisde the chamber drew all their attention. She and Jonas readied their weapons, and Jack felt like he was treading water in slow motion, tossing his badly confused gaze between the approaching enemy and Daniel, who still had all the answers but was taking his sweet time getting to them.

"All right, look; just...bottom line this for me, will ya?" he hurriedly asked his friend.

"There's a fleet of System Lord motherships surrounding Anubis. I warned them about the Eye and what it can do."

"Nice!" Jack said appreciatively.

Daniel, however, didn't share his enthusiasm. "Turn it over," he said rapidly, eyes beseeching Jack to just trust him, even is this was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Jack's jaw worked soundlessly before finally managing to squeak a stunned, flat, "What?" and his hope that Daniel hadn't been corrupted by Anubis-helping ascendants began to writhe in its death throes.

"I made a deal with Anubis," Daniel elaborated, oblivious. "You turn the Eye over, you go free, and the people of Abydos remain unharmed."

"You made a deal with Anubis?!" Jack spat. He couldn't be serious, could he? All that rambling on about the power to destroy everything in his path if he got his greasy Goa'uld mitts on that stupid gem, and now Daniel was just telling him to pass it over like a hot potato? The rest of the explanation went unheard. "I made a deal with Anubis" rang over and over in Jack's head. Sure, ascension may not have made Daniel all-knowing or all-powerful, but surely that Get Nothing Free offer extended to all-ignorance?

"I'll make sure he keeps it," Daniel said firmly. "The Goa'uld are gonna fight it out over the Eye and hopefully destroy each other in the process--but even if they don't, while they're licking their wounds, you're gonna find the lost city of the Ancients."

Again, this was new--and getting way out there in the complicated department. "'Lost city'?" Jack spluttered, still thrown by the fact that Daniel was bargaining with Goa'ulds.

Daniel grimaced and looked over at Carter--Carter again? What the hell else did his 2IC keep from him?! "Didn't tell him about that either, huh?" Daniel asked her, his naturally mellow, calm voice beginning to show the wear and tear of cosmic frustration.

Carter seemed at the end of her rope dealing with apparently arrogant ascended archaeologists, and shot Daniel a withering look, then turned her attention with overextended patience to Jack. "Daniel found a tablet talking about a lost city," she explained redundantly.

"Where there are powerful Ancient weapons capable of giving you a big advantage over Anubis," Daniel cut in, and Jack got the feeling his friend was trying to make the place sound as juicy as possible to Jack's ears so he would comply with this big 'deal' with Anubis.

"Do you know where it is?" Jack asked, challenging and hopefully.

"No--but I'll help you find it." Jack exchanged a silently conferring look with Teal'c, who gave a little eyebrow quirk that said 'Why the hell not?'. "Jack, nothing will happen to the Abydonians," Daniel promised. "The most important thing right now is for you to get out of here with that tablet. If Anubis gets his hands on it and finds the lost city before you do, it's all over. He already has a huge advantage over you because of what the Others have done; or rather, failed to do."

Jack nodded slowly. "Are you gonna kick his ass?" he asked Daniel, half-teasing, half-wonderingly, with a rush of affection for his friend. Daniel had always been single-minded when he had his mind set on a goal, but this was the first time Jack had seen him ready to go up against one of the most powerful forces in the galaxy for galactic dominanace.

"If I have to," Daniel said, with determination that never failed to bolster Jack's hope.

"Can you?" he had to ask, amazed that the younger man could so easily make that claim. At the same time, though, he worried--how many times had Daniel thrown himself into helping, only to have it blow up in his face--either figuratively or literally?

As though reading Jack's mind, Daniel ducked his head, a sheepish little smile working its way across his face, a little nervousness showing through the exterior facade. "We'll see," he admitted, but with renewed strength, reiterated his promise. "Nothing will happen to the people of Abydos."

Jack grinned slightly. "All right," he said quietly. "Let's do this," he announced to the room at large.

"Sir, are you sure?" Carter asked.

"Yeah, Major; I am," he said steadily, looking at Daniel. "Hey," he called as the tell-tale glow kicked in. "Don't do anything...you can't die again, can you?"

Daniel returned the smile nervously. "We'll see," was all he offered, along with an absent little wave, before he vanished as the light energy entity he'd become.

=====

Daniel 'watched' the exchange between Jack and Her'ak from his periferal senses. He couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease he had gnawing his...rather nonexistent insides, but it eased when Her'ak called off his Jaffa and left Jack and the rest of SG-1 alone and unharmed. 'So far, so good,' he thought.

The unease, however, returned full-force when Anubis gave the order Daniel had been dreading. When the fleet of System Lords went up in flames, with the survivors retreating, Her'ak asked the question that begged only one answer--"What now, my Lord?" Daniel found himself having the insane flashback to the stupid cartoons he'd watched with Jack every now and then...'Pinky and the Brain' at the forefront. "What do we do now, Brain?" the stupid Pinky would ask. "The same thing we do every night, Pinky," maniacal Brain would always respond. "Try to take over the world!"

Reality came crashing back; no cartoon was this. If Anubis had a face, Daniel would swear he'd be smiling as he said, "Now I will destroy Abydos."

"Stop!" Daniel forced himself into a physical manifestation on the pel'tak, arms crossed, daring Anubis to make a move. He paid no attention to Her'ak or the staff blast that passed right through him as he moved to stand directly in front of Anubis, hoping his stiff-legged approach would be viewed as determined intervention rather than the knocking of his proverbial knees.

"Stop me...if you can," Anubis taunted, rising to meet Daniel's approach.

Daniel's fear evaporated in one moment of crystal clarity, and all the loss he'd seen as an ascended being, all the suffering he'd been unable to do what he'd wanted to help...Jack, Sam and Teal'c, all fighting for their lives while he could hardly do more than talk to them and dangle hope like a carrot in front of their noses...and now Skaara, the other Abydonian boys killed in the firefight. Daniel felt a rush of energy through his being, and with single-minded purpose, felt the helplessness, the fear, the terror and relief of each of those events swell into tangible energy in the palms of his hands. "Strike me down," Anubis jeered. "Do it now, or I will destroy Abydos."

