Gently As She Goes

AN: This was supposed to be an AU and then something happened and it turned into a pre-series tale of Rip and Gideon getting to play in ancient Denmark around about the time of the legend of Beowulf. I regret nothing.

Lips, ripe as the berries in June

Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

- Gently as She Goes, Robin Wright Penn

His awareness returned in snatched flashes of people talking and glimpses of the ceiling of a room he didn't recognise. There was considerable pain in these tortured moments of consciousness and it pushed out his attempts to think past the red bloom of agony in his head and body. All he knew was that time passed and he existed.

"Drink," said someone, and a cup was pressed to his lips.

His throat was dry, and his automatic reaction was to drink. The liquid tasted bitter and medicinal, but he was told to drink it all and he didn't have the required awareness to argue, so he did. He opened his eyes to see a woman holding the cup to his lips, she blurred in his vision. At first, she had blonde hair, and blue eyes, then she had brown hair and grey eyes. For a moment he thought he knew her, and then he was fading away again, drifting downwards. His limbs felt heavy and his head was full of clouds.

He saw the woman with the brown hair again in his dreams. She was calling to him, although he couldn't hear her words, he just had an innate knowledge that she called his name. She was looking for him, her curling hair being blown by the breeze as she walked through a forest. But he didn't know who she was, even though she seemed to know him. Then he saw fire and explosions, and he cried out in his unconsciousness. The woman was in trouble and he had to save her. He was afraid for her, whilst also fearing for his own life. The two of them were bound together somehow, but the understanding of how and why was buried in his mind somewhere. His thoughts twisted and turned like a turgid sea but everything he needed was just out of his reach. His distress leaked into the world as tears and miserable exclamations for help.

Someone came to him and uttered soothing words, but it wasn't the woman in his dream. He knew her voice and this wasn't it. His tears were gently wiped away with the cloth, that felt rough to his skin. He lapsed back into darkness and unknowing.

Eventually, he was pulled awake because he could smell the smoke. He could smell the fire from his dream. He tried to get up and move but he found his wrists were bound tightly to the frame of the wooden bed that he was on. He struggled, and the movement hurt his chest. He suspected a broken rib. He had to get up and moving if there was a fire.

"Hey, no, everything is well. You're safe. Don't pull on the ties, you'll hurt your wrists," said the woman. Her hair was definitely blonde and her eyes were very blue. She wore a long, dark red dress and her hair was tied back in plaits. He felt her hand on his cheek and he stilled. This touch was familiar.

His head hurt, but for the first time in a long while, he could look around himself and he had awareness. The ceiling above him was made of wooden beams and thatch. The smell of smoke came from the fire in the hearth. The bed he was lying on had a wooden frame and he was heaped in blankets with a fur over the top. He noted other furs, rugs, strewn on the wooden floor. There was a chair drawn up beside the bed, it was also made of wood and carved with intricately entwined animals that he couldn't identify. His vision was still somewhat unreliable, blurred and without the ability to focus on anything for too long.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice ragged with pain and disuse.

"Lejre, in the Kingdom of the Danes," she replied.

That meant nothing to him. He searched his memory but couldn't remember any details of such a place.

"I don't remember what happened," he said, worriedly.

"It will all be well, you need to heal and get your strength back," said the woman.

"Who are you?"

"Wealthow, wife of Hrothgar," she said. "You are in my personal care."

That sounded as if it was supposed to mean something significant.

"Why am I tied down?"

A cup was pressed to his lips again, and he drank because the alternative was to choke. He tasted the familiar bitterness and realised what it probably was, a drug against the pain. He wondered how bad he'd feel without it.

"The medicine gives you bad dreams, and you must be kept still to let your skull and bones heal. You were wounded and burnt. You hit your head and broke a bone in your chest. Hrothgar's men found you and brought you here," she said.

He blinked at her, and she persuaded him to drink a little more.

"What are you giving me?" he asked.

"Henbane and willow bark," she said.

