Title: The Wizard's Consort
Authors: Gillian Taylor
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Ten/Rose
Summary: In legend, she is his downfall. In reality, she is his salvation.
Spoilers: Up to Rise of the Cybermen/Age of Steel, Seventh Doctor Episode "Battlefield"
Disclaimer: Don't own them. I just like playing with them...a lot.
Archive: Sure, just let me know.

A/N: Thanks, as always, to my lovely betas NNWest, WMR, JulieS, & SCAngel. Pinch-hit for the Rose Tyler Ficathon for vegasunicorn25. As an additional note, in the Seventh Doctor episode "Battlefield", an evil soceress named Morgaine invades Earth and reveals that the Doctor is/will be/was Merlin. I use this particular tidbit of information a great deal in this fic thanks to my prompts, which were:

1.Ten/Rose romance, doesn't have to be smut.
2.King Arthur's court, Camelot, etc, (bonus points if you have Jack as Lancelot ;))
3.A dragon, can be only a mention.

"The Wizard's Consort"
by Gillian Taylor

Chapter 1: Nimue

Time isn't linear. It twists and turns, goes sideways and diagonal. Sometimes it's a simple, easy path. Tomorrow is the future, straight ahead. Yesterday is the past, directly behind.

Other times, it's anything but. Tomorrow could be to the right or the left. Yesterday could be straight ahead. These are the eddies and currents of the Vortex. Sometimes there are changes. Sometimes the currents are easy to predict.

But, most of the time, they're not. Time flows where it wills and, for those who travel through it, anything might happen.

And it usually does.

"That's not good," he mutters from his undignified sprawl on the floor. Last time this sort of thing happened he'd found himself in a San Francisco surgery. After a bad experience with human anaesthetic, he'd woken up in the morgue with a new face. He wasn't ready to go through that again any time soon. "Time warp? Bump in the road? Or, ooh, I know. Indigestion. Though what that'd have to do with it, I haven't the foggiest." He pushes himself off the floor, trying his best to walk in a semi-straight line back to the console, which is hard to do when the floor is doing its best to knock him off his feet again.

"Doctor?" Rose asks, careering towards him thanks to a particularly nasty bump. He grasps her and the console in a feat of acrobatics that, in a perfect world, would earn him a medal. At least a bronze. Most likely a silver.

"Hold on," he tells her, rather than answering the implied question. Once he's certain she's clinging to one of the struts and not likely to get knocked about any further, he turns his attention to the sparking console.

Oh, yes, definitely not good. Sparks are one thing. Blinking mauve lights are something entirely different. It takes yet another feat of balance (and acrobatics) to keep himself in place as the TARDIS bucks around him. He flips a switch, another and another. Anything to slow or stop their desperate flight.

It doesn't work. He wonders if hitting the controls with a rubber mallet might help, but he suspects all it'd do is annoy the TARDIS. Which is never a good thing.

So he holds on and wonders just what else he can try. Reversing the polarity does little more than smooth their flight a bit, in the way that a tornado is slightly less bothersome than a hurricane.

That's when it changes. For a moment, he feels his senses - all twenty seven - dim around the edges. If he has to describe it, he thinks the universe is about to sneeze.

Then it does. And the centre console promptly explodes.

Funfairs, he decides, are highly overrated. Especially when it comes to the rides. Who in their right mind would enjoy getting spun about in a teacup? He blinks his thoughts and his vision into focus. The ceiling looks to be in need of a good dusting, he thinks absently as he tries to catalogue his limbs. Hands, legs, feet, arms, torso, head. All seem to be in one piece and functional.

Last thing he remembers is...

Smoke? His nose twitches as he smells the tell-tale scent of burnt circuitry. In an instant, he's on his feet staring in shock at the still burning remains of the centre console.

Not again is the first thought that comes to mind, but that fact that the lights are still functional belays that particular fear. He can still sense the TARDIS at the back of his mind. "Rassilon," he mutters, reaching out to tentatively touch one of the non-burning portions of the console. The TARDIS is fine, just a little worse for the wear.

Just needs a bit of repair work, careful application of fire suppressant, and she'll be right as rain in no time. She will, at least. Question is, what about...

"Rose!" he exclaims, cursing himself for a fool at worrying over the ship when his far more fragile companion might've…well, anything might've happened. He spins, looking for her around the room. When he finally spots her, his hearts lurch in fear.

She's lying, crumpled, against the door. From his position by the console, he can't tell if she's breathing and, as if by magic, he finds himself at her side in an instant. He doesn't even remember moving. He brushes her hair from her face and winces when he spots the dull bruising against her cheek.

His free hand reaches for her neck and he only relaxes when he feels the steady heartbeat beneath his fingertips. She's alive. Just knocked out. "Rose?" he asks softly, willing her to wake.

