Her eyes burn, but she will not allow tears to fall. Will not give them the satisfaction. But God in heaven, it's hard. The pyre has been built around the stake. It is on the edges of her vision. The smell of cut wood is cloying, suffocating. The smell of the torches in the crowd is a prelude. She will not cry, but it's an effort that makes her tremble.

They lead her like a dog, chained around the neck. Tugging too hard, these big brawny twins. She can't remember her names. It's alright; apparently they can't remember hers either. Since they came to collect her form her cell, they have only called her witch, and a number of other things a great deal less polite. And it is in this manner, stumbling and abused, that she is brought before Jacob Borden. Mayor Borden, but she'll never call him that. It's a joke, to dream that any responsibility might ever have been given in the hands of this mindless puritan, who stands over her now smug and self-satisfied. As though he were utterly irreproachable. As though his beloved God could look upon this and smile.

"Elizabeth Goode," he declares, booming for the whole crowd to hear and stop mumbling, "It is the finding of the councilmen of this village that you are guilty of practicing dark and devilish magic, and you are hereby sentenced to burn. Have you anything to say before we proceed?"

"Only that I'd rather not."

"Demon," he calls her, and spits. Nods his head at the too-rough twins. She chokes as she is dragged away from him and up the side of the pyre. The chain is removed from her neck. A rope replaces it, twice around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides.

Borden is taking a torch from a man in the crowd. In fact, he has his pick of several. Each of these clamouring villagers wants to be able to say their flame was the one to start the fire. The one to burn the witch.

Lizzie will not cry. Won't beg, won't plead, won't start praying and make a mockery of repentance now.

Borden prays. He prays loudly and with zeal. All those gathered to watch her die join in with him. They force the words into the rhythm of his steps, bringing the spark to the kindling. She won't cry. No. She won't. She just looks down at her feet. They seem so far away, bundled up in the too-long white robe. Not so white right now, with the red and orange of the firelight playing on it. Another prelude. There is, perhaps, just one little spot of salt water that falls, and soaks through to her toes.

But Lizzie won't. She won't allow herself. She's seen other women go before her, screaming, sobbing as though their tears might douse the bonfire. She never blamed them, but she won't be one of them.

Borden begins the final petitions. "For thine is the power," he recites, even as he takes that power into his own hands. "The glory," even as he basks in the attention of the entire village. Then, starting to lower the torch in front of him, "And the-"

"No!" This voice is new and unexpected. It is louder than Borden's, louder than the chanting assembly, louder than the crackling torches. Borden straightens in shock and surprise. Lizzie can't help the little noise that cracks out of her throat at the flame pulling back with him. "No," the voice repeats. Lashed to the stake, she can't see where it's coming from. But the owner of it sounds almost bored. "No, no, I'm sorry to cut in, but this just won't do."

Fast, no-nonsense steps bring this stranger into the space around the pyre. Lizzie cranes, and gets just the tiniest glance at a tall man in a strange brown jacket. Then there are footsteps on her other side. Her head snaps round just in time to see what appears to be a young girl, edging along in much the same manner.

Borden, however, has not noticed her. He's gotten over his initial shock. Now his face is red and twisted as the torch-flame and he demands, "What in the name of the Almighty do you think-?"

The girl has almost reached him by now. She stretches out her arm. From beneath her sleeve, a long blue sword crosses the remaining distance between them. Once again, Borden quite abruptly stops. "Shush!" the girl tells him harshly. "Doctor am to be talking now and bad-fire-man only to be listening, right-yes?"

Whether he understands or not, Borden is quiet.

Lizzie looks on, quietly cautious, as this supposed 'doctor' presents himself. Certainly he's an odd creature to look at. His breeches are of a decidedly unseemly cut, and whatever has he got about his neck? Still, while the smell of smoke is only a vague whisper on the air, she'll hold her peace.

"Quite right, bad-fire-man," the stranger says. "I'm talking now. And if you know what's good for you, you'll be listening. Let's start at the very beginning. It's a very good place to start. When you read, you begin with ABC. When you sing, you begin with do re mi. So, do-ohn't you think that young lady up there would be much more comfortable if she were not tied to a large wooden post?"

Borden finds a little composure, and a little voice to thunder out, "This woman is a witch!" A cheer from the crowd spurs him on. But it doesn't impress this new doctor. He nods along, yeah I thought you'd say that, but he is only waiting to speak again. "She's tied there to be burnt."