He didn't really know what that was, but so far it did seem to be helping with the pain, even if that was mainly by sending him into a drugged sleep of fractured bad dreams.

"No more," he said. "I need to stop sleeping. There's someone I need to find."

"You're not well enough yet to get up," said the woman, Wealthow, he remembered. "Can you tell me your name?"

He thought for a while. "No," he said. "I don't remember who I am." His eyes widened, and he felt his heart beating in his chest. His breathing increased. He pulled on the ties around his wrists. "Who am I?" he asked, fearfully.

She gave him a comforting smile, as she ran a soothing hand down his cheek. "It will come back to you. The blow to your head has shaken up your memories. You need to rest and heal. I know you wore the garb of a warrior of our people. You are one of ours and we will take care of you until you are well."

Her words had a calming effect, although he was still bewildered and worried about what on Earth had happened to him. He was missing a great deal of information and not just his name.

"Sleep," she said. "You'll feel better every time you wake."

He frowned. He allowed her to tilt the cup to his lips one last time, and then he closed his eyes and slept. The woman with brown hair and grey eyes haunted his dreams again, but he could never get a proper look at her or where she was. The fire and smoke always carried her away.

He couldn't remember his name, so Wealthow christened him Erland. It meant "stranger" but was also a well-used name in these parts. It was apt but he didn't feel it was an insult. She told him that he'd been so ill when they found him that they hadn't thought he'd survive. It was considered something of a miracle that he'd pulled through, and he'd been in bed for two weeks before his first proper conversation with Wealthow. It was another three days before they untied the bindings around his wrist and he was allowed to sit up.

He awoke one day to find that the healer was applying leeches to his chest, and he let out a horrified exclamation.

"What are you doing?"

"Leeches help to remove the impurities in your blood," said the healer.

"All is well, Erland," said Wealthow, coming close enough for her to be seen. "Be calm." She took his hand and gently massaged the knuckles.

"It's barbaric," he said, but he had no idea how he knew that. "I don't need less blood, I need more if anything."

Wealthow smiled indulgently, allowing the complaint but she did not tell the healer to stop. The healer let the leeches do their work and then removed them. Erland was still too weak to do anything more than lodge his vocal protest, so he sighed and tried not to think too much about the slimy creatures that had been snacking on him.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit by the fire today," said Wealthow. "I've prepared a chair, and we can help you."

The chair looked quite inviting, swathed in furs and with red brocade covered cushions. He'd been in bed for a long time and the change of position would be welcome if nothing else.

"Thank you," he said, "I would like that."

He still had a strong feeling that he needed to be somewhere, that there was someone that he had to find. He was still dreaming about the woman with the grey eyes and brown hair. He needed to get his strength back so that he could look for her.

Wealthow and her servants, wrapped him in his blankets and helped him to shuffle across the short distance to the chair. His ribs complained, as did the bandaged burns on his legs arms, but it was his head that ached the worst. His legs could hardly hold him, and he was grateful to collapse into the chair. The fire was warm and pleasant to look at.

He gasped, as the sight of the flames set his mind reeling backwards. There had been a fire on his ship. Someone was calling him Captain… The fire had led to an explosion. The memories were incomplete. He couldn't see what was happening, just feel the heat, smell the smoke. He turned away from the fire.

"Are you well?" asked Wealthow.

"I remembered something," he said. "A fire on board a ship. I think it was my ship and I was the Captain."

Wealthow held a bowl of broth in her hands.

"It's good that you're remembering. I'm sure it will all come back soon," she said. "Here, you should try to eat."

She handed him the bowl of broth and then a spoon. He didn't shake as much now as he had a few days ago, but his muscles still trembled from their weakness. He ate what he could, and one of the servants took the bowl away when he was done. Wealthow sat down in another chair, opposite him and took out her needlework.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"It is the home of King Hrothgar, his hall," she said.

He frowned. "You said you were the wife of Hrothgar. Doesn't that make you the Queen?"

She gave him a broad smile. "It does, but I didn't want you to think of me that way. I preferred our first introductions to be as equals."

