A Song of Fire and Ice and Rage
e7cg13
Disclaimer: I do not own either "Doctor Who" or "Game of Thrones", and I am not making any sort of financial profit from this endeavor.
Summary: A series of short stories, varying in length and completely independent of one another, all centered around the idea of crossing the two settings of "Doctor Who" and "Game of Thrones". Will be based on the TV adaptation of "A Song of Ice and Fire", rather than the books.
Author's Note: This first short story, "The Lord of Time", will involve the Eleventh Doctor, Clara, Sansa, and Tyrion. It takes place during a scene from "Garden of Bones" for Game of Thrones, and sometime in between "Hide" and "Journey to the Center of the TARDIS" for Doctor Who. So expect spoilers up to those points for each of those respective shows, as well as major spoilers for season one of Game of Thrones. And without futher ado, here is the first chapter...
The Lord of Time Part I
There are vicious kings. There are idiot kings. And there are vicious idiot kings. Unfortunately for Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon just happened to be the latter of the three.
"You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons," said the royal bastard (literally) with a jeering sneer, as Joffrey pointed a loaded crossbow at his bride-to-be. Lady Sansa Stark knelt on the cold, hard floor of the royal throne room, completely helpless and at her fiance's mercy. Before her stood Sardon Clegane, the Hound, as he stood guard over his king with the utmost diligence expected of a knight.
The sobbing lady felt more tears well up in her eyes, as the stark despondency of her situation washed over her. Standing there right in front of the Iron Throne, the greatest symbol of power in all of the Seven Kingdoms, with a crossbow in hand, Joffrey could end her life on a whim. The old Sansa, before her father had died, would have fainted, or hyperventilated, or broken down in tears under the pressure of the situation she was currently in.
But now she could only sob and beg. That's how she was now; all of her feelings and emotions locked away due to the ticking time bomb that was now her life. The old her, the one filled to the brim with adolescent emotions and innocence and naivety, was gone now.
Any semblance of her old self burned away with fire when Lord Eddard Stark was beheaded, and what was left of her soul after that froze over with ice, molding her into who she was today; a girl who could not appear as anything but a loving and loyal Queen-to-be, lest her father's murderer obliterate her in an act of rage.
"Your Grace," pleaded Sansa in desperation, "whatever my traitorous brother has done, I had no part in it. You know that! Please, I beg of yo-…"
"Ser Lancel," said Joffrey, cutting her short, "Tell her of this outrage."
Sansa turned her head, just in time to see the boy king's addressee step out in front of the rest of Joffrey's court. He was Lancel Lannister, former squire of the late King Robert and now a knight with a high position in court. Sansa's heart wrenched with despair as the blonde-haired man began to speak. He described in detail his account of her brother Rob's battles, which somehow involved sorcery, an army of wolves, and mass cannibalism, which she knew could not be true.
Either the rest of the court was fooled by Lancel's account, or simply played along, as they all engaged in a collective round of disgusted looks and moans that certainly did not make Sansa feel any better about the situation. She turned to look back at Joffrey, and to her horror he looked like he was just a few moments away from executing her on the spot.
"Killing you would send your brother a message…" said the boy king, and Sansa was now sure that her fate was sealed. The young lady finally broke down in a fit of quiet and resigned sobs.
Then, with a sigh, "…but my mother insists on keeping you alive," said Joffrey, and Sansa was allowed to live another day. He gestured for her to stand, and she did. Part of her was happy and relieved that she had been spared once more, although she was still immensely distressed. And with good reason too.
Because now, with the life that Sansa was trapped in, she was never going to be safe. She watched anxiously as he bent down and set his still loaded crossbow on the floor, next to the Iron Throne, waiting for him to say something else; waiting for the "but", because Joffrey could never go without causing someone suffering.
Then it came.
"So we'll just have to send your brother a message another way," spoke the boy king as he sat down upon the Iron Throne, before gesturing towards the other present member of his guard, "Meryn. Leave her face…I like her pretty."
Ever faithful and just a tiny bit sadistic, Ser Meryn Trant slowly approached his lord's betrothed, while Sansa could only watch powerlessly. The armored man suddenly grabbed her with a gauntleted arm, and Joffrey's "message" began. A strong blow to the gut left her gasping out in pain and without air, while a follow up strike to the back of her leg with the blunt edge of his blade left her on the floor in agony.
