Author's Note: So this has been floating around in my folders for some time now... I finally decided to post it, cause I decided that I would never be able to tweak it enough, AND I haven't posted in like, forever. So enjoy this... or not... it's a little sad... sorry

Warning: Multiple character deaths, before and during this story... I told you it's a little sad

Disclaimer: I don't own it, I'm just playing

Coming Home

The day I first see the Old Man, I'm terrified.

But it's a rite of passage, or so the older boys tell me. Go up, touch the run down old hut that sits a mile or two outside the village and try to avoid the blue lights that hit you, knock you out. The older boys say if you get hit by that, the Old Man keeps you for a time, to teach you a lesson. They never say what lesson, but they hiss the word, striking fear right into my heart.

I don't really want to do it.

Not that I have to, not today.

The boy, Ari, only a few months older than me, creeps up from the safety of the trees. The older boys inch out, their own fear – it has to be fear – bubbling out from between their lips. I stay right where I am as I watch Ari play with what could only be certain death.

He touches the house and even over the distance I can hear him yelp as nothing happens. One of the boys falls down, his terror too much as he writhes on the ground in fits of what has to be nervous laughter.

But nothing happens. The door doesn't open, and Ari begins to scarper back.

He's almost safe when the blue lights come out of nowhere, and we all look up to see the Old Man at his front door, a strange weapon in his hand. One light hits Ari square in the back while the rest strike the very ground before the older boys. Ari falls with barely a scream, and the rest of us turn and run, my heart beating in my throat. I don't stop until I'm home.

We don't see Ari again until a week later.

Somehow Mama, and Father, they both find out that we went to see the Old Man. They tell me not to, not to bother the man, because it will mean a great deal of trouble for me.

I swallow, nod my head, but a few months later, I'm back at that old, run down hut and it's my turn to touch the wall.

Somehow I'm not as scared. I even boast about how I'll make it back without being hit. Others have, though not many.

But as I take my turn creeping forward, Ari encouraging me with a brave smile, my heart still climbs, beating so fast…

I get within two feet of the wall, reach out, stretching, trying to touch it with only the bare tips of my fingers.

The blue light comes out of nowhere and I fall to the ground, already unconscious by the time I hit it.

When I wake up, the Old Man is staring me in the face. He looks stern, his eyes flashing. And he reaches down to grab me.

Somehow I manage to stop the scream that nearly bursts out, and am glad when I do, because the Old Man only reaches down and grabs me by the back of my coat. And then we're moving, the Old Man moving spryly for his age, and strong. Too strong for me.

I want to yell at him, to ask where we're going, but one look before I can even open my mouth, and I keep it firmly shut. That look makes me feel guilty for bothering him, and I allow myself to be dragged to my fate.

When I look up next, we're at the village. Not by any usual route I take, but we're there, and my house is close. I wonder how long I was unconscious, if the Old Man is only just returning me. After all, Ari was gone for a week.

Then the Old Man knocks on my door. Father opens it, and sighs when he sees me.

"Sorry, Colonel," my father apologises. "I've told him not to bother you."

"It's okay, Nemin," the Old Man replies. It's the first time I hear him speak: his voice is nothing like I expected. It's gruff. And warm. "You know kids."

And he shoves me forward, until father takes the same hold. The Old Man, Colonel, my father had called him, lets go easily and turns to leave.

It's only as the door slams shut that I see the Old Man throw his head back and laugh.

Now my interest is really peaked. Father and Mama keep me inside for a week, locked inside my room, and when I am allowed out, the younger boys ask me what the Old Man did to me for all that time.

I don't tell them that he didn't do anything to me, that it was Father and Mama who kept me locked away. I begin to suspect that none of the older boys tell either. And I begin to wonder what else about the Old Man is false.

Is he really a ghost? Is he really crazy? Does he really have magic abilities? Can he really fly through space?

So I go back to that hut, alone, curiosity far outweighing any fear I might have had.

I only watch this time, from the tree line where the older boys no doubt watched me fail at touching the wall. They seem to have forgotten it, but I haven't. I hadn't even heard the Old Man come out of his house.

I sit there for a long time, just waiting for all my questions to be answered. But nothing happens, and when it's finally getting dark, I sigh and turn to go home.

The Old Man is standing there, watching me as he leans against a tree, and I can't help but jump.

The Old Man grins. "Persistent little bugger, aren't you?"