"Why does the Queen of the Danes look after a wounded man such as myself?" he asked.

"There is a legend," said the Queen. "It's said that we will be sent a hero who will rid us of our monsters. It is said that he will come on a ship, and he will be a warrior but not one of our warriors."

"That's not terribly specific," said Erland.

"Just before you were found, the men and women who were sleeping in the mead hall, Heorot, were plagued with nightmares. They dreamt that a monster entered the room and searched for something. The dream drove some of them mad. Since then there have been tales of a dragon in the area. Our priests tell us the dreams were a warning of the terrible things to come. The dragon will lay waste to our land and we will need a hero to fight it."

"And you think I'm this hero? I certainly don't feel like much of one," said Erland.

"You are healing. I can already see that you're eager to get up and be ready for battle. It's in your blood that you're a warrior. No one else but a great hero could have survived those wounds," she said.

He huffed out a breath of laughter. "I think that is down to your care rather than my resilience."

Wealthow leaned forwards and put a hand on his shoulder. "I have seen weaker men die of less severe wounds. You wanted to live. Your fought for it."

"I have a mission, if only I could remember it. And someone that I need to find," he said.

Wealthow picked up her sewing again. "When you are well again, then you can return to your quest."

He nodded. "It may be some time and I fear I am a burden to you."

"You are our guest. We will extend all the courtesy that you are due and more if it is required," she said. "I truly believe the gods have sent you to us to save us from Grendel."

"Grendel?" he asked.

"The monster in our dreams," replied Wealthow.

"Your dreams?" asked Erland.

"Ever since the night of madness in Heorot, the entire town have had bad dreams. The monster cries out for silence and complains that our merriment is too loud," said Wealthow. "Have you not dreamt this too?"

Erland shook his head. "No, my dreams are of fire and pain. Then there is a woman…" He frowned, he hadn't meant to say even that much.

"The medicine may be to blame, but the healers tell me that you still need it," said Wealthow.

"The healers bled me with leeches. I do not exactly trust their methods," said Erland, still unsure where he was getting this information from. "Perhaps the medicine also stops me from dreaming about Grendel."

Wealthow nodded. "That may be."

There were tales of ghosts. The small Danish town was said to be under some kind of curse. The bad dreams had not lessened and it cast a pall over the mood of the entire populace. So, most people found it unsurprising that a cursed town would also attract ghosts.

Erland had progressed from sitting by the fire to taking short walks outside. One of Wealthow's servants would always accompany him, and he often had to stop to rest, leaning against the stone walls when his strength gave out. His burns and other injuries were healing, but it had now been several weeks since he'd been found on the beach and his memory showed no sign of returning. He wondered if he would always be like like this, a pale shadow of a man with no past and no idea what his purpose in life should be.

The Queen's servant was called Hild, and like the Queen, she had long blonde hair that fell to her waist. She wore a rather more utilitarian dress than her mistress, but of the same cut and full length. She had put a dark green pinafore over the blue underdress, and today had a coat on to ward off the chill. Whereas Erland had been given a dark blue tunic and a pair of leather trousers to wear, with a storm grey cloak to go over the top. His own clothes had been too badly torn and burnt to be salvageable.

"The woodcutters came back and they said they saw a ghost in the forest," she told her charge, by way of small talk as they walked.

"Really?" he asked. For some reason he didn't doubt the existence of ghosts, but he found that he did doubt that they existed here.

"Yes, they said there's a woman who walks the woods. She asks for a sea captain and a hunter to come to her. One of the woodcutters said he approached her, but she passed straight through him. He said you could see the trees right through her." She related the tale with wide eyes.

"Are you sure he didn't just drink too much mead?" he asked.

The Danes loved their mead, and Erland had joined them on a couple of occasions, however the permanent ache in his head had stopped him from over indulging. He still took medicine to deal with the pain of his healing injuries, and something told him that excessive drinking of mead would not mix well with that either.

Hild shrugged. "Is there such a thing as too much mead?"