Any doubts he'd felt about his own ability vanished, and in the face of that cocksure certainty, Daniel drew back, gave himself one push, and surged forward--

--only to feel a tightening around his wrists and arms, around his chest and legs, pulling him back, dragging him away from that plane...and he knew. He'd known Anubis was half-ascended, therefore he'd know what the Ancients would do if an ascendant were to interfere in the physical plane...and Daniel had played right into his hands. His view of Anubis wavered and greyed out, and Daniel railed in his head against the friendly force that now turned against him, railed against his own stupidity. 'I promised!' he begged. 'I promised Jack; I promised I'd help, I promised I'd keep them safe! Please!'

"I am sorry, Daniel," Oma's musical voice sounded inside his head, all around him, even as he strained against her. "I cannot allow this. You must stop."

"No!" Daniel gasped, uncertain if he spoke aloud, but begging both Anubis and Oma. He needed this chance; he had to hold his promise. A searing pain jolted through his head and he faltered. "Don't do this!" he begged. 'So close, I'm so close...'

That moment of weakness as the first warning shot, as it were, flickered through his mind was enough...Daniel felt as though he were rushing backward through space and time, a ride more nauseating than the Stargate itself. He came to rest, writhing against the agony of Oma's assault, in a familiar dell, the sight of the Abydos pyramid, ghostly and out of reach, beyond the horizon. A golden beam, beautiful and terrifying in its intensity, cut through the familiar structure, and Daniel watched helplessly, hopelessly, with an aching heart and overflowing eyes as it erupted and blew apart, wrenching the first place he'd actually felt was 'home' away from him. "No!" he cried. "No! How could you let him do this?! Why? Why wouldn't you just let me--"

Oma silenced him with a gentle hand to his lips as the destruction of Abydos played out behind her. "Hush," she said sadly. "You must be strong," she said, "you must have the strength to bear what is to come..."

"What? What; what is it? Ah!" Daniel felt the first burning strike, like a slap across his face, and then tehre were bodies closing in on him, tearing at him from the inside out, stripping him of all but his capacity to feel, and as he cried out from the Others' assault he held Oma's eyes, before darkness carried him away, even as the images of his friends, his memories, his life, were ripped away.

Vague sensation filtered in and out, gentle hands that stilled his insistent tremors and numbed the pain...no pain, no life to recall. He was Nothing, No one, floating in a limbo so complete, so empty, it was like staring into a black hole itself.

And then, something like a whispered apology, a benediction, whispered against his ear like a lover's caress, a cool touch to his forehead and he was set free, floating, flying...

Falling.

=====
=====

Part 1

The strangest sounds permeated the thick, silent blackness of his world as awareness trickled slowly back. He ached, a soul-deep pain that stretched from the top of his head to his toes, inside and out, but He seized the first tendrils of consciousness and pulled Himself out of the inky blackness to open His eyes on three men, all clothed in robes--two dark, one light--with dark hair and a light brown skin colour that somehow seemed familiar to Him. They were crowded around Him, eyeing Him with open curiosity, and He searched around frantically for something He could recognize, feeling His head begin to throb in time with His heart when nothing in the immediate area, from the rather coarse grass to the ruins lying nearby, were recognizable. One of the young men seemed to gather his wits about him and leaned in closer. "Who are you?" he asked.

That was an interesting question. Who was He? And on second thought, how did He even know he was a 'He'? He was nothing but a Stranger, to these and to himself. He considered retreating back into the darkness his mind had offered him, but the lightly-bearded man was expecting an answer. The Stranger's eyes darted back and forth as he cringed from the unknown men and their prying gazes, half-contacting the young man's curious dark eyes. "I don't know," he admitted, an uncomfortable feeling twisting his insides, making his limbs shake uncontrollably.

"Shamda!" The man's voice was abruptly loud, and the Stranger instinctively cupped his hands over his ears. The voices were muffled, but he became aware of a coarse...something covering his body. It was heavy, oppressive and rough--unbearably so. The Stranger lashed out at it desperately, wanting it off, and was relieved when it was taken away. "Calm yourself," someone spoke close to his covered right ear. "You are safe."

The Stranger tensed, the sensation of the coarse cloth igniting the burning of his skin and the boiling of his blood, and he lay there, completely at its mercy, but a warm hand tugged his hand away from his ear, and he opened his eyes reluctantly to come face to face with a white-haired, bearded old man similarly dressed to the curious younger ones. "I am Shamda," he said slowly, touching his chest. "Do you understand me?"

The Stranger, though the sounds painfully assaulted his mind, recognized the speech, and nodded slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from the old man--Shamda. "He is frightened," he was saying to his younger companions. "Give him space."

Frightened? Fear? Yes, that described it, the Stranger thought, searching his terribly blank mind for meanings and definitions. This man understood, knew the cold hand squeezing his heart--did Shamda know him? "Is...is this my home?" he managed to croak, hopeful. His voice felt rough, his throat ached. He had a horrible yearning for a home, for a safe place of his own; something to protect him from...from what? Shamda stared at him for a long moment; the Stranger tried his best not to squirm under the uncomfortable scrutiny.

"Yes," Shamda finally said. "If you so desire, this will be your home for as long as you would like it to be. What are you called?"

Once again, the Stranger chewed his lower lip, feeling very vulnerable and very uncertain. "I don't remember," he admitted softly, a curious heat spreading across his cheeks.

Shamda, though, merely smiled. "Then come...arrom," he invited. "Return to the village with us."

The young man who had spoken to the Stranger chuckled, and the Stranger looked toward him sharply. "Is that my name?" he asked. "Arrom?"

"Khordib." Shamda's voice was edged with a warning, but his eyes were kind when he turned back to the Stranger. "If you would like it to be."