He speaks strange, something I hadn't noticed the first time I heard him speak. I stand up straighter, hands behind my back, and refuse to be stared down. The Old Man's grin grows.

"Brave, too," he muttered. "None of the other boys come back unless they have their entourage."

The Old Man stood up straighter, crossing his arms. "You should really be getting home, Luka."

How does he know my name? I don't ask, just nod silently, and leave, only turning once to find the Old Man gone. And again, I wonder, is he really a ghost?

I go back again. And again. I can't help it, the curiosity is so strong. I want to know who he is, what he is, and why he lives alone, why he plays along with this image of the crazy old man the boys have of him.

I never get closer than the tree line, but it doesn't matter. He knows I'm there nearly every time. I try to spot him first, try to catch his frail figure bending over doing some chore, or passing by a window. But I never do.

If I see him, it's only when I spot him watching me, a small grin on his face. Sometimes he speaks to me, if I see him, though he never speaks for long. Never stays for long. Never visits the village, or goes out. Not that anyone sees, anyway. If he's gone, it's without a trace, like a whisper on the wind. The house remains quiet, the windows dark, and no one ever really knows he's gone. Except me.

A month or two after I was meant to touch the wall, and I'm back at the house, watching from the tree lines. I can't see the Old Man anywhere, but the lights are on in the windows, prepared against the coming night and rain. And for the first time I think that maybe, if I concentrate really hard, I'll see him first.

I don't. Nor does he spot me first. No, this time something else sees me. I, on the other hand, never see it coming.

It crashes into me with a savage, hungry growl, and I scream as something sharp digs into my arm. And then it's shaking me, and I scream again, terrified, in agony as that something sharp rips my skin apart, and the edges of my vision start to go black.

And then the creature – I still don't know what it is, except a mass of fur and teeth – yelps, rolling off me, and I scuttle away without using my injured arm, holding on desperately to the corners of consciousness. Again, though I didn't hear it the first time, loud bangs come from somewhere amongst the trees, and I scream again, ducking away, as the creature yelps, falls over, bleeding on the ground.

And then the Old Man runs into the clearing, strange box-like weapon in his hand, skidding to a halt in front of me, between me and the creature, and my eyes are starting to get blurry, but I swear he points the box at the creature and fires again. A weapon unlike anything I've seen or heard before, and he uses it to spray the creature with something hard enough to put holes in it.

And then it isn't moving anymore, and I collapse back, deciding that now the action is over I can probably fall asleep. My last glimpse is of the Old Man spinning on his bad leg, kneeling before me, a worried look on his old face.

"Hold on Luka!"

The next few hours are a blur. I get a sense of being jostled, carried, and then of warmth, comfort, and I doze off again. Sounds, whispering through my head, curses, and a repeated demand of, Why do I have to live so Goddamn far away? I want to ask who lives so far away, but I can't move, can't speak, and my head flops to the side, where I see the Old Man pulling something out of a cupboard: bandages, ointments, and other odd things that are starkly different against the humble decorations of the house…

I blink, and suddenly I'm hot, and the Old Man is stoking the fire with a scarred hand, and I wonder how I never noticed it before…

I blink, and my arm's on fire, and I groan, try to turn over, unsure of where I am except that there's a cloth on my forehead, and it's wonderfully cool. And I blink, and time doesn't rush past, but the Old Man looks down at me, and nods, youthful eyes determined. "You'll be okay, Luka."

I blink, and the room is cooler, there's a fur over me, and I suddenly realise I'm home. Someone gasps from nearby, and I instantly recognise my mother's voice, only seconds before she takes me in a smothering hug, and she's crying.

And I'm not sure what happened, but I know I owe the Old Man my life.

Mama doesn't let me out of her sight for days, and when eventually I do escape her smothering, I suddenly find myself the centre of attention, answering question after question on what had happened to me.

But eventually I make it back out to the Old Man's home, one cold morning, and I stop and watch from the tree line, licking my lips as I try to spot movement. But there isn't any, not yet, so I sit down in the leaves and watch the house, just waiting, and watching.

And once again I don't see him until he's right on top of me, moving silently even through the fallen leaves and on his bad leg. But before I know what's happening, he's sitting down beside me, shaking his head.

"Didn't you learn your lesson last time?" he demands, not looking at me. My heart beating fast, I smile.