"I'm sure I don't need to answer that," replied Erland.

"Our mead hall, Heorot, has been closed for weeks now," said Hild. "After Grendel came, no one will dare risk feasting in it again. The King is angry and has offered a great treasure to anyone who will solve his problem and lift the curse."

"And how many people have come forwards so far?"

"None," replied Hild. "I think they're waiting for you to get your strength back."

Erland's eyes went wide. "I don't know why. I can't even remember who I am, let alone how to beat Grendel."

"The Queen will be very disappointed in you," said Hild.

"That's unfortunate, but I can't be something that I have no idea how to be," replied Erland.

They walked closer to town and came across a group of men. They watched Erland with undisguised distaste.

"Look, it's the Queen's favourite!" mocked one. "All wrapped up safe in his warm bed while the rest of us work for a living."

"Leave him be, Unferth," said Hild. "He is still recovering from his injuries."

"He looks well enough to me," said another.

"Hey, Hild, are you keeping him warm at night?" asked the first, who Hild had called Unferth.

Hild looked at the man angrily.

"Or maybe the Queen is?" Unferth asked.

"Do not insult your Queen!" said Hild. "She is faithful to the King."

"I sleep alone," said Erland. "The Queen has done nothing but show me the care due to an injured man."

Unferth was close now. "Perhaps they're not good enough for you. You're too much of hero for them." He laughed now, looking back at his fellows. "This is the one who's supposed to save us from Grendel. This weakling! Look at him!"

He pushed Erland on the shoulder, and normally it wouldn't have been enough to even make him step backwards, but he didn't have his usual strength. He toppled and fell onto his behind, putting out an arm to painfully catch himself. It was something of an ignominious collapse, and to a certain extent he agreed with the sentiment of these men. He was weak, and he had no way to fight back at the moment.

"Can't even stand!" shouted another of the men.

Erland's chest protested. His healing rib reminded him that it still had a way to go before jarring it like that would be anything but excruciating.

"Leave him alone," said Hild, again, crossly. "He's still not well."

There was a shout from the other side of the town, and then the sound of an explosion.

"Dragon!" shouted a man. "The dragon has come!"

Something shimmered in the sky. There was the barest suggestion of steel grey wings and a sound that Erland almost felt he recognised, then a fireball shot from the mouth of the monster. Everyone scattered, making for the little cover that they could find.

"Run!" said Erland, grabbing Hild by the arm and propelling her forwards.

Wealthow's words rang in his ears. She had said that the dragon was coming and that he would be needed to fight it. He didn't feel even half ready, physically or mentally.

He and Hild ran for their lives, heading for cover behind a stone wall. They watched the flickering dragon pass overhead and send more motes of fire into the straw thatch of a house on the other side of the town. He caught a glimpse of its fiery innards, bright orange and glowing, before they seemed to disappear out of existence again.

A lance of pain shot through Erland's head. A vision of the woman who kept appearing in his dreams was suddenly all he could see. She seemed to be angry, with a raging inferno behind her. Her hair blew in the gale-force winds that surrounded her, whipping up the fire. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear the words that she spoke. The pain in his head grew in intensity and blackness came with it.

He didn't remember passing out, but he awoke on his usual bed with Wealthow pressing a cold cloth to his head. Given the way his head was pounding, the relief was very welcome.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The dragon attacked, but it has gone now," said Wealthow. "Hild said you hurt your head again."

Erland frowned, but decided not to tell her that wasn't quite how he remembered events.

"How many dead?" he asked.

"We were lucky. We have several injured, but no dead," replied Wealthow. "The King has set out to find the lair of the dragon."

Erland shook his head. "I don't think that's a good idea. She'll protect herself." As soon as he'd said the words, he knew them to be true, although he had no context for his knowledge. He also knew that the dragon was female without the slightest of doubt.

"Hunting monsters is always dangerous. The King knows what he is doing. He has led men into battle for many years now," said Wealthow.

"Not against anything like this," said Erland.