She moans softly, her eyelashes fluttering against her skin as she fights towards consciousness. He can practically sense her battle, knowing that part of her feels that unconsciousness is safer. A bitter part of himself doesn't blame her. It's never safe around him.

Without opening her eyes, she reaches for her cheek. He arrests the motion gently, grasping her hand in his. "Rose?"

"What happened?" she asks, and finally she opens her eyes.

"Hit a bit of a bump in the road. Okay, more like a sandbar. Are you all right? Well, besides the bruise, of course," he says.

"Yeah, 'm fine I think. Jus'…is that smoke?" She looks past him, eyes widening when she apparently sees the sparking console.

"Yeah, it's smoke. But it's okay. Just need to get some fire suppressant, have a few hours of fixing and she'll be just like new. Well, not really new. Bit hard to do that. She's older than I am. Maybe refurbished?" he suggests, running a hand through his hair.

"The centre console exploded, Doctor. Jus' like before," she replies and in her gaze he can see that the memories are starting to overwhelm her.

"Not like before," he corrects, gesturing towards the ceiling. "See? We've still got power. Didn't even have to give up a decade or two in the process."

"But how could hitting a…sandbar do this? An' how can there be a sandbar in the Vortex? Thought it was like the Chunnel or somethin'." She moves, indicating that she wants to get back to her feet.

He watches her carefully as she stands, paying close attention to the dilation of her pupils and the colour of her cheeks. She doesn't pale or look as if she is about to faint, which he takes as a very good sign. Rose is just a bit wobbly, but he can't say he blames her. His balance is off, too. Though he tells himself it's because of the landing and not because of his relief that she's okay.

"Oh, right. Sandbars. The Vortex isn't a straight line between point A and point B. And the journey's rarely smooth along the way-"

She cuts him off with a wry grin, her tongue just touching the tip of her teeth. "Thought that's 'cause of the driving."

He continues after giving her a brief quelling glance. "To use human terms, it's like a river. There are smooth bits and there are rapids. And biggest problem of them all are the rocks and sandbars. You can't tell that they're there until you hit them. Generally they're small and just knock you off course. You land in, say, Cardiff rather than Naples. It's the sandbars that can be a bit more problematic. Last time I hit one of those, I ended up in E-Space." He pauses for a moment, closing his eyes and touching that part of him that was once full of the voices of his people. Still cold, still silent. Not E-Space, then.

There was always the chance he could end up there, before Romana ever left. Sadly, it's not meant to be. "Nasty place, that. Had some redeeming factors, but not many."

"So you don't think we're in our universe anymore?" she asks, a worry line appearing on her brow as she reaches into her pocket for her mobile. The expression on her face is enough to cause his hearts to skip a beat.

"What?"

She holds up the phone, angling the screen so he can see the words in glaring black-on-white:

NO SIGNAL

"Oh," he says, dumbfounded.

There's something almost frightening about the Doctor's intensity as he works at fixing the TARDIS. The fires haven't damaged much, thankfully. Just a few cosmetic patches and, as the Doctor said, she'll be right as rain. However, judging by the grunts and curses that aren't translated, she suspects that the repairs aren't going as well as he'd hoped.

"Doctor?" she asks, rocking back on her heels as she watches him. "'S there anything I can do to help?"

"Not now, thanks," he replies tersely and she tells herself not to take it to heart. He gets like this, she knows, when something's terribly wrong.

"Would you like some tea?" she suggests, desperately hoping that she can do something to feel useful.

"N- Bollocks!" A loud thump, another curse, and the Doctor pushes himself out from underneath the console. He's rubbing the top of his head, wincing slightly as he blinks at her. "No tea, thanks," he says finally.

Suddenly, she feels as if she's nothing more than a distraction from the real work. This is a first and one that cuts to the quick. She smiles hesitantly and walks around him, pausing only when she reaches the viewscreen - the only piece of technology that's currently working on the centre console.

She says nothing as she taps the screen, calling into view the outside world. They might not be in their universe any more, but it looks like a typical English forest. She's bothering him, she knows, and rather than disturb him further she decides to explore. "I'm goin' out for a bit," she says. "Won't go far. Jus' want some air."

"Be careful," he replies absently, already distracted by some other aspect of the repairs. In another time, another place, she'd expect him to protest, even to say he'll come with her. But he's worried. Worried about the TARDIS, worried about getting home, and even to some extent worried about her.

She doesn't answer him, instead crossing the grating to the double doors. She pauses for a moment to take one last glance at him, once again buried under the console. She can't say she objects to the view, but she wishes she could do more to help than to get out of his way.

Sighing softly, she slips outside. Her first impression of the world that they've found themselves in is absolutely right. It's like the home, only slightly different. There's a tang in the air that she can't quite identify, almost as if there's a storm coming. The sky doesn't look threatening, she reasons, and so she sets off to explore, keeping one wary eye on the TARDIS at all times.

