marzipan77 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
marzipan77) wrote2011-10-20 06:20 pm
marzipan77) wrote2011-10-20 06:20 pm
Entry tags:
"Renaissance: V is for Venia"
Title: “Renaissance: V is for Venia”
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
marzipan77
Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: None
Rated: T+ for language and memories of violence
Summary: A series of fics beginning at Daniel’s descent back to Earth from the Ascended Plane. Chapter by chapter, these fics, about 1000 words each, beginning with “A”, will explore Daniel’s attempt to regain his memories, his mortal existence, and his place within the SGC and on SG-1.
Warnings: Angst/Emotional Whump/Memories of Death
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, or Jack, or Daniel, or anything but my cats.
Written for the Alphabet Challenge on the Stargate Drabbles List.
Summary: Venia: noun (Latin) grace, indulgence, favor, pardon, forgiveness.
The images grew as the words spread out on the pages before him. Danger. Injury. Loss. Fear. Pain of so many different definitions that it should have swallowed him, sent him scurrying back to the comforting emptiness of Arrom. No wonder Daniel Jackson had hidden, content to remain within a borrowed tent on an alien planet, surrounded by strangers. He felt the small smile curve over his lips and huffed a breath that rattled the mission report that lay across his lap. Then why did he feel so … calm? Right? At peace?
A warmth had begun to expand from the center of his being, its tendrils reaching out through nerves and tissues, filling him so completely that there didn’t seem to be enough room for doubt or dismay. The words were true – they resonated, falling into place effortlessly – and he recognized the dread and anger and sorrow, the emotions that shaped each one, and, even more importantly, he believed them.
His own mission reports – notes written in his own hand. Daniel smoothed his fingers over the letters of languages that emerged fully known within his mind. The dusty syllables of tongues long changed here on planet Earth, of peoples stolen from their homes to become slaves of parasitic beings, of others so alien they defied the imagination. Asgard. Nox. Abydonian. Atoniik. Ancient.
“Verba volant, scripta manet.”
A language no longer spoken here – except in ecclesiastical circles – had its roots with those who had given birth to mankind. It was poetic, really. Fitting. It brought the striving and suffering of humanity back, full circle, to its beginnings, just as the Ancients had brought Daniel Jackson back to his. Vis maior – a higher power. He smiled again. He had frantically pursued knowledge all of his life, had hunted doggedly for the deeper, the most secret, the truth at the heart of all life: he had found all that and more. And had chosen to live within the frail limits of his human life instead.
A knock at his door barely distracted Daniel from the tale before him – this time the words of the tale were not his own. They told of Daniel Jackson’s ending. Echoing with sadness, with grief, they spoke of a man, a so-called hero whose words had failed him and who had made another choice: a choice to act, to protect, and, then, to stop fighting.
“Yea.” His mind filled with frightening images and memories of pain, Daniel’s eyes registered a man entering his small, dim room. He frowned, confused. That face, hung with a veil of stoicism, a mask of casual inquiry, should have been pale with fright. That man – now dressed in a familiar uniform with a patch on the shoulder that spoke of trust and loyalty – and had once been his – had crouched unmoving in a corner and shouted. And Daniel’s mind shouted back.
“Vulpem pilum mutat, non mores!”
Daniel swallowed, clutching cold fingers to the open file. The warmth, the feeling of belonging, still lingered, but now it was laced with thin coils of anger. “Hey,” he offered warily.
“Sorry to bother you.”
Are you? Daniel asked himself. He hadn’t finished reading this file, he hadn’t come to the bitter end of the tale, but he knew it lacked a ‘happily ever after’ - at least for him. Or, perhaps, that chapter had not been written yet. But Jonas, Jonas had gained much. And here he stood, feet apart, hands grasping Daniel’s journals, his office, and the very place Daniel had just discovered was the only place he truly belonged.
“Oh, you’re not,” Daniel muttered, fumbling the story of his death to one side. “I was just reading about … us, actually.” Us. SG-1. Jack O’Neill, Samantha Carter, Teal’c, and Daniel Jackson. And, ironically, Jonas Quinn.