Wealthow shrugged. "You may be right, but he must protect his people."

"Then I have to get strong enough to fight," said Erland, pushing himself into a sitting position. "I believe you were right, and I am the only one who can defeat this dragon. I don't know how I know that, but I'm certain of it. Only I can stop her."

Wealthow smiled. "Then we need to get you ready."

She called for Hild, and when the servant arrived, she brought with her a set of ornate armour. It was made of long interlocking plates of metal and each plate was adorned with a decoration of intertwined knots, and the shapes of mythical animals. It was fit for a king, or possibly in this case, a hero.

"The armour of my lord Erland Beowulf," said Wealthow. "I commissioned it many weeks ago when you still slept."

Erland gave her an approving smile. The armour was very fine and he would most likely need it. It seemed that he had also earned an epithet: Beowulf - indomitable.

Erland trained as hard as any of the warriors of the kingdom of the Danes. It took him time for his muscles to remember, but he clearly knew how to use the sword that he wielded. He was the equal of every one of the sparring partners who faced him, and better than most. The warriors gained a grudging respect for the one that Wealthow now called Erland Beowulf. His armour was the envy of them all.

There were no further attacks by the dragon, occasionally it could be seen hovering in the air, glistening with silver shadows and scales the colour of sky, before it vanished again. Erland was never able to make out its shape properly and it seemed to change. It was impossible to track, and the King and his men had never managed to find its lair. Erland regarded that as a blessing because he was almost certain what the outcome would have been.

He took time out from his training to walk to the beach where he had been found, bleeding and burnt. He examined the area, hoping for any kind of clue as to what he had been doing there or some indication of how he got there. There was nothing except a few pieces of charred metal and the indication of a fire having burnt there. It didn't help him or jog any of his lost memories loose and he was disappointed.

Finally, the day came when he decided that he was ready. His injuries were healed well enough and he would face the dragon. He collected his meagre possessions from his room in Hrothgar's hall and was surprised to find Unferth waiting for him by the door.

"Haven't I proven myself to you by now?" he asked the Dane.

Unferth nodded. "You have, and I came to make amends for my previous behaviour. I wish to give you my family sword."

The man held out a rather beautiful sword to Erland. It had a blade that was inscribed with runes, which Erland read as "Hrunting", and handle with a leather grip that had been well cared for. Snakes wound their way around the hilt and pommel, worked into the metal.

"I can't take this," said Erland. "It's quite possible that I won't be coming back, and this sword is an honour that I'm not worthy of."

"I've seen you fight," said Unferth. "If anyone can take down a dragon then I believe it's you. If you want a partner in the fight, the I will accompany you."

Erland shook his head. "No, this is my fight and my fight alone."

"Then at least take the sword," said Unferth. "You have none of your own. You might as well borrow this as any other."

Erland gave Unferth a small appreciative smile. "I would have borrowed one that no one would have missed, but thank you, as you are so insistent, I will take Hrunting."

Unferth gave a curt nod, and turned around and left. That was about the most that Erland expected from the dour Dane, but he was touched by the gesture. He placed the sword in its scabbard and affixed it to his belt. He went to the kitchen and collected provisions for his journey, but found Wealthow waiting for him there.

"Are you sure you are ready?" she asked. "Many of your wounds aren't properly healed."

He gave her a half shrug. "I can't wait any longer. The dragon is seen frequently. I have more medicine if I need it, but hopefully I won't. It's time I took my leave, and gods willing, I will see you again."

She dipped her head and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

"Please, take care, Erland Beowulf. Kill Grendel for us and slay the dragon so that my husband's lands will be safe again," she said.

He took her hand and held it for a moment. "That is my intention, and I will do everything that I can to ensure you and your people's safety. You took me in when I was wounded and cared for me. I cannot thank you enough for your compassion and care. Without you I would very likely have died."

"Your thanks are not necessary. Where are you starting your search?" she asked.