"Arrom," he repeated, enjoying the way the name rolled on his tongue. It didn't quite fit, he thought, but it would do. "Yes," he decided finally, sitting up cautiously. "Call me Arrom." He shied away from the hand Shamda held out to him and rose shakily to his feet, the incredible burning easing off when he tentatively began moving about. Once or twice his knees buckled beneath him, threatening to spill him back to the earth, but he regained his balance without help. Shamda offered the cloak that he wore over his robe, gesturing Arrom to wrap it around himself.

Arrom took the cloak tenatively, rubbing his fingers over it and feeling the coarseness of the material--this must be what had been placed over him earlier. He thrust it back toward Shamda immediately, a shiver travelling his spine as he recalled the discomfort it brought with it. "You would do well to cover yourself," Shamda advised kindly. "You would be far more comfortable."

Arrom shook his head and kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Khordib, the young man, and his two companions, gestured for Arrom to precede them, but he warily held back until Shamda waved the three younger men forward. Arrom still stood where he was, nervously watching what Shamda would do next. Instead of seeming angry, as Arrom had expected, the man's face showed nothing but compassion and understanding. "I will walk ahead," he told Arrom. "You may follow us back to camp at your own pace. None here will harm you; be assured."

Arrom then felt something that washed all the discomfort, the pain, the burning, away from his body, his spirit, his soul. Something that gave him hope that, although he had no memory of who he was or who he was supposed to be, perhaps, eventually, he would. It was a rush of peace, of safety, that broke gently over him like a wave in the sea, spreading all over and through him just as the pain had when he had awoken. This would be his home, and perhaps in time his subconscious would reveal itself and its secrets to him. Arrom nodded, his feet began to move, and he followed Shamda and his three prot�g�s wherever they would lead.

=====

This world felt oddly familiar to Arrom, as though he should know his way about. But when he tried to remember, his memories scattered like pepper from soap.

Arrom stopped his mind's reeling, surprised at himself. 'Pepper from soap'? Where had he come up with that? The women used soap occasionally to wash their dirty linens, but...what was pepper? Why would soap scatter it? Or, he supposed, perhaps his damaged mind only provided him with nonsense veiled as truth or fact. It was all so frustrating. He had been living among the nomads for half a moon, and he still had no more idea about who he was than the day Shamda and Khordib had discovered him near the forest. Arrom heard gossip among the women as they passed his tent, murmurings of an upcoming relocation. The tribe had been on this planet close to a full cycle, and a few of the men were growing restless. It would be Shamda's choice, though. If and when he decided to move on, it was time to move on; no questions asked. Arrom had melted further back into his tent as the women passed, trying to steady his breathing, which had suddenly become quick and shallow. Something burned in him, a feeling as though he had to stay, had to wait for...for something. How would he cope on his own if the tribe left? In his mind, his life was among these people, though he mostly only spoke to Shamda. The others unnerved him--'the others', he thought, and a cold shiver travelled down his spine, reaching for a new candle and lighting it off one of the others, trying to add more heat to his space. The people were welcoming enough, but they were far too curious to make Arrom comfortable. When he left his tent it was only to take the short journey to refill his bowl, before he would retreat back to his tent, trying to reveal the secrets of his past.

"Arrom?" Khordib summoned him from outside his tent and Arrom turned, reluctantly waving the other man inside. Arrom worried the hemmed sleeves of his deep blue robes nervously--Khordib was kind enough, one of Shamda's favourites--but the man had held off nearly seven days before finally revealing what 'Arrom' actually meant...and by then it was too late to choose a new name. All of the nomads knew him now as 'Arrom'--the 'naked one'. Arrom felt that warmth spread across his face again; he supposed it didn't help any that he'd shied away from the cloak Shamda had offered him and accompanied them to the camp with no covering at all; any material had been too rough on his skin, rubbing and scratching painfully. He'd since gotten over that as well as his intolerable sensitivity to noise...but people were another matter. If someone were to raise a hand toward him or if he were in the midst of a large group, he felt cold trickling down the back of his neck, and his face felt prickly and hot, while his breathing shortened, stuttered and hitched. It had only been fourteen days, but Arrom was becoming accustomed to the cloistered feeling of his tent--to be alone in the small area that was functionally his alone, was soothing.

Khordib crouched down a short distance away. "Shamda wishes to speak with you," he said quietly. "He worries you spend far too much time on your own."

Arrom cleared his throat. "I--"

"Please, just speak with him? Shamda grows...irritating." Khordib was weary; Arrom knew Shamda had likely cornered the younger man with his rather bizarre moral teachings yet again. He felt a pang of sympathy for Khordib, and nodded. These people had given him a home; the least he could do was offer their elder his attention. Khordib abruptly clapped him on the shoulder, and Arrom instinctively flinched. Khordib pulled his hand back. "I apologize, Arrom," he said quickly. "I did not even think--"

"It's fine," Arrom said equally as quickly, but moved back a little more, waiting for Khordib to leave the tent, as his body ran through another spell of disconnection, leaving him feeling weak and trembly.

----

"Arrom." Shamda rose from where he was sitting near a communal pot, nearly perpetually filled with various nuts or berries. Arrom ducked his head in acknowledgement. "I was about to embark on a long walk to clear my head," the sage said. "Would you care to join me?"

So many times Shamda summoned Arrom to speak with him, and each and every time, he invited him on a walk. Arrom's blood ran cold at the thought of leaving camp, wandering around in the open where he could possibly be seen by prying eyes. In his dreams he saw dark things, felt phantom pain that he could recognize as that which had plagued him for so many days after arriving in camp. But nothing ever came from those dreams, the images and shapes were forgotten by the time awareness completely returned. It frightened and frustrated him, the way these images of what he assumed to be his past so eluded him in the waking hours. The more he thought about his past and what it could have held, the more he shied away from remembering. What had he done to end up here, without his memory--and unclothed. Had he been running? Trying to escape from those who pursued him?

"N-no," he said, backing away from Shamda, startled when he backed into a woman carrying a woven basket of fruit. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Thank...thank you though...Shamda."