"Well," the doctor cries, "Hoo-Re! but at the same time, I just can't get into it. I mean, why? Why burn her? What on earth is the point?"

"It's in the Scriptures," and Borden thumps his chest as though the holy words were written upon his own heart. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live."

The stranger rolls his eyes, and waves one limp hand at the sword-wielding girl. "Jessica, tell him."

"Bible am also saying that salt not kills."

"Shalt, love."

"Is what said."

"You said salt, which can, occasionally and in certain quantities, kill. Especially if you're a slug. Not that I'm saying that you, Mayor Borden, are a slug, never crossed my mind."

Lizzie can no longer resist. She doesn't quite know why yet, but her resolve has suddenly snapped. First the tears start to flow freely down either cheek. Secondly she can't resist calling out, "Crossed mine!"

"Mi," the Doctor continues brightly, "Me, I wouldn't burn her. Wouldn't be bothered. It's messy and it pollutes the atmosphere, and it's very wrong, and future generations will study you in schoolhouses and go, 'eugh, what a lot of nonsense they killed people over back in the olden days'."

Borden is the next one to snap. All of a sudden he decides he just will not bear this anymore. This is his village. This is his witch. He will do whatsoever he pleases with one in order to protect the other. "Now you listen here, I don't know who you think you are or where you hail from, sir-"

The stranger steps closer, straightening the funny little strap around his neck. Sticks out a hand and says, "How rude of me. I'm the Doctor, and I hail from Gallifrey, the shining star of the seventh system and-"

The girl who came with him panics and shakes. Bizarrely, she cries out, "Cough-cough-cough!"

A flash of her distress crosses the Doctor and he adds with haste and careful words, "It's near Ireland. Anyway, wish I could say I was pleased to meet you, but so fa you're really seeming like quite a nasty, unlikeable sort of a man. You know. The sort of man that burns people."

Borden, spitting with rage, stabs one fat finger at Lizzie in accusation. She hardly notices. She's used to that feeling, lately. "She has brought death, and demons to this village!"

"Not demons, actually," the Doctor counters, "but really they're unfamiliar life forms from the-"

Exasperated now, the girl groans, "Cough!"

"-From the land beyond the mountains, where you haven't explored yet, if I get my dates right. Anyway, they won't be bothering you again. I got rid of them. So, no harm, no foul, no need to burn anybody. Jessica, go and cut her down, please."

"Yes-does, Doctor." The girl lowers her sword and comes hopping up, log to log. Her smile is bright, and she gives a little wave with her free hand. Even if Lizzie could return it, she might not. Her eyes are on Borden. He no longer has a blade at his throat, and still has the flaming torch in his hand. "Not worries," the little voice whispers to her. "Doctor am in most total control now."

Lizzie feels the rope pull tighter at the blade is slipped beneath it. Then feels it dragged up and down as the girl starts to saw through. "You brought a blunt sword to a rescue effort?" she whispers.

"Am not being sword, is wood. Gets through, is to be giving Jessica just one minute."

Lizzie, though, isn't all that sure they have it. She doesn't like the way the crowd is starting to gather closer. Borden is lowering his arm again. After all, the only one who seems to be armed is standing right up at the stake herself. In the hush of their private conversation, Lizzie lost track of what he's even saying anymore. But it must have lacked rhetoric. It must have been unsavoury. Anyway, they haven't liked it. It's a matter of simple seconds before the men of the village push in and pile upon this stranger.

The girl behind her yelps and would rush to his defence, but her wooden sword is caught in the rope.

Lizzie sighs. It was brave of them to try. Whatever is waiting for her after this life, she'll try and be grateful to them for trying. Right now, however, she's more annoyed that they didn't try a little bit harder, and maybe bring a knife with them.

Then the Doctor emerges from the top of the pile. Pops up like a child's toy, and in his hand is a little brass candlestick with a green light on the end.

"Yes," Lizzie calls, "A magic wand is quite the best thing you could have produced right now."

"Demon!" Borden shouts, but no one is quite so willing to attack anymore.

The Doctor ignores him. Instead, he shows the device to Lizzie, "Not quite a wand. Bit better than that, actually. La-ter I'll explain."

The girl Jessica stops cutting and leans around the stake. Sounds dismayed and unsure, "That am being really dodgy way for getting 'la' into talkings, Doctor."