"I'm going north to the woods where the ghosts were seen," he replied. "I cannot but think that it is something of a coincidence that Grendel appears to you all and then the ghosts to the woodcutters. I believe everything is connected and these phenomena will lead me to the dragon. That is my hope, anyway."

"That seems a considered plan," said Wealthow. She squeezed his hand affectionately and then helped him to pack bread and cheese for the journey.

"Farewell, Erland Beowulf," she said, as they parted.

"Farewell, Queen Wealthow," he replied, and he turned away.

He walked out of the hall of Hrothgar to find many of the warriors that he'd trained with were there waiting to see him off. They presented him with a horse, and then rode with him as an honour guard to the limits of the town. He was truly flattered that they regarded him highly enough to do such a thing.

He rode to the northern forest and very quickly realised that the trees were too dense for him to ride. The woods were old here, and the trees has grown tall and knotted into each other. He let his horse go, and proceeded on foot, hacking at the undergrowth with his sword where necessary. The forest got darker as he moved inwards and he noticed the way that the bird sounds faded away.

Then he saw her. The woman from his dreams, moving through the trees. Literally through them at times, as if she wasn't corporeal, a ghost, just as the woodcutters had said. She flickered and glitched, talking as if to herself. Her voice sounded as if it was underwater and the volume varied as it was washed away by other static noise.

"Cap… capt… Captain!... Please…rrr… Hunter! Capererer… t…t…t…t… Huh… huh… Hunter! Come… come… come… come… innnnnnn…del…del…damage…Mal…malllll… marrrr… func…function…"

Something was wrong with her. Her words made no sense, but he recognised her. He knew her and his heart was breaking for her. He also had a strong feeling that she wasn't a ghost.

"Hello?" he asked. "My name is Erland. I think I know you."

The woman didn't seem to see him, but she did turn in his direction.

"Cah…rrr… cah…cah… Captain… Huh…huh…hun…hunter… I ammmmm… Gi… Giiir… een… dddeee… ooo… Gid… Gid… Gi… rreen… deee…lll."

"Grendel?" he asked. "Are you what's been causing all the bad dreams and sending people mad?"

The woman turned and walked away. She flickered.

"Grendel?" he shouted. "Come back! I need answers. I don't know who I am. I see you in my dreams and I know you mean something to me!"

He followed her, tripping over the thorns of the undergrowth. He couldn't move as easily as she could and he quickly lost sight of her. He sighed angrily, slashing out with his sword. He was surprised when he hit something. It sounded metal, and then it shimmered, like the scales and wings of the… of the dragon.

"Oh gods preserve us…" he murmured. "I found the dragon."

He tapped it again and heard the ring of something hollow. He'd always known, in that part of his memory that he couldn't access, the dragon wasn't really a dragon, but he hadn't been able to pull the knowledge into his conscious brain. He felt there was more here, but he couldn't get to it. He knew things about this… dragon. He knew that the shimmering scales were camouflage and he now knew that the woman he saw in he dreams was connected to the dragon.

He also knew that there was a door that would lead inside, there had to be. And inside was safe. If he could get inside then he felt there would be answers. He felt around the metal, uncovering it piece by piece as the invisibility faded under his touch. He could see the marks from a fire. Something had burnt near this dragon and the outside was scorched. His hand touched a side and revealed a rune, a letter, and not a rune. This was a W and then R, and numbers 2055. WR2055.

"WR 2055," he murmured. "WR… you're my ship. You're the Waverider." He sighed, hanging his head for a moment. "I'm sorry that I forgot you, but I get the impression something terrible happened to the both of us. Now, if I could just remember what that was… and who I am…"

He felt around again, allowing intuition to guide him. The trees around him were flattened and broken. A large clearing had been created and the sun now shone down. He guessed that the untouched trees marked the edge of his ship. He moved towards where his feet were telling him the door was, careful to keep his hands out so that he didn't bump into the invisible ship. Occasionally the scales of the camouflage flashed in colour, marking them as something incorrect and not part of the forest. Finally he felt something under his hand that he assumed would open the door, again this was muscle memory, not conscious thought.