"Mama always tells me to say thank you when someone saves your life," I answer, and the Old Man chuckles.

"Oh, she does, does she? Well, in that case… don't sweat it."

I frown, not understanding the sentence. "I'm not sweating."

And the Old Man just laughs louder, before struggling to his feet, one hand on his bad knee. "Come on in, I'll make you a hot chocolate... I think I have some left."

Not really sure what a chocolate is, or why it's hot, I stand and follow silently, down the path towards the door. And my heart starts beating even faster. If only the older boys could see me now…

Inside it's warm, a fire bracing against the coming night, and winter. I look around with intense curiosity, remembering tiny details from the fever that had trapped me. The hunter's style of decoration. The low, wide bed covered in furs. The weapons stacked against one wall. They really interest me. I recognise most, a bow, crossbow, spear. But others…

"What are they?" I breathe, walking over to take a look, holding out my hand to touch, to feel that sleek metal.

A rough, large hand grabs mine before I can, and I look up into the stern face of the Old Man.

"They're not for touching," he warns. "Not by kids."

I nod, a touch frightened by his dark voice, but back away. "You used one to kill the wolf, didn't you? The box one?"

"The P-90?" The Old Man turns to his stove and kettle as I sit down at his rickety table. "Yeah, I did. It's called a gun."

"A gun." I test the word and look at the machine, not knowing what to say next. So, as usual, my mouth says something instead. "Are you really a ghost?"

I hate the words as soon as they're out of my mouth, but the Old Man doesn't take offence. No, he just laughs.

"A ghost? No. Not yet, anyway." He pauses and turns to lean against the stove. "Is that really what you kids think?"

"One of them." Again my mind speaks without thinking. "That you can fly through the sky. That you have magic. That you were a great warrior who killed millions of your enemy."

His face drops at that last one, and I wonder if it's possible to pull words back. And he shakes his head, turning back to the kettle, angry at something. But for some reason, I don't think he's angry at me.

"Well," he breathes over the boiling water. "None of those are true."

His words leave a silence, and I keep it while he pours water and milk into two mugs. But as he places one in front of me, I tentatively ask another question. "But you are not from here?"

"From your village?" The Old Man sits across from me. "No. Not quite." He leans forward, a huge smile on his face. "Can you keep a secret?"

I nod quickly, not mentioning that I'm not sure about his question.

The Old Man leans back, his grin turning to a sad smile. "Actually, I'm from another planet. A planet far, far away."

"You're an alien!" I blurt out, and he grins again. "But why are you here? I mean my village is boring!"

So quickly, his grin changes once again, and he looks like he's struggling, eyes crinkling, licking his lips. And then he just reaches out for his mug, taking a sip. "Drink your hot chocolate, Luka."

The winter is harsh that year, and the village is snowed in. The paths through the forest are impossible to pass, and most of us sit by the fire, watching harvest stocks dwindle, watching the old, and sometimes the very young die. For the first time I get called upon to help, but I can't do much. Not yet.

When the snows finally clear enough, I rush out to the Old Man's hut, bored with the endless routine of day after day after day. It's still cold, and white, and tramping through the snow is hard work, but I know it will be worth it when I get to the Old Man's hut.

Except he isn't there. It's night time before I realise it, and walking back to the village is even harder in the dark, and with the disappointment. Mama yells at me, and Father shakes his head, but I don't tell them where I've been.

I don't tell them every time I go back to the hut. I do it every day for a week. And then every second day for two. But still, there's no sign of the Old Man. I start to worry that he's gone. Or worse, dead, and left for the animals, and the earth.

A month after the last snowfall, I can't help myself anymore. I walk out from under the trees, towards the hut, my heart beating fast. Past the gate, towards the door. It opens when I push it hard enough, scraping, and I lick my lips as I go inside.

It's bare of anything much. Most of the weapons, and all of the... guns are gone. I wander in, staring at the nothingness, and wonder where he went.

I move over to the bed and sit, so very curious. Where did he go? What is he doing? Is he even alive?

I sigh and move to stand, when something catches my eye. A corner. Curious, I pick it up, and then flip through the pages of the book. Slowly, my jaw drops. It's like nothing I've ever seen before. We have books, and writing, but this has colour, and drawings of things I've never seen before, and it's in a language I can't understand. It's amazing, and I lean in closer and closer, as if it will suddenly come alive if I will it hard enough into existence.

"Interesting read, Luka?"

