Hello My Lovelies!
I've been dying to write something for Clara and Twelve and this idea just could not be ignored.
This won't be as big a story as Violet Court (at least I'm not planning on that- watch me be wrong!)
I'm just really excited to write some more whouffle!
As always I love reviews
Enjoy :)
Death and Flowers
Ch.1
Chance Meetings
White daisies sprung forth between the cobblestones, twisting up through the dirt filled cracks. They blanketed the courtyard in the illusion of lightly fallen snow, an incongruous image with the eternal sunshine which filled the streets of Olympus.
The flowers trailed behind the lone figure pacing restlessly in the stone-walled garden. Wherever her bare feet met the ground the daises followed, their tiny petals tickling the hem of the girl's red gown. When she finally took notice of the flowers she let out an irritated sigh, chocolate eyes glaring down at them in consternation.
"Stop it." Clara commanded with a huff, as if the daises were so many petulant children begging for her attention.
At the words the minuscule flowers dissolved into a fine mist around her ankles and wafted away on the ever present slight breeze. Oddly they left the scent of cinnamon in their wake.
Clara took a steadying breath and went to sit on one of the courtyard's stone benches. Climbing wisteria hung heavy on an arched lattice surrounding the bench to form a small private alcove. She needed to get her emotions under control, especially if she was starting to cause plants to bloom.
Plants were Clara's - or more accurately her mother's - domain. As a goddess of vegetation she could call to the earth and its fertile soil with her emotions and will to bring flora to life. This also meant that if she was particularly irritated, or happy, or sad, or what have you, things such as spontaneous daises occurred. It was as annoying as it sounds.
Her mother said she needed better control; she needed to command her powers rather than be commanded by them. And that was all well and good in theory, but Clara was young - she had not had eons to master herself like some people. She was simply a minor deity with a small amount of power, overshadowed by a pantheon of giants.
Clara pursed her sculpted lips, frowning at the thought. She hated being treated like a throw away pawn in the greater god's chess matches. She was not the only one either…
This was also the reason Clara was currently skulking in the palace gardens in a fine temper.
The Master had called a Great Gathering on Olympus, a meeting from all the four winds to settle old differences and converge on the needs of the world. It was not an event which happened often. And Clara was not allowed inside.
It turned out lesser deities were not required at such discussion, since of course they could contribute no real help. The idea set Clara's teeth on edge! Sure she was not the Goddess of the Harvest like her mother, Sarah Jane, but that did not make her completely useless!
She had been looking forward to this for weeks - a fact she rather despised herself for now. Why should she care? It was not like everyone she had ever wanted to meet would be there or anything… oh wait.
The Master was even opening the gates to his estranged brother, the Doctor, the God of Death. Though she did not particularly want to meet him. Clara had heard enough frightful stories of the underworld and of the frigid chill of Death, which supposedly rolled off the Doctor's body in waves. They say it froze the Ichor in your veins just to meet his ice-blue eyes. Clara found it no wonder the man had been banished to the world below if all that were true.
Clara shivered and turned her thoughts to warmer ideals, plucking absently at the gold thread lining her sleeves.
The marble walls seemed to vibrate with the throng of voices and the power the owners of the those voices each gave off. It was giving the Doctor a headache - something he was not even sure he could get.
His fellows bickered, and argued, and laughed over the wants of the universe and their own. Yet no one wanted his input on any of these issues, since 'Death has nothing to do with Life'. So he stood stiffly off to the side, an imitation of the various painted statues also lining the hall.
The Master, who sat on his carved throne at the head of the room, occasionally caught the Doctor's gaze and smiled in a way that showed he knew exactly how uncomfortable he felt and was relishing it. Missy, the Master's wife, however just smiled at him invitingly whenever their eyes met.
Honestly she made the Doctor more uncomfortable than his brother did.
The temperature of the room was beginning to drop and he knew it was time for him to leave. He did not need to set off another ice age. Squaring his shoulders against any judgmental gazes, he slipped from the gathering hall and out into the bright winding streets of the heavenly city.
The Doctor was no fan of this sparkling place, with its towering columns and crystal fountains around every corner. Still when he was not being hardhearted on principle, even he had to admit Olympus was beautiful. Not in the wonderfully imperfect way Earth was, but like a dream that dissolves upon the moment of wakefulness.
Wandering aimlessly he happened across an arched doorway into a secluded courtyard. Peering through the Doctor realized he was not alone after all. A young woman draped in red satin sat with her eyes closed on a stone bench, framed by fragrant purple blossoms. And for whatever reason the sight of her made him stop.
She must be one of Amy's daughters, for her beauty outshone the ethereal garden. His eyes unwittingly traced the cascade of her dark locks down to the nape of her neck and to where the dress had slipped from her right shoulder to expose her alabaster flesh. Yes, the girl must surely be some minor goddess of beauty or desire.
Sensing his penetrating gaze the woman opened her eyes. Caught staring, the Doctor did not know what to do. He ridged his muscles like a jack rabbit prepared to sprint. To his utter surprise instead of disgust, a slight flush appeared on the woman's cheeks as she met his eyes.
She stood up slowly, obviously unsure, and moved more fully into the light. And as if caught in her magnetic pull the Doctor moved forward into the courtyard as well.
The girl's eyes darted from him, to the palace, and back. "Why are you out here, if I may ask?" She finally spoke.
"Because I could not stand to keep looking at my dimwit of a brother." He responded bluntly and to his shock she laughed, her whole face brightening.
"Dangerous words." She teased, pretending to glace about conspiratorially. "But I won't tell if you don't."
The Doctor could not help grinning at her easy charm. Everyone else treated him as if he were another species, even when they were being polite. This was refreshing, though he reasoned that the young woman probably had no idea who he actually was.
She moved closer subtly, just enough that he could smell the sweet scent of roses which hung about her in the air. The Doctor wanted to shake himself, and break free of what must be part of her natural enchantment. He had been alive long enough to know better than to fall under some magic infatuation.
But he did not move.
"I'm Clara, daughter of the Harvest." She said with a smile, extending a delicate hand.
He blinked. Daughter of the Harvest? Then she was a goddess of plants not love? Now he really ought to run. Instead he took the offered hand. "I am the Doctor, King of Death." That, if anything, should make her run.
"I know." Clara said softly, looking up into his face.
To this the Doctor truly had no response.
Notes on Casting:
Hades - The Doctor
Persephone - Clara
Zeus - The Master [Simm's Version]
Hera - Missy
Poseidon - Martha
Aphrodite - Amy
Athena - Rose
Apollo - Jack
Hephaestus - Rory
Ares - Donna
Demeter - Sarah Jane