A hatch opened and he could hear the voice of the woman again. His head began to hurt. There was a pulsing in his mind that he didn't like the feel of. He tentatively edged inside, walking up a ramp into what appeared to be a metal cave. The lights inside flickered on and off, and the air felt cold.

"Capt… Wel… Ho… Cah… Cahh… CCCCCC… Hunnnnnterrrrrrrr… Well… Rrrrr… nnn… deel."

He recognised the voice but he couldn't understand a word that she was saying. Only certain areas of the corridor were lit, so he followed those, up a flight of stairs and round a corner. He found himself in a large room with a window at the front. He finally decided to put his sword away, and he went to the table in the middle of the room, examining it. Everything was made of either metal or glass in this room. His head was hurting more now, and he wished he'd thought to take his medicine before he came in here.

He recognised it all. It felt familiar. In fact, it was more than that, it felt like home. He put a hand on the central table and it came to life. Lights flashed on and lines of writing appeared.

Then, suddenly a blue, bald head materialised, floating above the table and made out of light. He took a step backwards and nearly tripped over his own feet. The head turned towards him and smiled.

"Heeellloo, iiiiiiii… tttt… ssss… goo… haave… yuh… yuh… ba… rrrr… nnnn… del… del… Malfun… Malfun… Mal… fun… k… shon."

Rip gasped, because suddenly he knew that was his name. He was not Erland Beowulf, he was Rip Hunter, and this was Gideon. This was his Gideon, his ship, his AI, his partner, his friend.

"Gideon!" he said, with surprise. "Bloody hell, what happened to us?"

"Ttttt…mmmmm… pi… rrrr… nnnn… del."

"Yes, don't try to talk. Your voice processing matrix is malfunctioning so badly that I can't understand a word you're saying. Can you display on the screen instead? Assuming that I can read it with this headache," he rubbed at his temples.

The words printed out in large type on the screen.

Welcome back, Captain Hunter. It is good to have you home.

"It's good to be back, Gideon. I'd say that I missed you too but, honestly, I didn't even remember who I was until thirty seconds ago. What happened?"

We were dealing with an aberration in 546AD Kingdom of the Danes, when we were attacked by Time Pirates intent on stealing the legendary sword Hrunting. We sustained severe damage and the Waverider crashed. You were injured but the Time Pirates attacked again after our emergency landing. We managed to use our remaining weapons capacity to bring them down and you disembarked to deal with the crashed Time Pirate ship. I do not know what happened after that. There was a fire and I was damaged further. Self-repair systems have only been able to salvage basic systems. I have detected several malfunctions in my processors. I do not think I am well. I have gaps in my timeline.

"I think you've been going for joyrides to the nearby town and pretending to be a dragon," said Rip.

Oh dear. That doesn't sound good.

"Well, it's certainly not going to help the timeline," said Rip. "Bring up your diagnostics."

Rip scanned down the list of malfunctioning systems. His head was killing him. It was getting so bad that he was actually considering throwing up because of the pain. He could hardly read the screen. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to get them to behave enough that he could read the list.

Something caught his eye.

"Gideon, stop!" he said, sharply. The scrolling list came to a halt. He read the entries again. "Shut down all psychic systems immediately. You are not to connect with me or any other humans that come into range."

Yes, Captain. Is there a problem?

Rip breathed out a blessed sigh of relief as the pain in his head gradually decreased.

"You're the Grendel," he said, with a sigh. "Your dream recording systems… they're malfunctioning. You've been searching for my brainwaves. It's one of your routines for finding me in an emergency, but it looks like you've been emitting psychic impulses as well as trying to connect to mine. Which has all been made worse by the fact that you've been tapping directly into the time drive to draw power for it."

I am sorry. I was unaware that I was doing that. My systems are badly damaged.

"I know, Gideon, you didn't mean to do it, but the human brain can't take that kind of power. I got a headache just walking on board. It should be fine once we get it repaired," said Rip. "Did you know that you've also been generating a hologram that's been calling my name while walking around in the forest?"