Shamda's brow furrowed, but he nodded. Arrom quickly returned to his tent, scuttling inside and seating himself on his pallet, allowing a violent tremor to pass through him before he settled again. He may no longer long for his past, but there was something he yearned for above all else--the day when he was no longer plagued by fear, when he could leave his tent and stand confidently among these people who had so graciously offered him a home. Arrom snuck a glance outside, and the entrance to the tent seemed all at once too close and too far away to fathom. He shuddered, and admitted to himself that that day was more than likely long in coming.

=====

"Good morning."

Arrom opened his eyes to find a pair of dark ones staring back at him. He froze, his breathing hitched as it always did--but his visitor didn't back off as so many had before. "Easy."

"Who...who are you?" Arrom sat up and scooted backward until his back pressed pitifully against the fabric wall of his tent and stared at his visitor, wide-eyed, noting that the man wasn't dressed as the people in the camp were.

The man flashed him a crooked grin. "I can't believe you don't know who I am," he said. He pulled off the green covering he wore on his head, revealing greying hair, and spread his arms to the side. "How about now?"

Arrom glanced nervously over his shoulder but found that, even though the man was speaking rather loudly, none of the passing nomads even glanced his way. "N-no," he admitted. "What are you doing here?"

"Idano," the man said, leaning back to prop himself up on his elbows. "Ask yourself that question."

"What's your name?" The man didn't seem to want to hurt him, so Arrom, feeling bold, pressed him.

"Y'know...I don't remember."

Arrom narrowed his eyes. "Is that some sort of joke?" he asked.

The visitor grinned affably. "No way; you should know me better than that." He paused, pursing his lips together, and then that smile widened. Arrom shivered slightly; the open friendliness was still there, but now it was...different. More menacing. "Tell you what," the visitor said slowly. "Why don't you just call me 'Jim'?"

"'Jim'?" Arrom echoed uncertainly. It was an unusual name; none of Shamda's people had simple, single-syllable names like that...but something else, something about the name itself, struck a chord.

"Hey there, pal."

He looked up in surprise, his attention drawn from where the humans from Earth were waiting in cells fashioned deep within the Goa'uld palace. The woman was dying; He wanted to help, desperately so. But now, directly in his line of sight, obscuring his view of the prisoners, was a man...short, plump, with a wide, beaming smile and warm, friendly eyes. He glanced around himself warily. "Hello..." It wasn't unusual for Others He'd never met before to be spotted now and again, but it was a rare thing when one would actually approach such a lowly being such as himself and initiate any sort of civil communication. "Do I..."

"Know me?" the newcomer asked with a chuckle. "Nah. I'm Jim." He stretched the representation of his hand out in greeting.

Arrom blinked rapidly, the vision disintegrating before He could introduce himself--somehow, the 'He' was familiar...but Arrom couldn't place him. "How are you here?" he asked the visitor--Jim. This man was Jim, but also the plump man in the vision was 'Jim'...it didn't make sense. This Jim's dark brown eyes crinkled with amusement.

"You brought me here," he said, as though it were obvious. "If you think about it, it's not that hard to figure out."

Jim laughed. "Ya know, things around here aren't as complicated as they seem to be. All you gotta do is...work it out. Think about it...work it through that head of yours." Jim poked a finger into His forehead.

"Do you know me?" Arrom asked eagerly. "Know who I was before I came here?"

Jim made a frowning face; he looked uncomfortable, like he knew something he wasn't allowed to tell. "I don't know if you're ready to hear this, kid..."

"Not ready?" Arrom echoed sharply. "I've been here for weeks--weeks of not knowing who I am, weeks of being...being afraid for no reason! I have a right to know!"

"You're too afraid to know," Jim said bluntly. "You've admitted it to yourself; you don't want to know, because you're afraid you'll screw up...again," he added in a disapproving mutter.

Arrom sat back in shock. "A..again?"

"Yeeeaaah," Jim sighed, squinting at him sympathetically. "You don't take bad news too well, kid; I can tell you that much."

"You're kidding me!" He exploded, addressing someone unseen by either Himself or Jim. "How could you possibly...what could--that's impossible."

"Not so much as you might think." A woman's voice, soft and sad, but with an edge behind it that would no doubt stop a raging wild herd in its tracks when fully employed. "Things are complicated in this Universe...sometimes things happen, things that cannot be--"

Arrom groaned as white-hot pain lanced through his head and his hands flew up to squeeze his temples together, some insanely pathetic attempt at keeping his head from flying apart at the seams. When he opened his eyes, Jim was still watching him, that strangely malicious smile on his face. "You see?" he sneered. "Things you aren't ready to know yet. Things you can't know yet, because you don't understand them yet. It's better for you to live...like this, with these delightfully quaint people you've found. You'll see."

"No!" Arrom groaned. "I need...I have to know--"

The pain intensified, burning behind Arrom's eyes, trickling through his body and soul in an assault that completely overshadowed that which he'd felt when he had first awoken near the forest. It grew and grew in intensity, until Arrom was pressed back against his pallet at its mercy, and the image of Jim greyed and faded out...

Arrom fought against it and lurched upward with a hoarse cry--a cry he quickly stifled with his hands, pressed against his mouth, his fingers coming into contact with wetness on his cheeks. The sound of running footsteps startled him and he curled back into the corner of his pallet, his rampaging heart quieting and settling when Shamda's familiar, concerned features appeared in the opening. "Arrom--are you well?"

Arrom, with as much dignity as he could muster, swiped at his face and uncurled from his embarrassing position. "Yes," he told Shamda in a voice that he proudly noted was at least approaching normal. "I'm fine--just...my sleep was disturbed. I was startled." He offered a quick, faint smile in reassurance. Shamda nodded slowly.

"Very well," he murmured. "But remember this, Arrom--pain of the mind is pain that is best treated when shared with friends."

Arrom nodded jerkily. "I'll--thank you. But, honestly, it's nothing; I don't even remember it." It was true--the feeling of foreboding, and the intensity of the pain was receding quickly into his subconscious; Arrom couldn't even recall what it was had plagued his dreams. It served, though, as another pillar in his resolve against his past; anything that could bring with it such discomfort and agony was well worth forgetting.