The voice makes me jump, and I stand, dropping the book onto the bed as I catch sight of the Old Man leaning against the frame of his door. He looks exhausted, and he's carrying two or three heavy sacks, but he's alive.

"You are alive," I repeat, relieved, more relieved than I thought I should be. But the Old Man just chuckles.

"Glad to see you have that much faith in me," he mutters as he walks inside, dumping his sacks on the floor. "Been waiting here long?"

I don't tell him I've been here nearly every day, waiting. Instead, I pick up the book again. "What is this?"

"That..." he begins, shaking his head and pulling out a seat. "That is so far beyond your comprehension that I don't think I can explain what it is."

At my hurt look, he sighs. "It's... science, and physics, and everything a person needs to know about the Stargate."

He's right, I don't comprehend it, and the look must show on my face, because he chuckles to himself, looking down. When he looks back, it's like the exhaustion is gone from his body. "Would you like me to teach you?"

Five winters later, and I'm running out to the hut, nose bleeding, eye sore, but not feeling either past the anger.

I slow down before I reach the hut, not really wanting to go there, not today. I just needed some time to think, to breath, to settle down. My feet were just so used to the path they did what they wanted.

But as usual, he finds me first.

"Thought you would have been busy today, Luka."

I spin around to find him behind me, just in time to see his face harden. He dumps the rabbits he's holding, and limps forward. His limp is worse today, I notice, even as I'm flinching away from his probing, scarred hand.

He just sighs. "Another fight?"

I don't tell him he's right. I don't tell him that the other boys have started calling me crazy. I don't tell him that they've called him worse.

I do tell him one thing. "I gave as good as I got."

He chuckles, and bends down, wincing, to pick up his hunting trophies. "I bet you did. You know, I have a friend who'd like you."

"A friend?" I ask, curious. Did someone finally come to visit him? "Someone from your home planet."

His face falls, when he thinks I can't see. But I've learned to read him. "No," he answers, his voice rougher than usual. He rubs at his eyes. "No, another planet. But he still would have liked you."

Liked. I don't repeat it. The friend is dead. It seems everyone he's ever mentioned is dead. But I don't repeat that either.

Instead, I just grab half the rabbits from him, knowing I need to distract him. "Anyway, I came to ask you some questions. About the... the control crystals on a Stargate?"

The next winter ends later than usual, and even though I go out to his hut later than usual, I still expect him to be away, just like he is at the end of every winter.

Except, when I creep up to the tree line, he's chopping wood, only in a light shirt, as if he doesn't feel the lingering cold.

I stop, waiting for him to look up and grin at me. It seems to take forever before he pauses in his chopping motion. A lot longer than usual. My back tenses, waiting for that gaze to find me.

But he just drops the axe, as if he lost all feeling in his fingers, and then turns, sitting down on the wooden block. His back's turned to me, but I can tell he's leaning over, his hands are shaking, and he's rubbing at his eyes.

And then he pauses again. My breath hitches, waiting, urging him to look at me. But he just looks up, and to his left, and even from here I can see the smile. Even from here, I can hear the words.

"I know, Teyla. I'm not getting any younger." He pauses, and his smile goes sad. "But I don't have any more grunts to do the heavy lifting for me. No. No! I can do it. I have to do it." His voice is rising, and I take a step back, as he stands up, grabbing the long axe. "Just leave it, Teyla! I can do this. For you guys, I can do this! I have to!"

He screams the last sentence, and with astonishing strength for his age, hurls the axe into the wall. I take another step back, thinking maybe today I shouldn't visit. I back into the shadows, even as he staggers back a step, shaking.

And then he shakes his head, and moves forward to grab the axe, half pulling it out of the wall before he pauses. And looks around, eyes searching the forest. I hold my breath, but the gaze doesn't stop on me. It just keeps going.

I sit there well beyond dark. Well into the cold. I know I shouldn't. But I have to watch. There's something about him. Something different.

Something wrong.

Maybe something's been wrong for a long time, and I just haven't noticed it. It makes my breath hitch, and my stomach roll, and I know... wish that it can't be true. Something can't be wrong.

It just can't.

So I sit and watch as the sun sets, and he goes inside. The windows light up, and it looks warm, and I know my own home would be well heated, and dinner would be on the table. But I sit there.

It doesn't take long. Before the voices start. I can't hear who he's talking to. Or rather, not talking to. Because I know the hut is empty. I know he's in there alone.