No, Captain. I didn't know I could do that.

"Neither did I," said Rip. "I mean, holograms, yes, but I had no idea you had a form that was beyond this one. They thought you were a ghost."

That's quite unfortunate.

"If it's any consolation, they think I'm a hero and they sent me off to kill a dragon," said Rip. "Since the dragon turned out to be you, I think I might give that a miss."

Very wise.

"Indeed. Okay, so your cloak is malfunctioning. You've got memory issues, a bit like me, I suppose and we have various other systems damaged across the ship. It's no wonder your self-repair systems were struggling."

Systems indicate that the jump-ship is still functional. Protocol in this situation is that you set my self-destruct and return to the Vanishing Point.

"What? No! I'm not doing that. I'm going to repair you sufficiently that I can get you back to the Vanishing Point and then the timeship mechanics can give you a proper refit. You know I could never leave you behind. You have literally been the woman of my dreams these last few months."

I apologised for that.

"You did and you have nothing to apologise for. I think you've been looking for me all this time. I'm guessing that's why the dragon has been seen flying over the town. I think you detected my brainwaves but you couldn't work out where exactly, and I have a suspicion that you tried to protect me once by firing on the town…" He pondered that. "Anyway, I'd best get to work. I've got a lot to do and then I have to return a sword."

It took him a full week to get the Waverider back to anything like serviceable. He took time out to return Hrunting to its owner, and assure the Danes that their dragon problem was dealt with. He made up a suitably heroic story and told it in Heorot over mead and a hog roast. Then he took his leave and returned to the Waverider.

Gideon made him visit the medbay as well, where she re-healed his broken and cracked ribs, and tutted over his head injury. She completed the healing of his burns and regenerated his muscles that hadn't yet recovered from his weeks of bed rest. She also purged the remainder of the Danish medicine from his system, since henbane was both a poison and a hallucinogen when given in sufficient doses, as well as a painkiller. He felt better for it.

Rip conducted scans and decided that even though he still couldn't remember much about the crash, he'd probably destroyed the pirates somehow. The residual energy on the beach and resulting burn marks suggested there had been some kind of explosion. If he had been blown backwards by it then that would explain the head injury and broken ribs. He'd probably sustained the burns from the fire on board the Waverider, but he wasn't exactly certain. Gideon suspected that he would always have a gap in his memory there.

He was more in wonder of his AI, who had managed to bring him home without even really understanding what she was doing. He had dreamed about her, and his connection to her. She had looked for him and been prepared to destroy an entire town just to keep him safe. He was alarmed by that in some ways, he didn't feel as if he was worth it, but he was equally comforted. Often it was just the two of them out here alone and it made him feel better to know that Gideon was watching over him.

"Gideon, set course for the Vanishing Point," he said, taking the pilot's seat.

"Yes, Captain," she replied. "I should alert you before we go to a slight aberration in the timeline."

Rip frowned. "What is it?" he asked.

"I have discovered a new Anglo-Saxon poem, written in Old English, sometime after 975AD. It is entitled Beowulf and describes how a warrior hero landed on the shores of Denmark and killed both a monster called Grendel and a dragon. Scholars postulate that it was the amalgamation of a number of Norse warrior heroes into a single story, but I think you might find certain aspects of the tale familiar," said Gideon.

"I'm going to end up reprimanded by the Time Council for this, aren't I?" he sighed.

"I fear that is a probable outcome, however I have made sure to include a full list of both your injuries and my CPU damage in the report," said Gideon.

"Is that your way of saying that we should plead insanity?" asked Rip.

"It would certainly be one approach," replied Gideon.

Rip smiled. "On this occasion, I agree completely. Besides the world needs more poems. I hope they wrote a good one about us."

"It is considered a classic, Captain," said Gideon, a tiny amount of smugness to her tone.

"I should hope so too," replied Rip.

He lifted them up off the ground, and they dived back into the timestream, heading home.