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Relics of the Tau'ri

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Adria's eyes burned viciously as she stalked towards Daniel, who had just beamed onto the bridge of the Ori warship, his arms clasped unthreateningly behind his back. "I should never have trusted you!" the Orici hissed.

"They're about to shut down the Supergate to allow our ships through," he told her. "They've assembled the weapon and the Ancients didn't interfere." He turned to Sam and Teal'c, who were kneeling beside the dais, their weapons having been taken from them. "Right?" His former teammates watched him with looks of dawning betrayal. "You did exactly as I said, right?"

"Daniel, what are you doing?" Sam asked, hoping that what looked like what was happening wasn't. Daniel was always the conscience of their team, the one they could trust - to find out now that he had been lying to them, that they had been tricked when the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance?

"We can destroy the Ancients now and the Ori won't even have to fight." Daniel turned, his ashen expression turning to one of simple contentment. "I did this for you."

Adria shook her head as she tried to understand the situation thrust upon her, of her seemingly-traitorous convert not being so traitorous after all. Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him. "You mind is closed to me."

The archaeologist's smile quirked up unapologetically as he replied, "Yeah," before he whipped one hand out from behind his back and blasted her with a wave of energy. The Orici flew backwards against the wall and was knocked unconscious.

"Daniel!" Sam cried as he fell to his knees. "Teal'c!" she admonished her other teammate who had taken his P-90 and was now aiming it at their teammate-turned-Prior. "What the hell is going on?"

"Sorry, I had to stall her long enough for this to work," Daniel told her, holding out an anti-Prior device which had been clasped in his other hand the entire time.

"You got through her personal shields!" the lieutenant colonel exclaimed.

"Yeah, that took a lot." Daniel's breathing was more labored now and he gladly accepted Teal'c's help as the two staggered towards the bridge's control chair. "Look, you gotta go arm the weapon."

"Are you sure you will be all right Daniel Jackson?" Teal'c asked, concern for his friend making his brow furrow.

"There… isn't much time left," he gasped. "Jack'll give the command, now go. Go!" He watched his friends reluctantly leave him behind as they went to go arm the Sangraal. He hoped that the plan would work…

Daniel toggled his radio on. "Jack." There was no reply. "Jack, you have to give the order." Silence. "Jack, please!" he pleaded, breathing raspy and stuttered. "I don't have much time - we don't have much time, give the order please!" There was a slight intake of breath on the other side, and Daniel could almost see the thoughtful expression on his best friend's face.

"Daedalus, this is General Jack O'Neill. Prepare the Mark IX."

Daniel's face split into a relieved grin. He'd believed him, Jack had believed him and this crazy insane plan could possibly succeed.

You did well young one, Merlin told him, pride suffusing his 'voice'. You remind me so much of him…

Him? Daniel wondered, his mind still active though his body was on the brink, requiring some much-needed rest. An Ancient you knew?

Of a sort. Arthur was my apprentice. The Ancient's tone was fond. Though if he even remembers me he no doubt hates me. Ganos Lal was not at all happy with him knowing of our existence…

Wait, still remembers? You mean there's another of you still on Earth, still alive?

Yes, Arthur still lives, though no doubt he has hidden himself from the normal humans of your world. So long as Britain remains, he will live on. Merlin's mental 'voice' was growing dimmer now, and Daniel could feel his strength fading. You must… find him. If our plan did not succeed… his kind may be the only thing left to stop the Ori…

Merlin? Merlin! Don't go! But it was too late. The Ancient's presence was gone from his mind now, and Daniel could feel as his body changed to the way it was before he became a Prior. He vaguely heard feet coming down the corridor and he just hoped that it was his team and not Ori soldiers before he slipped into blissful unconsciousness.


England stepped out of the shower feeling marginally better, as the hot water always served to soothe his aching muscles, whether it be after a day full of boring meetings he had to sit through or a day where he did nothing but sign paper after paper. He wrapped a towel round his hips after using it to dry his hair, small rivulets of water running down his legs and wetting the tiles beneath his feet as he walked to the door.

He slipped the pale green bathrobe on, depositing the towel on the rim of the bathtub before he walked out into the slightly cooler bedroom. His lips quirked upwards in a small smile as he saw the slouching figure at the desk, lit only by the small desktop lamp. "You're actually working."

"Yeah, after you got on my case enough times," came America's grumpy reply. "I'd have gotten around to it eventually you know. Reports from the SGC are actually pretty interesting to read sometimes."

"Yes, traversing about the galaxy does sound like fun, doesn't it?" Arthur chuckled.

"This coming from the one with the time-traveling phone booth," the other snickered.

"Hey, don't mock the Doctor," the Briton scolded, playfully slapping Alfred upside the head. "He could kick your arse twelve ways to Sunday if he so chose."

"I'm sure, I'm sure," Alfred laughed, grinning up at Arthur. "Bed now?"