"Allow it. Go on. We're nearly finished. Allow it."

Jessica heaves a sigh and goes back to her task. The Doctor grins to himself, grabs the air, mutters a little 'Yes!' of victory. Then straightens his face, clears his throat.

From far across the fields outside the village comes the sensation of something approaching. Not in a metaphorical sense either. It's a real, physical feeling, a pressure. Lizzie can feel the air moving, and here something barrelling towards them at speeds no horse could ever manage. Not even an enchanted one. It whoops and whistles and heaves and thunders magnificently. High up on the pyre, Lizzie sees it first, glowing at the edges from its speed, high in the air. And when it comes right up to the village square it stops dead, and hovers over the Doctor and his wand.

"We, my dear Mayor – we being the three of us, me and her and her – we're going up there." Borden is already on his knees, crossing himself, praying and crying Alleluia. "Make of that what you will," the Doctor smiles at him.

He comes bounding up the mound of wood like his young friend did. Just as the rope loosens. He tugs away the sliced pieces as the mysterious thing lowers itself, gleaming and groaning, out of the sky. It has a door, and as Lizzie can only blankly stare, this door swings open of its own accord. The Doctor holds out a cordial hand. "You look like you could use a cup of te."

Lizzie brings up her hand and puts it in his. He takes her, so very gently, across one step of thin air between the pyre and the thing in the sky. She stumbles, and falls a step or so ahead. Inside is warm and… and…

And it begins to move, lifting them up out of harm's way again. She glances over her shoulder to see the Doctor and the girl sitting in the doorway, legs dangling out, looking down at the perplexed and praying mass that would have slaughtered her only moments ago. There, in silhouette, the Doctor holds out his hand again. Speaking to the girl, he is not so polite. "Pay up, Apple."

"No."

"Welching on a bet, are we? I'm disappointed in you."

"Doctor not does. Doctor say him was to be getting 'do-re-mi-fa-so-la-te-do' into talkings with bad-fire-man."

"And I did."

"Doctor gets in 'do-re-mi-fa-so-la-te.'"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," he mutters. Then, holding the edge, he leans right out over the square and bellows, "Oi! And do-ohn't let me catch you burning any more witches ever. Or we'll be back, and really, really angry, alright?" He watches for a moment. Must get some sort of reaction, because then he sits back and puts out his hand again.

The girl takes a round biscuit with a red heart on it out of her jacket and gives it to him. The Doctor greedily, with childish joy, fills his mouth.

To give it to him, the girl had to turn her head. She saw Lizzie staring at them. Now she taps him on the shoulder and brings his attention to the same thing. Now he looks. Now his face fills with the most incredible sympathy. Quietly, he climbs to his feet and comes to her. Takes both her hands in his. "How are you feeling?"

"I…" she mumbles. Then decides to ignore his question and moves on to something easier. "This place, where we now stand, it's…"

The Doctor raises one finger to silence her. "Just a second. Jessica?"

Jessica is still looking down from the door. "Yes-what?"

"Bet you another Dodger she's going to say it."

"Am to be taking him bets, please-yes."

"Right. Now, go ahead, Elizabeth, what were you going to stay about this place where we stand?"

"It's in the sky," she breathes. Her awe lasts until she sees his face fall. "It flies, physician. Like a bird."

Jessica gets up. Closes the door. Comes to him and is silently, sullenly given one of the heart-marked biscuits. She, however, does not immediately crush into her cheeks. She holds it out to Lizzie in offering. Lizzie takes it. More out of curiosity than anything else. Where are they from, that has such strange transportation, and such rich, crumbly biscuits full of sticky red sweets?

There's a strange sort of apology in the girl's tone, and she turns her eyes to the Doctor when she says, "Right-yes. Am being in sky. Also being in timeyspace. But also-also, am being much much bigger on its insides."

"Don't humour me, Jessica," he grumbles.

With her free hand, she touches his arm. "Was not meaning to be making him sad."

"Let's just concentrate on the traumatized witch for now, shall we?"

[A/N – Because the Anniversary gave me back a little bit of my faith, and because the title is my favourite song, and because the Doctor would have hated witch trials and because of other reasons I won't go into here. Anyway, enjoy. By the way, I have absolutely zero idea where this story is going. If you want it to continue, be supportive and bear with. If you don't think it's worth it, don't. Much love, Sal. (Extra big shout-out to RB – both of them – without whom this wouldn't be happening)]