The Kelownan stilled for a second as if preparing himself to address Daniel’s pointed remark, but Daniel saw the moment pass.
“You said that Anubis was part Ascended. That the Ancients tried to send him back to our level of existence but failed and now he’s trapped somewhere in between.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” he answered dryly. Jack had told him. It was written here – somewhere – Daniel’s gaze flickered over the scattered files. Why had this man sought him out to state the obvious?
“Anubis wouldn’t know everything there is to know about the Ancients then, right? Otherwise he would have already found the lost city or …”
Daniel held up one hand to halt his stammering. “Look I know I was able to read that tablet, but…” He shook his head. The memories of his Ascension were gone, beyond his reach. He’d accepted that. Language was all that remained.
“Oh, I’m just thinking out loud, here.”
Daniel felt the furrows deepen between his eyes, the anxiety rearing up from its quiescence within him. What did Jonas want? A sounding board? A research assistant? A friend? Daniel lifted his head. Or, perhaps, what Jonas really sought was to remind himself that this newly returned orphan of the stars was no threat to him, or this new SG-1. That he still mattered, and still had something to offer.
Jonas took one step nearer, eyes flashing anxiously. “If Anubis were to accidentally find the tablet chances are he’s not going to make the same mistake I did.”
Mistake? Uncertainty fluttered in Daniel’s belly. He remembered the joy on his friends faces, the way they’d clustered around him, Jack’s looming threat as Daniel stumbled out of the room that had once been his office, the easy way he’d been welcomed home. The fear he sensed within this room was not all his own. “I – I don’t know,” he stuttered. He slid his gaze away from the Kelownan’s earnest face.
“But if we were to make a replica of the tablet, you know, change what it says…”
Worry colored the rushed words, a sort of verbal flailing for purchase. Daniel’s thoughts flew, but still held tightly to the anchoring point in the here and now that had grounded him in hope. Was that what Jonas needed now? A reminder of his welcome? He opened his eyes and blinked back the unexpected moisture there. “Why?” he whispered. Why? Why him? Surely Jonas didn’t expect that kind of reassurance, that acceptance from Daniel?
Suddenly, the energy that had seemed to animate Jonas leaked away, leaving the young man standing before him in a green uniform that didn’t quite fit, emotions skulking out from behind his genial mask to paint dark shadows under his eyes and creases into his brow. “I – Doctor Jackson, I.” He swallowed, the awkward movement of his throat drying Daniel’s own. A smile flashed across Jonas’ face and then was gone. “I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally admitted.
Daniel placed one hand on the closed file, the one that told the tale of Jonas Quinn and Daniel Jackson. Of a comrade, friend, brother who had been lost, and the alien who had come after. And replaced him. “You –” Daniel shook his head.
“I was the one who should have died.”
Daniel stared, eyes wide open, but saw, not the awkward man before him, but a dark-haired beauty lying beneath a tent, a wheezing colleague puffed up with pride in his discoveries, a man and woman crushed beneath a stone. And then other voices thick with tears, with guilt, with self-hate, echoing the words in many times and many places – Sam. Teal’c. Jack. Himself.
“‘I was the one who should have died.’”
Anger and blame fell away, leaving Daniel with the bitter taste of grief, with the fleeting desire to avenge, to hurt, to wound where he had been wounded, or, at least, to remain aloof, unmoved by Jonas’ fear. A moment later, that, too, was gone.
“Jonas.” He reached for gentleness, quiet. Daniel bowed his head once and then stood to face this stranger, this alien who had made his own painful journey. Not like his, not into death, but still… While Daniel’s anchor held him here, firm and staunch and solid, this man’s had now been torn away. He straightened his shoulders and offered all he could – his hand.
“Vade in pace.”
~~~
Verba volant, scripta manet – words fly away but the written remains.
Vulpem pilum mutat, non mores – a fox may change its fur, not its tricks.