=====

Arrom stood as he had so many days before, staring at one of the many pillars with the strange writing. He found that the longer he stared at it, the more it fuelled his curiosity, his frustration...but he couldn't tear his eyes away. It was as if something in the writing drew him--taunted him with its hidden secrets, secrets that, deep down, he knew he should be able to decipher.

"Here you are!"

Arrom jerked slightly, startled by Shamda's unannounced approach, the spell of the writing broken. He gazed at it wistfully, but knew it wouldn't do to ignore the old sage. "'Morning," he murmured instead, not turning around.

"Much time you spend, staring at this writing," Shamda observed, his tone always the same as it was with Arrom--patient, amused...as if he were speaking to a young child.

"I feel like I should know what it means," Arrom admitted.

"A boy put his hand into a pitcher in order to draw out some nuts. But the boy was greedy; he grasped too many nuts, so his hand would not come out of the mouth of the pitcher."

A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Arrom's mouth. "I think I've heard this one before."

"Oh..." Shamda chuckled. "Your memory does not fail you entirely, then!"

The slight smile still on his face, Arrom at last turned to face the old man, finding that wide, knowing smile on Shamda's face. "Since I woke up here?" he asked rhetorically.

"Do not let greed let you get your hand stuck in a pitcher of nuts."

"Good advice." Arrom moved toward the bowl of food that was laid out nearby, and ladled a bit into a small bowl. Shamda followed, and they both sat.

"You have not left the camp in two full moons," Shamda said disapprovingly, and something defiant reared its head in Arrom.

"You think I'm afraid?" he guessed, offering the bowl to Shamda, who took a bit of the food. A thought, he knew, if Shamda harboured it, wouldn't be all that inaccurate.

"A man who knows not where he has been knows not where he is going," Shamda said gently, and Arrom quirked a slight smile at the graceful evasion of his question.

"A part of me isn't so sure I want to know."

Shamda scoffed. "Why is that?"

"I don't know...just a feeling I can't shake." Arrom chewed slowly, the taste of the berries already losing their appeal as his stomach roiled with the thought of what he may have been. "It's the only thing I can say I know for sure...I did something wrong."

"I do not know your past," Shamda said. "But in the time you have been here, I have come to know your nature. I cannot believe you were ever a bad person."

Arrom looked away sheepishly. "Thank you," he mumbled gratefully. "I'd like to believe you're right, but...either way, I still could have made a bad mistake."

"Learn what it was, and atone for it." Shamda paused, then lightly cuffed Arrom's shoulder, who was surprised and caught off-guard by the unexpected contact. "A walk will do you good," the old man said, seeming not to notice Arrom's discomfort. He rose, and Arrom quickly put the bowl aside. "I will accompany you if you'd like."

"You're right, but I should go alone." Arrom rose and slung the cloth satchel over his shoulder.

"Remember one thing above all else," Shamda said. "Anything you do, you must do with all your might."

Arrom nodded slowly; in some odd way, that made more sense than any fable Shamda had ever told him. He turned and slowly headed up the steps that led out of the camp, as always keeping his head low, not looking at the others as he passed.

"We found you in the valley of the forest!" he heard Shamda call behind him. "Perhaps the answer to who you are lies there!"

=====

He should have done this a long time ago, Arrom realized as he made his way leisurely through the forest. The world was a peaceful one, undisturbed by anything other than the natural fauna that roamed the deep woods, only their occasional calls alerting him to their presence. The nomads themselves rarely ventured into the forest, preferring to stick to paths marked by the ancient ruins which dotted the landscape to get to the water hole. Their existence was an efficient one--Shamda enjoyed long walks such as this, but the younger ones eked enjoyment from life in performing their daily activities, rather than the frivolity aimless wanderings offered. Something else that set him apart from his new 'people'--Arrom found he enjoyed the briskness of the cool morning air, the peace that came from the knowledge that he could walk for miles without coming into contact with a single soul.

He paused in his walk at the sound of voices coming from a short distance away. Arrom furrowed his brow; had Shamda followed, or sent Khordib to accompany him after all? Whatever or whoever it was, though, was going to feel the full brunt of Arrom's irritation--after two moons, was it after all a fact that he hadn't earned enough of Shamda's respect to be trusted to take a simple walk on his own? The old man was always after him to take one; why change his mind? As Arrom drew closer to the source of the voices, though, it became immediately apparent that these weren't members of the tribe. He stopped dead in his tracks, realizing too late that he could not make his getaway without being noticed. Four people stood mere feet away from him, all dressed similarly in green and brown clothing, carrying ominous-looking weapons. Arrom glanced around furtively for a chance to escape, and so he wasn't prepared for the disbelieved gasps that came from the four strangers. "Doctor Jackson?" one of them, a man with a square jaw and wide, incredulous eyes asked. He stepped forward a few paces, like he was trying to get a better look, and Arrom defiantly stood his ground. Doctor Jackson? Was that...a name? He studied the four strangers closely, trying to decide what to make of them. His intense scrutiny seemed to make the man uncomfortable, and he glanced back at his companions. "Doctor...Jackson? Daniel?" he tried again, more cautiously this time. "Do you know who I am?"

Arrom inclined his head slightly, then shook his head. The man drew closer still, and Arrom's blurry vision began to compensate, putting his features into sharper focus. "No," he said simply. How could he?

"Ah..." the man half-groaned. "I--I'm Colonel Reynolds, sir. I'm from the SGC? Earth?" He leaned close, mouth half-open like he wanted Arrom to pick up on his trail, but Arrom just stared at him. "Do you know who you are?" Reynolds asked finally.

"Arrom." That he could answer with at least a bit of certainty. He'd certainly formed an identity for himself here. His name didn't seem to appeal to Reynolds though, who cast another helpless look back at his companions before huffing a loud exhale--Arrom stiffened instinctively; it didn't sound very friendly.