At his master's behest, Meryn then violently stripped Sansa of her clothes, ripping her beautiful light blue dress down the middle of her back. Left indecent on the floor in front of the boy king and his court, and reeling from the pain of her brutal beating, Lady Sansa Stark could do nothing as Ser Meryn raised his arm above her and prepared to strike her again with his sword. She knew this would hurt.
That's when everything changed.
vworp vworp vworp
Clara Oswald eyed her favorite alien while grinning like a madwoman, as she watched the 1200 year old Time Lord work his beloved TARDIS like a pro. He twirled and spun and pivoted around the silver chromed and hexagon-shaped central console energetically, while frequently pushing buttons and pulling levers and fiddling with zigzag plotters seemingly at random in preparation for their next flight.
"So where to next?" asked Clara from the grey slab steps she was sitting on, momentarily interrupting the mad dance of her eccentric host. He stopped and turned to look at her, with an insane grin on his face that matched that of her own.
The Time Lord impulsively straightened his trademark bowtie before speaking, "All of time and space. That's what's next. That is what's always been next. But I'm assuming that you meant for an answer more specific."
Clara rolled her eyes at him. "I wouldn't be asking if I didn't want something specific, now would I?"
The Doctor shrugged.
"Well, I already took you to the Festival Moon of Qualium Lobos," continued the last Gallifreyan, "Lovely place; it's not the only celestial body completely covered in one gigantic festival, but it's definitely the best."
"They had some really great food there," interjected Clara with a far off look on her face.
"Then we went to watch the coronation of the very first New Roman Emperor in the 121st century…"
"That guy was a serious prick."
"…and after that we visited Earth during the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire, which I finally got around to fixing after that little "hiccup" with the Jagrafess and the Daleks…"
"I think that one smoothie that tasted like beef gave me food poisoning. Not good at all."
"…oh, and yesterday we visited the Eye of Orion for the hundredth or so time, which to be honest I'm starting to get tired off. Too restful…"
"Only you would find "too restful" a bad thing," interjected Clara one last time, before she popped up from the stairs with a tiny jump, and began walking towards her travelling partner.
"Oh, I like restful. Restful is cool," added the Time Lord, as he made his way to the long side panel next to the main console to input more coordinates, "But exciting is cooler, so when restful gets in the way of exciting, well, let's just say it's not cool."
The woman twice dead had a brief chuckle over her bowtie wearing friend's antics, before making her way next to him with her arms crossed and impatience clearly written on her pretty face.
"Come on now," started Clara, "Just tell me where we're going next."
He shrugged again, "Well, with you being my guest and all, I was kind of, sort of, a tiny bit hoping to leave that decision up to you."
Clara gave him a cute pout to express her disagreement, "But I picked last time, and the time before that. Now it's your time to choose, Mr. Time Lord. And besides, you're the expert on this, and you're the one who knows all about these places and times we're going to."
The man called the Oncoming Storm gave her a look before walking back to the main console. He typed in a few commands on a green touch screen-like panel before acquiescing, "Fine fine, I'll decide. I know! Let's go to Midnight. Beautiful world, and it has some amazing vacation resorts and tourist spots. Had a bit of a bad experience there in my tenth life though, rather not talk about it; strangey-wangey stuff…"
"If you had a bad experience there…why go back?" asked Clara Oswald, with that same curious look and inquisitive tonal inflection that he loved about her.
The age-old time traveler gave her his usual charming smile, before a distant look appeared on his face, "You've had your own share of bad experiences on Earth, right?"
"Yeah, of course; you were even present for some of them," replied Clara, puzzled by his question, "like me getting my mind downloaded into a data cloud by living Wi-Fi."
"So tell me, after all that," he continued, while looking at her again and straightening his bow tie once more, "do you have any plans of avoiding the planet Earth for the rest of your entire life?"
"No."
"Exactly! Now then, since I've been given the honor of choosing our next destination," said the Time Lord, placing his right hand over one final lever that would activate the Time Rotor, "Midnight it is!"
Clara began grinning like mad again, before gripping the edge of the main console, bracing herself for what she knew was coming next…
"Geronimo," declared the Doctor before pulling the lever. And then they were off.
vworp vworp vworp
It sounded like the cross between a screeching whistle, a pained thrumming, and a horde of dying elephants. It was a noise she had never heard before, and it was both magnificent and terrible all at the same time. On one level, it made her ears bleed. While at another, deeper level, the novel sound resonated through her soul like a heavenly chorus.