Alone with his memories, of all his friends from other planets, who are dead, talking to them because he doesn't know how to stop.

I head back the next day, against my parent's wishes. I don't really care anymore. I'm old enough now to do as I want.

I walk right up to the hut this time, not stopping, waiting for him to spot me first. He does anyway, watching as I emerge from the trees, and I feel a little relieved, before I remember the noises from the night before.

"Heya Luka," he calls from his spot on the step. He looks tired. "How was your winter?"

I don't answer. "Where do you go all winter?" I ask instead.

His face goes still, and then he shrugs. "Somewhere. I'll show you sometime. I promise."

"When?" I ask, thinking it will be a long time in the future. But he just shakes his head.

"Soon. Very soon... I'm... I'm going to need the help."

I scoff before I can help myself. "Like you'd ever need help."

He laughs. "Well, I wish that were true. But... But I'm getting old, Luka."

I almost say 'I know'. Instead I lick my lips. "Why did you come to this planet? Obviously you got here through a Stargate. Is that where you go all winter?"

He laughs again, which is a little relieving. "Wow. I knew you were a smart boy, should have figured you'd work all that out."

"You're avoiding the questions."

He pauses, watching me, his eyes so serious that pretty soon I'm shifting under them. But he just nods. "I know. Yes. That is where I go all winter. And where I'll be going next winter. And where I'll need your help."

He pauses again. "And where I'll answer all your questions."

Winter comes again, but it seems to take forever this time. For an entire year, I'm itching for the cold, and the snow, and for anything different. I don't know, really, that there will be anything different. It's just a feeling. A gut feeling.

I don't tell my parents. I hug my mother as I walk out the door, and there's a strange feeling in my heart, like I'm not going to see her again, but I don't say good bye, and I don't tell them I'm heading out with the crazy Old Man who lives in a hut outside of the village.

The walk seems to take forever, and he struggles, so it's silent as well. I wonder how he ever did this by himself, and then realise I know the answer to that. He wasn't always like this. The last year hasn't been kind to him, and I find myself wondering exactly how old he is. Exactly how long he has left.

And that makes me sick inside.

But by the end of the day we're there. It's almost sunset, but we're there, and it's a little less than I expected. It's just a strange ring with symbols on it. It's impressive, and I've seen pictures, so I know it's a Stargate. But it's still... less.

But he limps up to it like it's an old lover, caressing it, eyes closing. And then he starts to speak.

"We came through this. We came flying through this, so hard I didn't wake up for a day, and when I did I had the worst head ache I've ever had."

I drop the bags I was carrying, and walk up to him. "Where'd you come from?"

"Atlantis," he breathes, like it's an ache inside of him. "Wonderful Atlantis. It was supposed to be an easy mission. A nothing, milk-run mission. Instead we came out here, on the wrong side of the galaxy, and we were hurt."

"And you couldn't get back?"

He shakes his head. "No. We tried. I tried. So many times. But it was broken, and McKay, he... he..."

He drops his head, squinting his eyes. "I don't know why Atlantis never found us. Maybe because this gate was broken. Maybe cause they just couldn't find this planet. Couldn't find our transmitters. I don't know. I stopped worrying about it after a few years."

He pauses, and I reach out to touch the Stargate. It feels like it's humming, but I ignore that as I stare at him. At him breaking in front of me.

"Who was McKay?"

"A scientist. The best scientist in two galaxies. One of my best friends."

"And he... he died?"

"They all did. Teyla hit a tree, hit her head. She never even woke up again. She just... died. Ronon... he..." He slid down, still gripping the gate, to kneel. "It doesn't matter. They died, and I survived, to bury them, and then try to fix a gate I knew nothing about."

It sounded horrible. No wonder he had gone a little crazy. "So you come out here every winter to try to fix it? Isn't it cold, and miserable?"

"Winter's the only time I can come up here. We crossed a river, and any other time it's too hard to get across." He shook his head. "Besides it's a little warmer up here. And I have a pretty good tent." He shakes his head again. "It doesn't matter."

"So, did you do it? Did you fix it? Using the book?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

"Yeah. I was lucky McKay even had that on him. Fixed it last winter. I just needed to add one last thing, before I try to dial out." He stood up, grabbing something out of his pocket. He held it up.