"How many of those have you actually gone through?" England asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm caught up all the way up to this latest mess with Dr. Jackson being turned into a Prior," America informed him. "He's back to normal now," he assured England at his suddenly worried expression.

"Good," England nodded. Though he could just as well read the reports when they were given to him himself (Great Britain was part of the IOA after all), it was much more entertaining getting the information from Alfred, who had actually gone off-world several times, much to his former boss's consternation. "That lad's gotten through so much I wonder if he has some of the Fae looking after him."

"Everybody in the Stargate Program runs into weird shit, and could you not talk about magic before bed?" Alfred whined. "You know it creeps me out."

"My apologies luv," Arthur cooed, placing a kiss on the top of his head. "Would your delicate sensibilities be less offended if I took you to bed?"

"Much," America agreed eagerly. He leaned away from the desk as England bent down for a kiss, leaving the stack of reports on the desk.

Chapter Text

General George Hammond was, at first glance, a man who was likeable enough. He wasn't as cutthroat as some of the higher-ups, hardened by years of military service and the horrors they'd experienced, were, nor was he one who simply bent to another's will. He'd been the original commander of the SGC until only recently, and the fact that he'd done so without the Earth being too badly damaged said something for both his methods and his under-fire attitude.

However, running a command where he knew full well that the people he sent out into the wide universe could possibly not come home or land not just themselves but the entirety of Earth in trouble had not prepared him for having to practically babysit one Alfred F. Jones.

All right, maybe not babysit per say, but if anyone had ever told George that one day he'd be meeting the man who was the personification of his country, he would've thought he'd be a hell of a lot more mature. Not that he disliked the boy, but he could stand to act a bit more serious at times.

"General Hammond sir!"

Ah, speak of the devil.

"Mr. Jones," he greeted the physically younger man who practically bounced into his office.

"Sir, how many times have I told you not to call me that?" Alfred almost pouted.

"How many times have I told you that you don't need to stand at attention around me?" George replied with a raised eyebrow.

Alfred smiled sheepishly as his shoulders relaxed slightly. "Touché, sir." His expression then became more serious. "How's Doctor Jackson doing?"

"You actually read the reports I forward you?" Hammond asked, as he'd only thought of it as a formality before; sometimes Alfred really reminded him of Jack.

"Well, yeah. I mean, adventure out there in the great cosmos, fighting evil and stuff, it's like an action-packed thriller story!" Alfred exclaimed, grinning. "Course, there's always the possibility of dying and stuff, so that kinda sucks, but it's still really cool!"

The general shook his head as a fond smile played across his lips. "From what I've heard he's doing as well as can be expected. It wouldn't be the first time that he's gone through such a situation."

"Yeah, a lot of these reports could pass as something off of Star Trek!" Alfred nodded. "A shame that Wormhole X-treme got canceled; I actually kinda liked it. What?" he asked in reply to Hammond's look of disbelief. "It was funny!"

George shook his head again. It was times like these he was certain the job of coordinating America with the Stargate program had been foisted off on him because he had experience with looking after children. Sometimes he was okay with that, while other times it honestly grated on his nerves.

"Sir, about this meeting..." Hammond brought himself out of his musings as Alfred spoke hesitantly. "About the Ori and the Stargate program in general; is there any chance of it going public? The program I mean."

"Why would you ask?" Hammond inquired, frowning slightly.

"Well, see, sometimes those of us who've got people on the IOA committee get together and brainstorm - though we do spend a lot of it fighting, it's not as bad as world meetings - and honestly, with the people we've got right now we need fresh ideas - except we can't really tell anyone whose country isn't already involved more than donating people to the Atlantis project. Well, except Mattie; but he's a sneaky bastard," America confided in the former SGC commander.

Said commander was slightly surprised but also pleased that Alfred had brought this up. "As of right now there are contingency plans in place for the declassification of the program, but barring an alien invasion, they will not be happening any time in the near future." He cocked his head slightly to the side as he inquired, "Is this a question that others in a similar position to myself in other governments will also be asked?"

Alfred chuckled sheepishly. "You got me there sir. It's more everyone else's concern than mine though; I know the kind of miracles you guys are capable of, and I'm confident you can pull off another one."

George felt the sort of pride that he usually associated with when his people managed yet again to defy the odds and save the day, or Earth, whichever one of those days it was at the SGC. He firmly told himself that it was not because Alfred so often resembled a big puppy wanting praise, but because his country had just complimented him.

...Eh, it was probably a bit of both.

"You put a lot of faith in me and my people, son," George shook his head with a soft smile.

"Well sir, you are my people too," Alfred replied cheekily.


"Governor Meurik!"

The old man looked up from his meal to see the young boy who had entered his house. "Yes, Ramus?" he inquired.

"Th-the travelers from before, the ones who defeated the Black Knight's Curse - they've returned!" the boy exclaimed.