But no matter what it sounded like, it was music to Sansa's ears. The sudden arrival of the noise had stopped Meryn in his tracks, just short of striking her with his sword, along with Joffrey and the rest of his court. Everyone in the Throne Room, including Sansa, turned their heads to the origin of the noise a few meters behind her. What they saw happening left them even more speechless and confused.
A gust of otherworldly wind manifested seemingly out of nowhere, blowing dresses and hair and stray papers here and there. Joffrey stood up from the Iron Thrones, trying to shield his eyes from the wind and see what was happening at the same time. Like everyone else, the befuddled look was clearly present even on the boy king's face.
What happened next was even more peculiar. At the origin of the sound, a blue, boxy shape began fading in and out of visibility, phasing into existence like a ghost trying to assume tangible form.
What the Westerosi did not know and were for the most part not even capable of comprehending, was that the unusual sound, the otherworldly wind, and the phasing blue box were actually the observable signs of the fabric of reality itself being rent apart, as a dimensionally transcendental construct began materializing.
When the sound had ceased and the wind had subsumed, what was left in its place was a completely solid and visible blue box. It was about ten feet in height, looked to be made completely of wood, and was painted the bluest of blues Sansa had ever seen. The front seemed to be occupied by two wooden doors, with a generic looking lock and a handle to open it on one side, and a sign that said "Pull To Open" on the other.
Above that was a pair of white six-paneled windows, each one completely opaque and impossible to see into, and above that was a sign that said "Public Police Call Box". Sansa, and many of the other Westorosi, would probably be wondering what exactly a "Public Police Call Box" was if their minds weren't so occupied by the sheer insanity of the situation.
And finally; there was a glass lantern-like bulb at the top that seemed to flicker faintly with a soft yellow glow, completing the image of the impossible object that had suddenly flickered into existence inside the Throne Room and left the king and his court completely unable to speak.
"What's the meaning of this!" cried out the voice of a man, breaking the silence that had befallen the Throne Room. Everyone turned to the new voice, their attention momentarily pried from the intruding blue box. It was Joffrey's own uncle and the Hand of the King, Tyrion Lannister. Also known as the "Imp", or in some circles the "Demon Monkey".
The blonde-haired dwarf daftly strode into the Throne Room, with Bronn his right hand man in tow. Some of the courtiers gave way for the King's Hand as he walked towards the Iron Throne, but not many had to due to the fact that most of them had already done so earlier when the blue box had materialized in the center of the room.
"I come in here, walk into the Throne Room, and what do I find?" began the dwarf, addressing his king of a nephew, "I find a helpless girl being beaten by a knight at the behest of her own fiancé, and the appearance of a strange blue box that I am most certain was not there before. Could you please explain to me what the hell is going on?"
"You can't talk to me like that!" exclaimed Joffrey in anger, throwing a tantrum, "I am the king! And this is not my doing! This blue box has nothing to do with me, it just appeared! It has to be some sort of black magic or sorcery and-…"
"The blue box may not be your doing, and in fact I highly doubt that you are intellectually capable of such a thing," interjected Tyrion, causing Joffrey's features to contort in even more rage at the perceived insult, "but the fact that the lady who is to be your queen is lying here half naked and covered in bruises is undeniably your fault."
"What do you mean my fault? I was punishing her for her brother's crimes! And…and that's not even the important part. That blue box over there," Joffrey rasped irately while pointing at the aforementioned police box, "that box just appeared in my throne room out of nowhere and you're worried about a useless girl! There is something foul involved here! This is some kind of vile witchcraft, and I don't know what it is but it's clearly a threat to me! I will not have it in my throne room!"
The young monarch bent down to grab his crossbow again, before the doors of the blue box suddenly burst open, catching everyone's attention once more. Startled by the sudden occurrence and feeling threatened, Joffrey took his already loaded crossbow in panic and immediately let loose an arrow.
As the two wooden doors of the blue box parted open, Sansa saw a man emerge from the box, only to be greeted immediately by a crossbow bolt travelling at nearly 50 meters per second to the face.
TBC
Please read and review!