She knows that she's got a habit of getting into trouble. Admittedly, the Doctor can't say that he doesn't have that same talent, but it does bother her that she's started being more the damsel in distress than a true partner to him. Sure, he changed bodies but that doesn't mean anything. She didn't change. Or did she?

She doesn't feel different. Same old Rose Tyler. But some of her actions over the past few months didn't feel like her. Maybe she's trying too hard. Trying too hard to hold onto the Doctor that he's slipping away. Stupid, really. She should be ashamed.

He's still her Doctor. She's still his Rose. Just because he's younger-looking (well, and gorgeous), more boisterous and talks more about his past and his feelings... it's still him. She knows that. So why's she still trying so hard?

Wait. Something moved. At least, she thinks she saw something move. Yet she sees nothing, only the gentle movement of the leaves in the light breeze. Maybe that's what she saw.

Shaking her head, she returns to her contemplations, letting her feet carry her further from the source of her troubles. The TARDIS is barely visible when she sees it again. Only, this time, she hears it as well.

"Who's there?" she calls, suddenly wary.

Nothing. Even the movement stops and with the breeze, it's near impossible to determine if the last flutter of the brush is because of the wind or a person.

"This isn't funny," she says, sneaking a glance at the TARDIS. She's fairly certain that the Doctor hasn't come out. She should be alone. "Look, I don't mean you any harm. Can you jus' come-"

Her words are cut off as a hand clamps over her mouth, muffling her squeak of surprise. "Shut up, Nimue," a man's voice growls into her ear.

She struggles against his grip, fighting to bring the hand away from her mouth, to call out for help or to break loose. He's far too strong for her.

"Oh-ho, I see why Merlin likes her," another man laughs. "She's feisty."

Nimue? Merlin? They've obviously got her confused with someone else. She wants to tell them so, but the hand won't move from her mouth. "We should get away from that blue contraption of his before he realises his woman's missing. Morgaine will be pleased."

"But what about Merlin? He'll come after us," a new voice says, and she mentally counts how many men must be behind her. Three, perhaps four. Sent to kidnap someone named Nimue and she's apparently been mistaken for her. Wonderful.

"That's the point, idiot," the first one snarls and begins dragging her with him, despite her muffled protests and her kicking feet. She feels her sleeve snag on the brush and the man tugs her free, ripping the fabric in the process.

She wishes she could scream for the Doctor. Wishes she could do something other than be a damsel in distress, and she decides in that moment she will. She'll let these blokes take her where they will, with her paying close attention to the route. And then she's going to escape, make her way back to the TARDIS with the Doctor none the wiser.

These idiots won't know what hit them.

Until, of course, something hits her. Darkness lurks at the edges of her vision and she feels herself fall heavily backwards into her captor's arms. The last thing she sees before the darkness claims her is the toothless smile of a particularly ugly man.

"Night, night, Nimue," he says, and she knows no more.

By the fifth time the TARDIS stings him with sparks, he realises that she's particularly peeved at him. "What?" he asks around one of his injured fingers, pulling it out of his mouth to inspect the damage. Only a faint red mark remains, but it's enough to remind him of the burn.

The TARDIS' hum deepens and he feels a flash of something approaching annoyance.

"Am I being too rough?" Maybe he is. He was thinking rather hard, though not entirely on fixing the ship. More about how he treated Rose. She was just trying to help, he knows.

The hum changes again, to one of satisfaction.

Cheeky thing. Even his TARDIS is conspiring against him. "Rose?" he calls, belatedly remembering that she went outside. A frisson of worry fills him as he realises that it's been almost an hour since she left the ship. She should've at least popped in, seen if he needed anything, before going out again.

Maybe he's been depending on her a little too much recently. Taking her for granted. He sighs, running a hand through his hair. All this thinking isn't bringing Rose back inside, so he pushes himself to his feet.

It only takes a few seconds to walk across the floor to the doorway, another to pull on his trench-coat and another to open the door.

The first thing he sees is, of course, trees. Stereotypical Earth-like trees, actually. Which, considering the - ah, yes, ozone… lots of ozone - air, seems a bit strange. Gravity is a little off one-g, but not enough to make much of a difference. And is that… oh, it is! "Blimey, would you look at that! Rose! Rose, come here, you've got to see this. Haven't seen one of these in years!" Admittedly, this particular plant shouldn't exist side-by-side with the twentieth-century contemporary undergrowth, but it did.

Throw in a Silurian and he'd feel right at home.

When he doesn't hear her reply, he's worried. He should've heard something. A rustle of brush. A shout. Something. He turns away from the plant and looks around the clearing. He can barely see where her feet pushed down the grass, but he follows the tracks anyway. She could be anywhere. Have found anything.