"It's--it's all right," Reynolds hurried to reassure, his voice pitched lower and more soothing than it had been earlier. "Umm...listen--Arrom? Arrom. We're--we're from Earth...I guess I already said that, huh? But anyway, we're here with another team--more friends of ours. SG-1..." he chuckled nervously. "I guess this all sounds crazy to you, huh? Yeah...but listen, Arrom, these people that are with us--" he gestured to the group with him "--SG-1--they're friends of yours, too, and they're on the way in to the camp...village...whatever. Where...your people are staying."

Arrom sharpened at this. Strangers were going to the camp? What were they intending to do? "And these friends of ours would really--really--like to see you. Do you think you could walk back with us, maybe meet our friends? I know it doesn't make any sense to you, but can you...trust us? Maybe?"

Arrom didn't trust these people any further than he could have thrown them, but if more strangers were on the way to camp, Shamda and his people were going to be very wary, and perhaps less than inviting. Arrom had to get back, make sure that nothing jeopardized his home. He immediately turned and began walking away, scarcely noticing when Reynolds and his men fell into step in front of, beside and behind him.

----

"Colonel." Reynolds picked up his pace and preceded Arrom and his own companions down the first set of steps leading to the camp. "We found something you might want to see."

'Something?' Arrom scowled. It wasn't enough these people arrive from...who knew where, claiming to know him, calling him by a different name, but now they treated him as though he were some marvel to behold, a trinket to peer at for their own amusement. Defiantly, holding himself stiffly, Arrom allowed the others to herd him after their commander, and Arrom's eyes fell on four others dressed similarly to Reynolds--a man with greying hair hidden beneath a green covering; Arrom's heart seized inexplicably at the sight. There were also two other men--a rather unthreatening one appeared to be younger than the rest, and another, tall, large dark man with a gold emblem on his forehead and an intimidating weapon held easily in one hand. A woman with light hair and blue eyes accompanied the others. Arrom was confused by their reactions; the grey-haired man started to approach him with the woman, and only found his voice to ask, simply, and with a choked tone, "Daniel?"

The woman at his side glanced at her commander, her look of disbelief giving way to one of relief as her apparent hallucination was confirmed. Arrom narrowed his eyes slightly--more people calling him by that name.

"Arrom," Khordib piped up from behind the strangers. Arrom glanced at him with a tiny nod, gratefully accepting the help from the wary nomads. The grey-haired man turned to him. "'Arrom'?" he echoed dumbfoundedly.

Khordib took in his tone and chuckled slightly, shrugging. "It's what we call him."

"It means 'naked one'," Shamda chimed in unhelpfully. Arrom felt his face burn.

"That's how we found him in the forest, two moons, ago," Khordib continued, and the relief Arrom felt at being supported by his 'people' segued into a pang of irritation at being talked about like he wasn't even there.

"Seems he doesn't remember who he is," Reynolds said from behind Arrom, adding insult to injury. Who were these people?!

His attention was drawn to the light-haired woman, who was entering his personal space cautiously. "Daniel?" She smiled at him, lifting a hand toward his face. "It's okay; it's me, S--"

Arrom instinctively raised a hand of his own, deflecting hers. The woman deflated visibly, her smile fading into a look of devastation. Something stirred inside him at the sight, but he ignored it even as the intimidating dark man asked, "Do you not recognize us, DanielJackson?"

Head spinning, darted his gaze over the strangers, muttering, "I'm sorry," as he shouldered by them--because it seemed like it should be the thing to say. The grey-haired man was studying him with open disbelief, and Arrom snuck a glance at him as he passed, wondering why he recognized him, and where he recognized him from...and why there was that gaping hole of unease in his gut when he looked upon him.

He heard the call behind him, the grey-haired man asking, "Not even me?" as he passed. Arrom didn't turn, though; just shot a betrayed look at Shamda before retreating to the safety of his tent. He wanted the strangers to go away; he wanted them to leave him alone to wallow in his own emptiness and nothingness. "Arrom."

He ducked his head resolutely and began to gather his candles for his daily meditation; it helped some, to still his mind. The images and dreams were more vivid when he felt he had control over what he was seeing. They still made no sense to him, but it was comforting to allow himself to think that, despite the darkness he instinctively felt upon waking, his life still laid just beneath the surface, ready for him to make a final attempt to find himself. "Arrom." Shamda was persistent; for the first time, the old man didn't leave him to his solitude, but pushed his way right into the tent and crouched directly across from Arrom. "Why do you fear these people?"

Arrom looked up at him sharply. "I don't," he said firmly. "They arrive from...their home, come here, call me by a name I've never heard, assume I know who they are. They could be--"

Shamda perked up when Arrom abruptly cut off. "Could be what, boy?" he asked.

Arrom met Shamda's eyes for a long moment before dropping his gaze and busying his hands with the candles. "They could be the ones who visit my dreams," he said quietly.

"I was under the impression you did not remember your dreams."

"I don't...not...details. But I know there are things--people, maybe--I was associated with; dark people, dark things. Evil things?" Arrom looked up imploringly at Shamda. "If I was one of them, I don't wish to speak to them."

"Have you heard the tale of the fly challenging the great cat?" Shamda asked. Arrom sighed heavily, and Shamda gave him a swift cuff to the nearest part of Arrom to him--which happened to be Arrom's forearm. He jerked it away in surprise.

"Sorry."

"I will not go into detail, for I'm sure Khordib has offered you such wisdom in your time here." Arrom's gaze slid aside, but he noticed the slight smile on Shamda's face. "The fly is very small, unsure of itself, but the cat is large and proud, certain of its victory. We learn that it is in the power of fortune to humble the pride of the mighty, and to make the fly triumph over the cat. It is told not to let any creature, no matter how great or how little so ever presume on the one side, or despair on the other. There is nothing either so great or so little, as to not be liable to the vicissitudes of fortune, whether for good or for evil. You see, Arrom, life is unexpected. The small man--though small, you are not," Shamda added with a chuckle, "can triumph over any adversity with any amount of luck. You feel insignificant without knowing your past or your potential future, and these dark ones you speak of seem unbeatable, do they not?"

"I...guess so," Arrom acknowledged. All he knew was that he always seemed to wake up with that same cold pit of fear he'd felt the first time he'd come to in the valley.