Vade in pace – go in peace.
Author:
marzipan77Fandom: SG-1
Pairing: None
Rated: T+ for language and memories of violence
Summary: A series of fics beginning at Daniel’s descent back to Earth from the Ascended Plane. Chapter by chapter, these fics, about 1000 words each, beginning with “A”, will explore Daniel’s attempt to regain his memories, his mortal existence, and his place within the SGC and on SG-1.
Warnings: Angst/Emotional Whump/Memories of Death
Disclaimer: I don’t own Stargate, or Jack, or Daniel, or anything but my cats.
Written for the Alphabet Challenge on the Stargate Drabbles List.
Summary: Venia: noun (Latin) grace, indulgence, favor, pardon, forgiveness.
The images grew as the words spread out on the pages before him. Danger. Injury. Loss. Fear. Pain of so many different definitions that it should have swallowed him, sent him scurrying back to the comforting emptiness of Arrom. No wonder Daniel Jackson had hidden, content to remain within a borrowed tent on an alien planet, surrounded by strangers. He felt the small smile curve over his lips and huffed a breath that rattled the mission report that lay across his lap. Then why did he feel so … calm? Right? At peace?
A warmth had begun to expand from the center of his being, its tendrils reaching out through nerves and tissues, filling him so completely that there didn’t seem to be enough room for doubt or dismay. The words were true – they resonated, falling into place effortlessly – and he recognized the dread and anger and sorrow, the emotions that shaped each one, and, even more importantly, he believed them.
His own mission reports – notes written in his own hand. Daniel smoothed his fingers over the letters of languages that emerged fully known within his mind. The dusty syllables of tongues long changed here on planet Earth, of peoples stolen from their homes to become slaves of parasitic beings, of others so alien they defied the imagination. Asgard. Nox. Abydonian. Atoniik. Ancient.
“Verba volant, scripta manet.”
A language no longer spoken here – except in ecclesiastical circles – had its roots with those who had given birth to mankind. It was poetic, really. Fitting. It brought the striving and suffering of humanity back, full circle, to its beginnings, just as the Ancients had brought Daniel Jackson back to his. Vis maior – a higher power. He smiled again. He had frantically pursued knowledge all of his life, had hunted doggedly for the deeper, the most secret, the truth at the heart of all life: he had found all that and more. And had chosen to live within the frail limits of his human life instead.
A knock at his door barely distracted Daniel from the tale before him – this time the words of the tale were not his own. They told of Daniel Jackson’s ending. Echoing with sadness, with grief, they spoke of a man, a so-called hero whose words had failed him and who had made another choice: a choice to act, to protect, and, then, to stop fighting.
“Yea.” His mind filled with frightening images and memories of pain, Daniel’s eyes registered a man entering his small, dim room. He frowned, confused. That face, hung with a veil of stoicism, a mask of casual inquiry, should have been pale with fright. That man – now dressed in a familiar uniform with a patch on the shoulder that spoke of trust and loyalty – and had once been his – had crouched unmoving in a corner and shouted. And Daniel’s mind shouted back.
“Vulpem pilum mutat, non mores!”
Daniel swallowed, clutching cold fingers to the open file. The warmth, the feeling of belonging, still lingered, but now it was laced with thin coils of anger. “Hey,” he offered warily.
“Sorry to bother you.”
Are you? Daniel asked himself. He hadn’t finished reading this file, he hadn’t come to the bitter end of the tale, but he knew it lacked a ‘happily ever after’ - at least for him. Or, perhaps, that chapter had not been written yet. But Jonas, Jonas had gained much. And here he stood, feet apart, hands grasping Daniel’s journals, his office, and the very place Daniel had just discovered was the only place he truly belonged.
“Oh, you’re not,” Daniel muttered, fumbling the story of his death to one side. “I was just reading about … us, actually.” Us. SG-1. Jack O’Neill, Samantha Carter, Teal’c, and Daniel Jackson. And, ironically, Jonas Quinn.