Captured, hurt, unconscious, even killed. He immediately dismisses the last thought, convinced that he'd know if anything ever happened to her. She's fine. Just not answering because…of something that's causing her not to answer him.

"Rose!" he shouts again. Only the birds answer him.

Frowning, he keeps his attention on the ground, trusting that the tracks will lead him to Rose. When he reaches the undergrowth, he curses softly, realising that it'll only get more difficult from here. She promised to stay near the TARDIS. From here, he can barely see his home through the foliage, only the barest glimmer of blue. She shouldn't've come this far.

"Rose, answer me!" he calls, spinning on his heels as he scans the forest.

Still nothing.

Where can she have got to? How much trouble can one human...? "Too much," he says, answering his own question. He pulls his glasses out of his pocket and bends to examine a broken branch, hoping that it would reveal his errant companion's whereabouts.

That's when he finds the scrap of fabric, barely more than a few threads, but it's enough to be identifiable. Grey cloth. Very familiar grey cloth.

He frowns. Rose was wearing her grey hoodie, not that he pays close attention to her clothing, but it is one of her favourites. The torn cloth, the broken branches, and the disturbed turf all lead to one possible conclusion.

She's in trouble.

Right. So, think. He's got no clue where this is. No idea of who or what might've taken her. And, even better, no idea where they might've taken her. Sounds a bit impossible, but he likes impossible.

It's so much fun to turn impossible on its ear. And, when it comes to Rose Tyler, impossible can't stop him.

He tries to follow the trail of broken branches, where she's obviously struggled against someone. Probably more than one assailant, maybe four, and humanoid. At least the feet seem humanoid enough. There's too much disturbance of the undergrowth to specify numbers.

He loses the trail some fifteen feet from where he found the fabric. One moment, there're footprints in the soil. The next, there's nothing. Almost as if they were transmatted away.

Transmats. He's good with those. Though, different universe. Might not work on the same principle. However, he decides to try anyway. Just a quick twist of the sonic screwdriver and he activates it.

Nothing. No aggravated Rose-nappers. Not even a consolation prize.

"Doubted it would've worked anyway," he mutters, though he knows it's a lie. He hoped it would've worked, but it didn't. Rose is still gone. Disappeared into nothingness. And that's not acceptable.

He turns and walks back to the TARDIS, trying to think of what else he might try. Calling her mobile's out. No signal is no signal. He wouldn't be able to reach her anyway. And, if her kidnappers were smart, they'd keep her unconscious and probably remove whatever she had...

Fear makes him pause. What if they…? No. He won't think about it. She'll be fine. He just has to find her first.

Scan for human life-signs? Though, knowing his luck, the locals are humans. He could always try the...

Merlin.

The word is forcefully injected into his mind and he stumbles, fumbling for something to hold onto as barely used abilities flare to life.

I know you can hear me, Merlin. I'm glad you've returned. It's been too long since we last matched wits.

"Who are you?" he asks, finding his voice.

Oh, you jest well, Merlin. You know exactly who I am. The voice turns hard. Your Nimue is mine. I suppose you could say that she's about to become a permanent guest. You shall know my demands upon the hour.

"Wait!" he shouts, feeling the voice pull away. He loses his balance, falling to his knees as he tries to search for that tendril of thought. He knows he's searched this plane, hasn't felt any of his people or anything telepathic. Then how? What is that?

The voice had called him Merlin.

Oh, no. Surely not. That's impossible. It simply can't be.

Memory returns in an instant. When he was younger, shorter, older and Scottish he'd met someone who called him Merlin. Said his aspect was different, but it was still him.

"No," he whispers, running his hand through his hair. It's impossible. Completely impossible. But he has to acknowledge that it might be true. This might be Ancelyn's world. And Morgaine's.

Which means this is the incarnation that will become Merlin. Perhaps. Maybe. Possibly. His mind whirls with thoughts, but there's nothing that he can do. He doesn't know who he's up against.

It could be Morgaine, he acknowledges. It's been several centuries since he'd last heard her voice. He doesn't remember its nuances. Or it could be someone else. He can't assume that this is Ancelyn's world. Not yet.

"Jumping to conclusions again?" he asks himself, shaking his head. He should return to the TARDIS. Come up with a plan. Rescue Rose.

He's almost back to the TARDIS when he realises that he isn't alone. The sounds are quiet, but whoever is following him doesn't have a Time Lord's senses. He freezes, straining his hearing to try and pinpoint just where his pursuer is. "You realise that it's not nice to follow someone without saying hello first," he says, deciding to go for the more direct approach.

A low chuckle answers him and he turns to face a…knight? Yes, a knight. In the truest, classical sense of the word. Complete with shiny armour, colourful tunic and a…crown? Now, that's not usual knight's attire.

"Never could hide from you, my friend."

To be continued...