"Indeed?" Meurik rose from the table. He laid a hand on his wife's shoulder and smiled apologetically. She merely shook her head in reply as an understanding smile lit her face. He nodded slightly and went to follow Ramus. "Well, take me to them."

"Yes Governor," Ramus grinned.

The villagers had gathered to greet SG-1 as they approached the town, and Mitchell was almost bowled over by Valencia as she nearly tackled him in a fierce hug. "You are back!" She grinned at the them before frowning. "Where is your other companion?"

"Daniel's recovering from a... nasty battle," Sam replied, her expression slightly melancholy as she recalled how pale her friend had still looked when they left him with Vala keeping watch to make sure he didn't do anything too reckless and stupid. "Where is Meurik?"

"Ah, you have returned!" Meurik made his way through the crowd. "Valencia," he chided.

"Sorry," the girl rubbed the back of her head sheepishly, then went to stand by Ramus, sharing an excited grin with her brother.

"So what brings you here Colonel?" Meurik asked.

"Well, we were hoping to get another look at the library, preferably any books you might have pertaining to Arthur," Mitchell repeated what Jackson had told them - and he really hoped the archaeologist got better soon, because the last time he'd seen him that antsy had been that one time after the purple alien sunflower thingies, and he was going to begin repressing that memory again now, thank you very much.

"Any texts on Arthur?" Meurik and a few other older villagers chuckled. "You will have quite a lot to look through if that is the case Colonel."

"We mean anything that focuses mainly on Arthur, not just mentioning him in passing," Sam elaborated.

Meurik chuckled again. "I know. You will still have quite a lot to go through."

SG-0.60 exchanged slightly worried glances.

"I shall record this for DanielJackson's research purposes," Teal'c immediately volunteered.

"Lucky bastard," Cameron muttered.


Charlotte Mayfield before she'd allowed herself to be taken host by a Goa'uld was a forceful woman, used to doing whatever it took to get whatever she needed done. Charlotte Mayfield after she'd started sharing her head with the Goa'uld Athena could, in the correct scenario (and sometimes just because she felt like it), be nothing less than terrifyingly ruthless.

Her henchmen - sorry - minions, learned this the hard way when the former host to her backstabbing partner Qetesh had escaped with SG-1's help. The Clava Thessara Infinitas was said to lead to the greatest collection of goodies, both monetary and technological, left behind by the Ancients, and Athena was fairly certain she had had it in her grasp. To suddenly lose it... well, it was a good thing most of her minions were dispensible, and also that Charlotte Mayfield had been forced to take anger management classes during her teen rebellion stage.

It was a stroke of luck then, when one of their operatives came across the information that the analysis of some of the many texts that had been found underneath Glastonbury Tor had been outsourced to a British historian named Arthur Kirkland, and fortunately enough for them, he lived in a relatively secluded estate in England.


Arthur hated it when events were out of his control. You'd think that being the personification of a country, you'd be able to stick it to "the man" when you wanted to because, hello, country here! But no, being the gentleman he was, he didn't curse out his politicians when they deemed that he'd spent enough time in America, and no, they didn't care if he was "strengthening the Special Relationship", he was needed back in his own country!

Arthur really hated his government sometimes. Well, the constitutional part of the constitutional monarchy, he supposed. The Royal Family wasn't that bad.

"England, England!"

His attention was drawn to a couple of faeries who had most likely been awaiting his return. "Hello there," he greeted, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Where have you two been hiding?"

"There are people out front," the faerie on the left fretted, her pale pink wings fluttering rapidly as she nervously wrung her hands.

"One of them smells of avarice and darkness," the other confided, his expression troubled.

"Shit," Arthur muttered. He rummaged in his cupboards for a moment for a jar of patchouli oil, then quickly drew a few runes on the doorframes of the main room. As an afterthought, he drew a protection symbol on his own forehead. "Better paranoid than sorry," he assured himself as the doorbell rang.

"Coming!" he yelled and steeled himself for any sort of assault as he opened the door.

"Arthur Kirkland?" the blonde woman on the doorstep asked pleasantly enough as dark fumes roiled around her, visible to Arthur only because of his Sight.

He consciously fought not to recoil in disgust. "Yes?" he inquired irritably, playing the "eccentric old man".

"We have something of importance we'd like to discuss with you," the woman replied. "If you could please step outside?"

"Why?" Arthur replied rudely. "I'm rather busy right now-"

"Mr. Kirkland, it would be in your best interests to come with us now," the woman said as the two men flanking her silently pulled out handguns.

"Can I at least get the name of my kidnapper?" Arthur inquired dryly. "Since you know mine and I highly doubt you'd like for me to call you the names that are floating around my head right now?"

"You may call me Athena," she replied in a deep voice as her eyes glowed golden.

Oh yes, Arthur hated it when events were out of his control.