"The control crystal," I answer, recognising it, my gut twisting. "So you're about to go... go home..."

"I hope so," he breathes, his voice shaking. "I hope so." He limps forward, moving towards the DHD. I follow, unsure of what's going to happen. "If I can find it." He pulls a box from his pocket. From pictures, I know it's a radio. "If they're still there."

"How long's it been?" I ask softly. It's not really what I want to ask.

He just shakes his head again. "I don't even know. Grab me a screwdriver, will you?"

I run to get his pack, up by the Stargate. I want to go with him. My heart's beating fast, and loud. So loud I never hear the padded feet.

"Colonel?" I ask, turning. "I want to – No!"

But it's too late. The wolf, too thin and too hungry, is already on him, and they've both gone down in a mess of fur and snarls and screams. I drop the pack, grabbing instead the P90, but I can't shoot, not when they thing's on top of him. I barely know one end from the other. He's a good shot.

He was a good shot, all those years ago.

I race forward, flinching as the Old Man screams, and something snaps in the sharp winter air. The wolf growls, and my mind forgets any fear, any lingering memory of hot breath and sharp teeth. I run forward and kick out, trying to get the thing off him.

It works, somehow, and the wolf yelps, turning its attention towards me, snarling, ferocious, angry.

I pull the trigger and the kickback almost sends me flying.

But the wolf actually goes flying, dead before it hits the ground, and I stand there, heaving, feeling sick, devastated.

Because the Old Man is on the ground still, wheezing, coughing, crying out when he thinks he is holding it all in.

I drop to me knees beside him and try to put pressure on the wound in his neck. But it's no use. I know that, and he knows that, and there's tears streaming down both our faces.

"Time. We never have the time we need. The time we want." He coughs, and this time I think it's less the pain of dying and more the fact that he is. "The time to go back, and try to make it right. To make it better. I'm never going to see home again." His eyes squeeze shut, tears rolling out of them. "I'm never going to... Atlantis..."

He's fading, and I want to help him, want to do something, but I don't know what, except to be there. He's looking at the Stargate now, desire and hate battling out in his blurry eyes. "I'm going to die on this planet, and no one will ever... I'll never..." He coughs, blood dribbling over his lips. "Oh God, to feel Atlantis once more..."

I lick my lips. I know I can't move him, not without hurting him. I know I can only sit here and watch him die; here, on a planet not his own, when he's so close to finding his way home.

But there is something I can do.

I knew I would never see my mother again.

It takes twenty minutes and fourteen seconds for the Old Man to die. I know, because I'm counting. It starts snowing, just lightly, but I don't move. I just sit there, holding his hand as he drifts away, his voice failing as he tells me stories of his home, of his people.

He drifts away completely, and I sit there for another hour and fifteen minutes, crying. Because it's wrong. This Old Man, who risked so much in his life, for people not his own, should have died in his bed, surrounded by family. Not out here in the cold, in the snow, with just me by his side. It's not fair, but I hope that someday I'll find the place where he can be remembered like he should be.

It takes me seven months and three days to finally find it.

It takes twenty-three planets, two false starts, and one burning need to finish what he had started. Before he slipped away, the Old Man gave me two things. One was a list of planet addresses of people who he had known before he had crash landed on my planet. He had hoped one of them, at least, would know how to contact Atlantis.

And finally I find that planet, though it's not on the list. It's a new friend, a new ally, slowly rebuilding after the destruction of the Wraith thirty years ago. And again, I wonder how old the Colonel was. Who he was? Myth or man, legend or mere soldier?

When I contact Atlantis, they can barely believe my story. But they come anyway, young men, with guns, but they don't point them at me. I just tell them. And they take me through the Stargate to the shining city, and I can barely believe where I am. Atlantis, that I'd only heard about in stories.

And I pass the general the second thing the Colonel had given me. And as he turns the four sets of tags over in his hands, a single tear slips from his eyes. He looks up at me, and smiles; a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"I had hoped... God, Sheppard..." The general shook his head. "He was my commander thirty years ago. And Ronon? Teyla? Dr McKay?"

I shake my head, still awed by the place around me. It's even more wonderful than in the pictures, and there's a sense of rightness about the place. Something about it that reminds me of the strength of the Old Man.

The general grips the tags hard and wipes his eyes. In front of his men. He doesn't care, because they understand. They know.

"Would you like to hear, Luka, the stories of the man you just brought home?"