"And if life throws you such an opportunity as this, where people come to you, offering their knowledge and themselves as safe harbour to you, can you honestly say that would be in your initial assessment of the battle to be waged between yourself and the dark ones?"

Arrom absorbed Shamda's words. What if this was some divine will, that he should so despair over the life he'd lost, only to have these missionaries from that life come to him. "Will you speak with them?" Shamda asked.

Arrom gathered his candles again and began to light them. "Just...give me time," he requested. He had a great deal of thinking to do.

Shamda stood and patted him on the shoulder. "Very well."

=====

"You must forgive him," Shamda said to the strangers who remained in the camp. The others who had accompanied Arrom from the forest were nowhere in sight, presumably sent away by the leader of this small group, the man with intense dark eyes who had reacted, so stricken, to Arrom's appearance. "He has no memory of his past life, of you. He is uncertain what threat you pose to him."

"Threat?" the dark-eyed man barked. "We're no threat to him; he's a friend of ours. He's been...missing for a year--we only want him to come back with us."

"You may tell him that yourself," Shamda said sharply, "when he has thought through all that I have laid before him. This is not a decision to be made lightly, you understand."

The man shifted restlessly from one foot to the other before glancing at his companions. "To hell with this," he muttered. "Carter, you...ask around this place; see what you can find out about any potential Anubis ass-kickers. Jonas and Teal'c--take yourselves on a guided tour of these ruins, see if you can find anything yourselves. I assume they can do that?" he asked Shamda.

"Of course," Shamda said, "providing they do not disturb the city."

The light-haired young man, Jonas, smiled at Shamda reassuringly. "We won't; we promise. We just want to take a look around."

"Then by all means."

"Colonel," 'Carter' said, "what are you going to be doing?"

O'Neill glanced toward Arrom's tent; Shamda tensed. "I'm going to have a chat with our prodigal son," he said dryly. With that, he excused himself and stepped around Shamda, who whirled after him.

"Give him time," he said.

"We don't have it," O'Neill snapped.

=====

A rustle at the entrance to his tent made Arrom look up, and with a sinking heart, he recognized one of the strangers--the man who was familiar but not so, giving Arrom a distinct unsettled feeling. Trying to push back his discomfort, Arrom leaned away from the entrance and held out a hand, silently pleading the man to stop. "Please leave me alone," he said, disliking how thick and tense his voice sounded. Even more to his chagrin though, was the fact that the man ignored him, and took a seat, ironically in the same position Shamda had been sitting, across from him.

"I'm Jack O'Neill," the man said without preamble. "And, barring some freakish similarity, you are Doctor Daniel Jackson."

Jack? Jack...the name was familiar, seemed to fit...but something was wrong, Arrom could feel it. "This tent is all I know," he said quietly, reluctantly meeting the other man's eyes, begging him to understand his tribulation. "These people...they're all I know. Before I woke up in the forest, I don't remember anything. I've tried; I've tried to remember who I was before. Sometimes I think it's right there, floating in front of me, and all I have to do is reach out and grab it. I try...and it's gone."

O'Neill didn't seem to know what to say to that, had no idea how to help. "You were a member of my team, SG-1," he said finally, carefully enunciating the name of his team, no doubt hoping to bring something back. "You're a friend of mine. Last year, you died."

"I'm dead?" Arrom asked. Either he was dreaming again...or this man was out of his mind.

His thoughts must have showed on his face, because O'Neill stilled. "Obviously not. You just sort of died. Actually, you...ascended, to a higher plane of existence. Last time I saw you, you were helping us fight Anubis." "Anubis?"

O'Neill grimaced. "Yeah...kind of an...over-the-top, clich� bad guy. Black cloak, oily skin, kind of...spooky."

No matter how colourful the description, nothing was getting through to Arrom. O'Neill shook his head slightly. "Anyway, I can see how this might sound a bit unusual--"

"A bit?" Arrom had to stop himself from scoffing. "Why am I here?"

"Hey, why are any of us here?" O'Neill asked with a charming grin--one that shocked realization into Arrom. Jack. Jim. O'Neill grimaced again at Arrom's lack of outward reaction. "Honestly, I don't know," he said seriously. "But you've got to trust me. You are Daniel Jackson." The man seemed to be struck by a sudden flash of inspiration; Arrom half-expected him to snap his fingers. "Think of it this way: out of all the planets in the galaxy, why this one if not for us to find you?"

Still trying for skeptical, but unnerved that this man could so innately follow the line of thought he'd been having mere minutes before with Shamda, Arrom frowned. "So you're saying a higher power had a hand in putting me here?"

"I don't know," O'Neill admitted. "That was generally your department."

Arrom didn't know what that meant, but the familiarity with which this man addressed him, the way he could follow Arrom's ideas, tried to include him in whatever humour he found in this situation, intrigued Arrom. "Listen," O'Neill said, beginning to rise, "you've been incommunicado for a few months; to tell you the truth, Carter's been worried sick about you."

Arrom blinked. "And you?" he challenged before he could even think about the words.

A slow smile spread across O'Neill's face, and he shrugged slightly. "You know." He paused at the entrance to the tent, all humour gone and a sombre expression on his face. "Just think about it."

And he was gone.

=====

The woman cam to him next, only moments after the man--Jim, Jack--O'Neill left. Arrom had listened carefully and could make out a few jumbles of muffled conversation between them; O'Neill said something about 'talking to a wall', and expressed what seemed to be derision at the fact Arrom couldn't remember who he was, what he was. It was obvious O'Neill sent the woman in; he seemed to be determined to eke Arrom's memory back to the forefront of his consciousness. A bit put out at the apparent turnaround in the man's attitude, Arrom steeled his jaw and began his preparation for meditation again.

"Can I come in?"

He was surprised at the hesitance in the woman's voice; he'd assumed she'd barge right in and sit herself down as O'Neill had done. Arrom blew out the last candle he'd lit, plunging the tent into a bit more darkness. He'd be damned if these strangers would get any upperhand on him--he'd become accustomed to the darkness of this area; if the woman should make any attempt at an attack, he'd at least have some sort of advantage.