The Kelownan stilled for a second as if preparing himself to address Daniel’s pointed remark, but Daniel saw the moment pass.
“You said that Anubis was part Ascended. That the Ancients tried to send him back to our level of existence but failed and now he’s trapped somewhere in between.”
Daniel’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, so I’ve heard,” he answered dryly. Jack had told him. It was written here – somewhere – Daniel’s gaze flickered over the scattered files. Why had this man sought him out to state the obvious?
“Anubis wouldn’t know everything there is to know about the Ancients then, right? Otherwise he would have already found the lost city or …”
Daniel held up one hand to halt his stammering. “Look I know I was able to read that tablet, but…” He shook his head. The memories of his Ascension were gone, beyond his reach. He’d accepted that. Language was all that remained.
“Oh, I’m just thinking out loud, here.”
Daniel felt the furrows deepen between his eyes, the anxiety rearing up from its quiescence within him. What did Jonas want? A sounding board? A research assistant? A friend? Daniel lifted his head. Or, perhaps, what Jonas really sought was to remind himself that this newly returned orphan of the stars was no threat to him, or this new SG-1. That he still mattered, and still had something to offer.
Jonas took one step nearer, eyes flashing anxiously. “If Anubis were to accidentally find the tablet chances are he’s not going to make the same mistake I did.”
Mistake? Uncertainty fluttered in Daniel’s belly. He remembered the joy on his friends faces, the way they’d clustered around him, Jack’s looming threat as Daniel stumbled out of the room that had once been his office, the easy way he’d been welcomed home. The fear he sensed within this room was not all his own. “I – I don’t know,” he stuttered. He slid his gaze away from the Kelownan’s earnest face.
“But if we were to make a replica of the tablet, you know, change what it says…”
Worry colored the rushed words, a sort of verbal flailing for purchase. Daniel’s thoughts flew, but still held tightly to the anchoring point in the here and now that had grounded him in hope. Was that what Jonas needed now? A reminder of his welcome? He opened his eyes and blinked back the unexpected moisture there. “Why?” he whispered. Why? Why him? Surely Jonas didn’t expect that kind of reassurance, that acceptance from Daniel?
Suddenly, the energy that had seemed to animate Jonas leaked away, leaving the young man standing before him in a green uniform that didn’t quite fit, emotions skulking out from behind his genial mask to paint dark shadows under his eyes and creases into his brow. “I – Doctor Jackson, I.” He swallowed, the awkward movement of his throat drying Daniel’s own. A smile flashed across Jonas’ face and then was gone. “I don’t know what to say to you,” he finally admitted.
Daniel placed one hand on the closed file, the one that told the tale of Jonas Quinn and Daniel Jackson. Of a comrade, friend, brother who had been lost, and the alien who had come after. And replaced him. “You –” Daniel shook his head.
“I was the one who should have died.”
Daniel stared, eyes wide open, but saw, not the awkward man before him, but a dark-haired beauty lying beneath a tent, a wheezing colleague puffed up with pride in his discoveries, a man and woman crushed beneath a stone. And then other voices thick with tears, with guilt, with self-hate, echoing the words in many times and many places – Sam. Teal’c. Jack. Himself.
“‘I was the one who should have died.’”
Anger and blame fell away, leaving Daniel with the bitter taste of grief, with the fleeting desire to avenge, to hurt, to wound where he had been wounded, or, at least, to remain aloof, unmoved by Jonas’ fear. A moment later, that, too, was gone.
“Jonas.” He reached for gentleness, quiet. Daniel bowed his head once and then stood to face this stranger, this alien who had made his own painful journey. Not like his, not into death, but still… While Daniel’s anchor held him here, firm and staunch and solid, this man’s had now been torn away. He straightened his shoulders and offered all he could – his hand.
“Vade in pace.”
~~~
Verba volant, scripta manet – words fly away but the written remains.
Vulpem pilum mutat, non mores – a fox may change its fur, not its tricks.
Vade in pace – go in peace.