"Sure," he said coolly.

The woman sat--not right in his face, as O'Neill had, but off to the side, lowering herself almost reverently to the floor of the tent, a respectable distance from Arrom. "So..." she said quietly.

Curious, he glanced at her. "What did you say your name was again?" he asked nonchalantly.

"Um, Samantha Carter. You used to call me 'Sam'."

"Yeah," Arrom said firmly, "well, like I told Jim--"

"Uh--Jack."

Had he said that aloud? Arrom looked to the woman, who looked sheepish at what likely had been an automatic correction. "Jack? Yeah...I told him..."

"I guess what I don't understnad is why you aren't dying to know all about who you are," Samantha Carter said, sounding flabbergasted.

Arrom looked away. "I am," he said softly, then steeling his tone, "and I'm not."

Samantha Carter grimaced. "See, it's the 'not' part--"

"What if I don't like who I was?" Arrom asked abruptly, frightened again by how easy it was to voice his fears to these people--almost like they were those who knew him, who wanted to help him. "What if I don't want to be that person?" His throat tightened as the memories of his fear after his dreams came back to him. "What if I don't have it in me to make up for something I've done wrong?"

"I have to admit, that never occurred to me," Samantha Carter admitted. Arrom nodded once--it apparently hadn't occurred to anyone other than himself. "Look" Samantha Carter said firmly, "we all thought we'd lost you at one point. It was one of the hardest things I have ever been through. You were--you are--brilliant. One of the most caring, passionate...you're the type of person who would give his own life for someone he doesn't even know."

Arrom swallowed hard. "Well, that doesn't sound so bad."

She smiled slightly. "If you had one fault, it was that you wanted to save people so badly, you--you wanted to help people so much, that it tore you apart when you couldn't make a difference."

She had to be kidding him. Arrom dared another brief glance her way to search for any signs that she was simply leading him on, letting him hear what he wanted. There was nothing. "That actually sounds kind of hard to live up to."

"All I know is that if I were you, I would definitely want to get to know me--" she made a face-- "you."

A small smile broke free. "I get it," Arrom said quietly.

"Come back with us," she cajoled. "Let us show you who you are instead of just telling you."

"I'll think about it."

"Okay."

"Samantha Carter." The women in the camp did it all the time; what if, back on the strangers' world, they...

Samantha Carter turned around at the entrance, looking back at him hopefully. "Yeah?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Arrom shrugged self-depracatingly. "Was there ever anything...between us?"

The woman's eyes widened briefly. "Us," she echoed dumbly, "uh...no; no, not in that way." Arrom cocked his head quizzically. "We--we were really, really good friends."

Arrom allowed another small smile of relief and nodded. He didn't want that to have to be one of the deciding factors in his choice; he didn't think it would be right to leave people behind if he'd sworn a vow to them in the past. "Okay," he said. Samantha Carter took that as her dismissal and left without another word.

=====

"They know you," Shamda observed, even as Arrom refused to acknowledge the old man's presence and busied himself straightening the linens on his pallet, head resolutely bent, eyes downcast. "You refuse those from your home?" Shamda asked, louder.

Arrom froze and dropped the cloth bundle he was holding, then closed his eyes. "This is my home," he said quietly.

"It is not," Shamda refuted. "I offered this place to you as refuge as long as you desired--you no longer desire it so, and I have doubt that you have ever considered it so. You are the Stranger, unknown to us and yourself." Arrom glanced at him sharply as Shamda, strangely, echoed the thoughts he himself had had the day Shamda and Khordib had found him in the valley. "These people," Shamda continued, "they may help you recover what you have lost."

"It's hopeless," Arrom said bitterly, feeling a surge of emotion so strong he wheeled on Shamda, eyes hard. "It has been two moons, and I know no more today than the day I woke up here."

"So you merely stop trying?" Shamda scoffed. "Recall, boy, the story of the bird; the parched bird."

Arrom rolled his eyes but said nothing. "The bird could find nothing to quench his thirst, until he came across a pitcher with only a mouthful of water at the very bottom--too deep to be reached by the bird's short beak. So the bird, dying of thirst, began to drop pebbles into the pitcher. Pebble after pebble, until the pitcher was full, the water had risen to the top, and the bird could drink. It took many hours, but the bird saved its own life." Shamda laid a hand on Arrom's shoulder. "The bird did not give up," he said, "so determined he was to live. This lack of memory is killing you--not your body, but your spirit. We all see it. You do not strike me as the type of man who gives up. If there is a chance, why not take it?"

Arrom kept his eyes fixed on his pallet, the linens now smoothed and perfect--flawless, all the pieces having come togther to make that whole. He stared at it hard, watching it until the colours began to run together and it grew blurrier than his vision made it already. He didn't notice Shamda remove his hand and move away, slowly leaving the tent, his pose copying the one he's used the first day he had met Arrom--he moved slowly, deliberately, inviting Arrom to follow.

"Come back with us. Let us show you who you are instead of just telling you."

"Barring some freakish similarity, you are Doctor Daniel Jackson. You were a member of my team, SG-1. You're a friend of mine."

Arrom lifted his head wonderingly. He had a friend? He had friends. No one on Vis Uban had called him 'friend' before--everyone called him Arrom, Shamda sometimes called him 'boy'...but no one had ever claimed Arrom as a friend. The words, spoken by someone he'd never met but who appeared to know him so well, warmed the chill that seemed permanently settled around his heart. He had friends. Maybe even...a family? People who would help him discover who he was and maybe, just maybe, he could live up to what Samantha Carter had claimed he'd been.

He could hear the newcomers outside his tent, the four he'd met in the camp itself conferring in a small group. "What of DanielJackson?" the large, dark-skinned man asked his companions at large.

For the second time, Arrom trusted Shamda, and he followed, slinging his rucksack over his shoulder. Bolstering his resolve, he stepped into the sunlight to face his new--or was it old?--life.

"He's going home," he bravely spoke up.